From the Ashes
by Arthur88
Summary: A child of privilege loses everything, and from the ashes of his loss, will rise a greater, better man, the man needed to save Ferelden from the Blight... With the Blight ended, this chapter of Arthur Cousland's tale is about to end, but his story is far from over...
1. Prologue: A Destined Child

_ Having finished Dragon Age for the umpteenth time, this time as I completed the game, I could see the story I wanted it to be spilling into my mind. This is how I imagine the story of my character in Dragon Age would go, in a bit more depth, detail and emotion than you can really get from the game (no offence to Bioware-they've done a fine job-but there's only so much a game can do!)_

_First fanfiction I've ever done, so rate and let me know what you think. I will try to do this as often as I can, when my other works don't intrude._

_And of course, with the exception of my character and the embellishments I make to this, all content and characters belong to Bioware and David Gaider._

_Above all else..ENJOY!_

Prologue: A Child of Destiny

9:10, Dragon Age

Few had expected the announcement that King Maric made in the great city of Denerim; that he was repealing the decree that had exiled the Grey Wardens- that ancient, obscure order of warriors devoted to their so-claimed 'never-ending' war with the darkspawn- from Ferelden for the better part of two centuries and allowing the order to re-establish their position and their numbers within his realm. Many of the lords and ladies of his court questioned his decision to do so, but all the King of Ferelden would say to the dissenters and disapprovers was that he had seen the true nature of the threat beneath mankind's feet for himself.

The Grey Warden assigned to be the Order's leader in Ferelden, a severe man of middle years by the name of Duncan had bowed to what he called "King Maric's great wisdom in acknowledging the threat posed by the darkspawn" and said that he would work to prepare Ferelden for any and all threats the darkspawn could come to pose to the kingdom.

Miles further to the north, in the castle of the House of Cousland, built to house the ruling lord of the city of Highever and his family, another momentous event was taking place in the bed chamber of the Teyrn.

The teyrn, a dark haired man in his early thirties, paced back and forth outside the chamber as from inside, he could hear agonised female screams. Servants carrying bowls of water and bundles of clean linen raced in and out of the room, but none stopped to answer his questions, attending to their tasks inside the chamber. For what seemed like hours, he waited outside his own room, pacing back and forth, anxiously running fingers through his dark hair and uneasily listening to the screams, the yells, the calls of reassurance and support, until finally, one noise cut through all those coming from within; the sound of an infant crying as it took its first breaths.

As Bryce Cousland, teyrn of Highever, one of the highest lords of the kingdom of Ferelden and father of a newborn child listened in joyful relief to the cries, a dark-haired elven serving girl, her eyes wide at what she had seen, poked her head around the bed chamber door and said "You can come in now, my lord".

Bryce, as nervous as he was facing the chevaliers at White River, stepped into his own room, both anticipating and dreading what he was about to face. Inside, lying on the great bed he and his wife shared, he could see Eleanor, white-faced with exhaustion, one of her friends placing a damp cloth to her brow, while one of the servants tended to the newborn babe, asleep in a crib carved by a master carpenter of Highever days before. Bryce moved over to the right side of the bed and took his wife's limp hand.

"How are you, my love?" he asked.

"Fine, no thanks to you. You're no longer welcome in this bed, Bryce!" she jokingly snapped. Bryce laughed and then nodded towards the crib.

"Is it...?"

"A boy" Eleanor replied. "We have another son".

Bryce walked over to the cradle and looked down on the sleeping infant; it was undoubtedly their child. A small tuft of reddish-brown hair, like his own, crowned the sleeping child's head, yet he could see his wife's high cheekbones and large eyes. He gently picked up the child, holding his newborn son up to his face, trying to ensure the babe didn't wake up.

"Born with a raised fist and a hearty battle cry on his lips" Bryce mused. "He'll make a fine warrior one day, of that I have no doubt!"

"And what do you want to call him, my love?" his wife asked of him.

"You gave birth to him" Bryce answered, but Eleanor persisted. "I named Fergus. I think it only fair you name him this time".

"Fair enough" Bryce bowed to his wife's logic. "A child born on a momentous day as this deserves a name of weight, of power, of heritage". He turned back to his sleeping son "I name you...Arthur, second son of House Cousland. Now come, my child, and see the lands you are destined to defend, and perhaps one day rule!"

In two cities of Ferelden, far apart from one another, two great cheers rose from the people.

In Denerim, a great cheer went up as the King and the Warden Commander, comrades, heroes and friends, signed the new accord and shook hands, cementing a new chapter for both Ferelden and the Grey Wardens.

In Highever, a great cheer went up from the city's people as their lord held aloft his newborn son, a man who they knew would one day change and shape their lives.

If only they knew how much...


	2. Chapter 1: The Laurel and the Griffon

Chapter 1: The Laurel and the Griffon

_For the eyes of the Commander of Weisshaupt Fortress, the First Warden, only_

_Lord,_

_I am dispatching this to inform you of the status of our forces assembling to counter the rising numbers of darkspawn massing to the south of Ferelden. The king's forces have won several victories against the monsters, but I fear, despite the optimism of Ferelden's king, our enemy will not be vanquished so easily. My dreams and the dreams of my counterpart in Orlais confirm my beliefs; the day we have dreaded for four centuries has finally come. Another Old God has been found. The darkspawn have their archdemon. This is a Blight._

_To that end, I have been recruiting from among Ferelden's populace to try and bolster our numbers before we take the fight to the enemy. It has been difficult, not that there has been a shortage of volunteers, but most are inexperienced youths seeking easy glory and legend, their heads full of stuff and nonsense about griffons and glorious battles such as Ayseleigh and Silent Fields. They would not last a minute against even the weakest darkspawn. The few men I have encountered have, at most, combated brigands and rabid beasts; they may have the skill, but I fear they would not have the fortitude or strength of will to face the manner of monsters we must combat._

_That is not to say I haven't had some success; I have managed to obtain two recruits to bolster our numbers. The first is a knight of Redcliffe, one of Arl Eamon's retainers, a man by the name of Ser Jory. I have seen him fight and the man is no slouch with the blade; he was skilled enough to win the tournament the local bann held in my honour. The man has admitted some fear to the task of facing darkspawn, but I have no doubt he will overcome his trepidation by the time his Joining comes._

_The second recruit I encountered purely as a matter of luck; a young cutpurse by the name of Daveth. He appears to be of Chasind origin, but I met him on the streets of Denerim. I say 'met'; in truth, he tried to rob me. He evaded me, only to fall into the hands of the city guard. Apparently, he was a wanted criminal in Denerim and I was forced to use the Rite of Conscription before the city guard executed him on the spot. My fellows were surprised that I would intervene to save a condemned criminal, but I see in the youth a lot of myself, and how I came to the Grey Wardens. I was a wretched rogue before the Wardens found me, and I am willing to believe that if I can find a second chance amongst the ranks of the Grey Wardens, so can Daveth. Besides, his stealthy nature, finesse and skill with a blade will no doubt come in handy against the darkspawn._

_As I write this, I am preparing to leave for Highever, a northern city where I have heard tales of another promising candidate, which I intend to investigate before rejoining our warriors at Ostagar. His name is Arthur, the second son of House Cousland, and what I have heard tells of a skilled warrior; a valuable asset to our cause. Many say my trip to Highever will be a waste, that I am chasing nothing more than the over privileged son of a powerful lord, a libertine, womaniser and wastrel, but I disagree. Certainly, what I have heard of this Cousland lad suggests the boy has a certain arrogance to him, something to be expected with nobility, but reading between the lines, I have heard he possesses many of the qualities prized in the Grey Wardens. He has shown courage, resourcefulness and determination. The people tell of him hunting down a party of bandits who kidnapped the daughter of a local miller, bringing the brigands to justice and returning the girl to her family for no reward, or of how he tracked down and slew the blight wolf who killed a woodcutter near Highever and then, of his own volition, ensured that the man's family would not suffer from his loss. It is my belief that the Grey Wardens would benefit greatly with the likes of him in our ranks._

_I will journey to Highever and test the waters. I can provide the teyrn with a fallacy that I am interested in his captain of the guard or some such individual. I doubt the lord of House Cousland will take kindly to the idea of both of his children being sent into battle against the horde, but if needs must, I will use the Rite of Conscription. I have no wish to make an enemy of a powerful teyrn, but desperate times call for desperate measures._

_I will write again once I have ascertained the situation. If nothing comes of it, I will attend to the more immediate matter of leading our forces. Let us hope we can be the shield Ferelden needs to hold back this storm._

_Duncan, Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey _

9:30, Dragon Age

The city of Highever

Arthur Cousland spurred his horse back in through the gates of the city of Highever, having spent much of the morning hunting game in the great forests surrounding his family's estates. Indeed, the saddle bags slung over his roan gelding held a number of rabbits, destined for the cook pot in the kitchens at Castle Cousland. His parents might gripe that he was wasting his life, running after boars and wolves in the woods, spending every hour the Maker sent on the practice field with the sword and bow, instead of trying to learn the duties the second son of a teyrn-the Teyrn of Highever, one of the most important lords of Ferelden-was supposed to attend to, but Arthur couldn't help it. He was born with wildness in his soul and the love of adventure in his blood.

When his old tutor, Aldous, had tried to get him to understand the complicated intricacies of Ferelden politics and the strengths and allegiances of the various noble families, Arthur had instead daydreamed of himself fighting in either the Battle of River Dane or the Battle of Ayseleigh, fighting back to back with the likes of Garahel against the masses of darkspawn and the archdemon, or leading the charge with Teyrn Loghain into the ranks of the Orlesian chevaliers. Instead of attending his lessons of penmanship and language, learning how to act and behave in the proper manner of a highborn, he'd preferred to run off with the servants' children, leading his armies of infants armed with sticks and stones against foes such as Meghren, the Orlesian usurper and Dumat, the First Archdemon. Nowadays, however, the enemies he had to evade were the outraged fathers and husbands of Highever's pretty daughters and wives, chasing him down after finding him falling out of bed after a tumble with their women. Fortunately, two things had saved Arthur from any real trouble; being the son of Highever's teyrn, as well as the fact he was a fast runner.

Arthur was tall for his age; he was handsome, charming and charismatic. And worst of all, he knew it. He had shoulder-length hair, a fiery reddish-brown in colour, and piercing blue eyes that had a habit of entrancing anyone who looked into them long enough for his silver tongue to finish the job. His skin was pale, which enhanced the other features of his face; high cheekbones, a wide brow and a strong chin. The most striking thing about his face, however, was nothing of flesh; it was a strange tattoo of swirling design that surrounded his right eye, accompanied by a second line of script made upon his left cheek, which Arthur felt gave him an exotic look (though he remembered the outraged faces of his parents when he returned to the castle after obtaining the art). The rest of his body, encased in a suit of studded leather armour was just as impressive; wiry, but muscular, built for running and fighting, two things at which Arthur Cousland excelled, being it battling brigands in the woods, duelling with his family's guards on the practice field, or brawling with an outraged man because the youth fancied a turn with his girl. He carried his arms of choice on his back and at his side; a short bow and a quiver full of arrows was strapped to his back, while a longsword of iron was scabbarded at his left hip; both weapons he knew how to use with deadly skill.

He rode through the streets of Highever, up to the castle that sat at the city's highest point, like a dragon looking down over its territory. The common folk bowed and respectfully murmured "My lord" as he urged his horse past-'_As it should be'_, he thought to himself. Arthur accepted their respects without comment; he'd come to expect it. As he got closer to the castle, he could see the portcullis was raised and long lines of troops were either assembling in the castle courtyard, or already moving out towards the city gates in marching columns. '_Looks like Father wasn't joking about sending an army_!' Arthur mused. He'd heard talk of some enemy massing in numbers to the south of Ferelden, but he couldn't remember who. '_Probably Chasind barbarians looking to pillage, or maybe Dalish elves stirring up trouble'_. All Arthur knew was that Ferelden's king had ordered the lords of his nations to assemble their men and follow him south to confront this foe. Clearly Father took his oath to serve the Crown seriously.

As Arthur rode past a long column of infantry heading towards the city gate, heading through the portcullis, he could see in one corner of the castle courtyard a group of armed men bearing shields marked not with the white laurel emblem of Highever, but instead, the bear emblem of Amaranthine. Arthur swore under his breath. "Maker's Blood, please tell me Howe isn't here!"

As he entered the courtyard, a member of the castle garrison came over and took the reins of his horse. "Welcome home, my lord. A good day's hunting, I take it?"

"Indeed. Take the contents of my saddlebags to the kitchen, and give Nan my regards. And one more thing, soldier. Why are Amaranthine soldiers here, of all places?"

"Arl Howe is here, at your father's request. Apparently, his troops are delayed and your father has allowed him to wait the night until his troops arrive. That's what I'm here to see you about, milord. Your father has asked I convey you to the main hall; he wishes to speak to you on a matter of great importance"

"And what is that, sergeant?"

"I don't rightly know, milord. Your father simply asked that you be informed he wishes to see you the moment you return!"

"Thank you, sergeant. I shall proceed to the main hall, immediately"

Arthur dismounted and headed straight through the double doors at the end, leading to the main hall of Castle Cousland, the opulent chamber hung with trophies and paintings illuminating the illustrious history of the Cousland family; a sword taken from the grasp of an Orlesian chevalier killed at the Battle of White River, a painting of his parents clad in the wonderful finery they had worn at their wedding, a shield used by his grandfather, Edward Cousland during the rebellion against the occupation; all examples of the fine proud history of a glorious family he was proud to be a part of, and one that his father constantly told Arthur he would make a chapter of.

He could see four men stood before a roaring fire at the fire end of the hall. Two men were clad in leather armour, with swords at their sides and shields on their back with the bear crest-clearly thugs in the pay of Howe- flanking a thin, severe man with short grey hair and clad in a fine purple shirt and red britches, speaking in an oily, obsequious tone of voice; "I expect they will be arriving shortly, and we can march tomorrow. I apologise for the delay, my lord. This is entirely my fault".

"No, no, the appearance of the darkspawn has us all scrambling, doesn't it? I only received the call from the king a few days ago myself". He heard a pleasant baritone answer Howe's self-deprecating waffle, glad for anything to keep the odious little toad quiet. Arthur would never understand why his father had cultivated a friendship with the vile Howe. He assumed the trauma of being only two of fifty survivors of one of the bloodiest battles of the rebellion had forged some bond he would never understand. Howe was a snake, one who constantly sought to advance his station...by any means. Fortunately, his abrasive manners and tendency for making enemies of people wherever he went had ensured he didn't rise any higher in Ferelden society. The man might have been a hero as a youth, but now, he was a grasping overreacher, obsessed with getting what he was as his right. And he knew that Howe's brood weren't much better.

_Darkspawn._

The nature of the foe the army was assembling to fight revealed itself. The monsters of legend, it seemed, had come to life from the pages of his storybooks, and Arthur felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought. He knew the stories of the darkspawn like the back of his hand: how the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium had, in their greed and pride, conjured a portal to the Golden City, hoping to cast down the Maker and take the power of the Creator for their own. But their sin proved their undoing, and they were cast out of Heaven and back to earth, twisted and mutated by their evil. For their hubris, they were reborn as monsters; the first of the darkspawn. They burrowed deep beneath the earth until they found what they sought; the Old Gods, the mighty dragons whom the heathen Imperium had worshipped. The Old Gods rose as archdemons and led the darkspawn back to the surface, to lay waste to the world. Only through supreme sacrifice and bravery had been enough to push the hordes back long enough for any manner of peace to be forged, but the darkspawn always returned, and the greatest warriors of the realms always stood ready against them. Long had he dreamed of himself in the midst of the great battles against the manifestation of the purest evil ever seen in Thedas: Silent Fields, Starkhaven, Ayseleigh, battling unending hordes of terrors in the company of heroes. '_Perhaps that is what Father wishes to see me about. Perhaps he wishes me to take me into battle with him against these creatures! What an honour that would be!'_

His wistful daydream was broken as his father's voice brought him back to reality. "I'll send my eldest off with my men. You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old times!" Howe gave a simpering chuckle and nodded. "True, though we had less grey in our hair back then. And we fought Orlesians, not..._monsters_".

His father gave a chuckle. "At least the smell will be the same". At that moment, his father looked up and saw him. Many people said Arthur was his father's son; he'd inherited his father's face, height and broad shoulders. Arthur had long had great respect for his father, for Bryce Cousland had been the standard of a man that he longed to be: a demon on the battlefield, a peacemaker and compromiser in the Landsmeet, firm, but fair, stern, but just; as willing to pay the outstanding taxes of a starving family as he was to overlook the discretions of a young boy unable to keep his roving eye to himself.

"I'm sorry, pup; I didn't see you there" Bryce looked around from the fireplace with a smile, running a finger through his short-grey hair, though from the portrait to his left, Arthur knew his reddish brown mane of hair had been inherited from his father. He turned to his associate "Howe, you remember my son?"

Rendon Howe looked over at him; though a warm smile was plastered on his mouth, Arthur could see it didn't reach Howe's eyes, which seemed to be coldly scrutinising him; '_No doubt, he wonders what use or threat I present to his ambitions'._ Howe and his father were the same height, with short grey hair and a ruddy complexion, but while his father's eyes were always warm and his face always set with a soft, content smile, Howe's face was that of a weasel, with pinched, narrow features and cold black eyes that were constantly darting. Whatever thoughts were going through Howe's mind, his mouth opened with its usual oily smoothness. "I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad".

Though in truth Arthur wanted to sneer at Howe's latest obsequious attempt to ingratiate himself, he knew such an action would be ill befitting of a teyrn's son. Instead, he plastered an equally false smile on his face, clicked his heels and gave a full bow. "And you, Arl Howe".

"My daughter, Delilah, asked after you. Perhaps I should bring her next time?"

Arthur nearly snorted at this, but managed to pass it off as a cough. Of all the young pretty women he'd known, Delilah Howe was one he had no wish to add to his many conquests. As Arthur had once told his big brother "I'll be dancing the Remigold with a genlock before I have any desire to do so much as kiss Delilah on the cheek!"- She was pretty enough, certainly, with her big doe eyes and short black hair, but she'd unfortunately inherited her father's abrasive manner and foul temper. He remembered the last time the pair of them had spoken, during a brief visit with his family to Amaranthine three years past; when Arthur had sniggered ever so slightly at Delilah tripping on the hem of her dress as she'd tried to curtsey, it had resulted in a blazing argument: she'd called him 'a stuck-up pig who couldn't keep his manhood to himself!', while Arthur had retorted by calling her a 'a viper-tongued shrew with a stick so far up her arse it was a miracle she wasn't sprouting leaves from her fingers!'. Arthur had often thought that would have put paid to any further discussions, but Rendon Howe was desperate to advance his station by any means necessary, and Arthur had no doubt the Arl had badgered his daughter every hour the Maker sent to consider a match with a house as prestigious as the Couslands.

"To what end?" Arthur asked. Howe chuckled at this.

"'To what end?' Ha! And so glib! The boy's a whip, just like his father!". This gained a soft laugh from his father, his full frame shaking. "See what I contend with, Howe! You can't tell my fierce boy anything these days, Maker bless his heart!"

"A temperament to match his fighting skill" Howe said approvingly, showing the one bit of respect he had for Arthur. Though he smugly sneered at Arthur's attempts to understand politics, and openly laughed at the youth's 'indiscretions', he had shown a grudging respect for Arthur's sword arm.

"I apologise, Arl, but I'd always gotten the impression Delilah didn't like me that much" Arthur responded. Howe shrugged his shoulders and answered "Oh that was many years ago. People change, I'm sure". The old man gave a sigh and continued "To be honest, I have no expectations, and your father seems determined to let you follow your own path..."

'_Good, because I'd rather marry an elven harlot with bad teeth and liver spots than your harridan of a daughter'_ Arthur thought to himself. Though instead, he spoke in a flat, emotionless voice and tactfully replied "We'll see".

An awkward silence followed, and Arthur broke it by giving Howe a respectful smile and saying "So, you two are looking forward to riding together after...how long?"

Howe smiled and answered "We rode with King Maric when he fought against the Orlesians. Heady times!" His smile then collapsed, becoming a disappointed scowl. "A pity the years since then haven't shown as much promise! But it's not something I'd expect a youth to understand"

"So you knew King Maric?" Arthur asked, genuinely interested in Howe's words this time. The tale of brave King Maric and his noble comrades, the ingenious General Loghain and the beautiful Queen Rowan fighting for freedom against the Orlesian tyrants had been one of his favourite childhood tales.

""Your father never told you about those days?" Howe's face exhibited surprise. "Oh yes, heady times! That man knew how to take care of his friends! He was as large as life and twice as tall!" Howe chuckled and then his face crumbled into another scowl."It's too bad Cailan isn't half that!"

"You don't think much of the King?" Arthur enquired. Howe's scowl only deepened and he answered, not even bothering to keep the contempt from his voice "I think of him, as much as

he thinks _at all!_"

"That's enough, Howe! You speak of our king!" his father angrily rebuked.

"Well, the boy did ask, as per the latitude you allow him" Howe answered, looking like a chastised little boy. "I merely offered an opinion" he muttered through gritted teeth.

Disregarding his old friend's remark, Bryce turned to his younger son "At any rate, pup, I summoned you here for a reason. While your brother and I are away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle".

Arthur's daydream of fighting beside his father and big brother against a horde of monsters evaporated. In its place came a terrifying image of himself sitting in the great hall, listening to endless complaints, pleas and petitions for his time, aid and money from the people of Highever. It was the duty of a ruler, he knew, but he still felt he'd sooner take his chances with the darkspawn.

"What! Why can't I go into battle with you and Fergus!" Arthur blurted out. Bryce laughed and answered "I'm sure you'd more than prove yourself, but I'm not willing to risk your mother if I let you go. She's already tied in knots about me and Fergus as it is!"

"Let me talk to her, I'll convince her" Arthur persisted but his father shook his head, smiling sadly. "I doubt that. You know your mother, and she's made it clear there is no debate"

Arthur was about to persist, but he knew that continuing to protest would only diminish himself in his father's eyes. He nodded and accepted the responsibility.

"This is no needless task. I ask you to assume a great responsibility. Only a token force is remaining here and you _must_ ensure peace is maintained in the region. You know what they say about mice while the cat is away?" Arthur nodded morosely, trying not to think of the endless reams of politics he would spend the next few weeks, if not months, drowning in. The thought chilled his blood.

His father chuckled at his son's discomfort and smiled. "There's also someone you must meet". He nodded to one of the guardsmen standing to attention to one side of the hall. "Please, show Duncan in".

The guard returned a moment later through a side door, leading the most intriguing man Arthur had ever seen. His swarthy skin suggested Rivain blood, but the husky accented voice he spoke in seemed to suggest he'd spent some time in Orlais. The man was taller than all three of them, wearing gleaming silver plate armour with an impressive longsword and dagger sheathed in scabbards on his back. His dark, slightly receding hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it suited him, as did the impressive black beard he sported. Arthur suspected that like him, this Duncan had been quite a devil with the ladies in his youth; if Arthur aged half as well as this fellow, he'd be happy. Judging from the scars Arthur could see on the man's arms, neck and face, as well as evidenced by the dents and scratches on his armour, this man had been a warrior in his time. He'd been about to ask his father who this man was, assuming Duncan to be a mercenary captain, or one of the king's heralds, but then he saw the amulet around his neck-a length of silver chain holding a pearl carved in the shape of a griffon- that he realised who this warrior was.

'_A Grey Warden!'_

His morose thoughts were replaced by amazement and pride to be in the presence of this _hero_, a man who'd no doubt fought countless battles against the monsters of legend to protect Thedas. Arthur again bowed respectfully low, but unlike his one to Howe, this bow was meant to convey how much he was honoured at this meeting. The Grey Warden gave a soft smile and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present!" Howe uneasily interrupted. Bryce gave his old friend a look of curious scrutiny, uncertain what could have made the Arl so uneasy. "Duncan only arrived a few days ago, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

"Of course not, your Lordship!" Howe answered in a simpering tone that fooled no one "But a guest of this stature demands certain protocols. I am...at a disadvantage". Bryce clearly didn't chose to pursue the issue. "We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one of their Order up close. Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, yes?"

"They're an order of great warriors!" Arthur immediately blurted out, trying and failing to sound like a star-struck boy. "They are the heroes of old, who defeated the Blights and saved us all" Bryce said, clearly amused by his son's awe. "Duncan is here looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore". Arthur nodded, suspecting that his father's captain of the guard would attract the attention of the Grey Wardens; after all, they only took the best of the best.

"If I may be so bold, I would suggest your son is also an excellent candidate" Duncan remarked. Arthur's heart leapt into his mouth. '_Me, a Grey Warden!'_

"Honour though that may be, this is one of my sons we're talking about!" his father cut across the Grey Warden's remark.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't consider this, Father?" Arthur interrupted his father. Howe, rubbing his chin, chipped in "You did just finish saying Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend".

"I've not so many children I'll gladly see them all off to battle!" Bryce replied. "Unless you intend to invoke the Rite of Conscription?" he asked of Duncan, an iron edge entering his voice. Duncan merely smiled softly and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Have no fear, while we need all the recruits we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue!". Bryce seemed satisfied by this and turned back to his son. "Pup, can you ensure all of Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm away?"

"Of course!" Arthur immediately answered. He turned back to Duncan and bowed again. "I am at your service, and if I may be so bold, may I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. I doubt your father minds a slight delay".

"Is it true there are darkspawn in the south?"

"Indeed, we spotted a horde massing in the Korcari Wilds not three weeks ago?"

"How many darkspawn are there? Are my father and brother in any danger?"

"Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands in this horde. But it's my understanding the first battles have gone well" Duncan answered evenly.

"Indeed?" Howe interrupted, Arthur hearing a clear sneer in his voice. "Are the Grey Wardens sure this is a true Blight and simply some large raid?"

"No archdemon has been sighted yet. But I truly believe with all my soul this _is_ a Blight!" Duncan answered, fairly, but with a stern edge to his voice.

"I wish we shared your _faith_" Howe sneered in reply. "Perhaps we shall see for ourselves when we arrive at the King's camp"

"Would you really recruit me into the Grey Wardens?"

"Of course, you are young, bold, skilled and eager for battle, or so I hear. The Grey Wardens take only the best, and I intend no flattery when I say you would be a valuable asset to our cause. The old treaties would allow me to conscript you, _against_ your father's wishes, but I have no wish to generate animosity with Ferelden's nobility and am content to see what other candidates your castle has to offer"

"So you are here for Ser Gilmore?"

"I have only encountered a few worthy candidates in my journeys across Ferelden. Your father invited me here, suggesting this Ser Gilmore. If nothing comes of it, I will head south to rejoin the Grey Wardens assembled and King Cailan's army"

"So you know King Cailan?" Arthur enquired. Duncan shrugged his shoulders and answered "Not well. King Cailan is a young man, but he has shown remarkable wisdom in combating the darkspawn threat". Again, Duncan's voice was interrupted by a sneer from Howe "I've heard that King Cailan exalts the Grey Warden legend, and this is why he caters to your order!"

At this, Arthur saw his father's fist slam onto the top of a wooden table, and was shocked to see Bryce Cousland's face contorted in genuine anger. "HOWE! That is unworthy of you!"

"He only repeats what has been said by all" Duncan answered fairly. "Whatever the king's reasons, I'll take his support. We need all the help we can get against the darkspawn". Arthur nodded, and having no more questions, fell silent. At this, his father turned to him again and gave him a new instruction; to find his older brother, Fergus, and give him his marching orders to start heading to Ostagar. The soft, but firm tone in Bryce's voice made it clear it was no request. Sensing the conversation no longer had any part for him, Arthur bowed respectfully to his father, Howe, and especially to Duncan. He exited the chamber by a side door and headed towards the family quarters, but his mind was dancing with dreams of fighting in the coming battle, back to back in the company of heroes.


	3. Chapter 2: Mischief in the Larder

Well, first of all, I hope you're enjoying the story so far. For those who've played the Human Noble Origin, you'll have noticed I have, and will be taking some creative liberties to add to Arthur's back story, but as I've said before, Bioware did a great job, but there's only so much a game can do!

Second, thank you to **Rancho Relaxo **and **zGreece** for your reviews, **Erynnar** for providing a great inspiration (I wholeheartedly recommend their stories of Dragon Age, particularly **The First Cut is the Deepest**) and finally to **Seax, Raif Sevrance, Ygrain33,** and everyone else who's favourited, read or subscribed to my story

Hopefully, by the end of today, I'll have Arthur's Origin story completed and we'll be heading straight for the excitement of Ostagar. I can't wait to have it ready for you.

Merry Christmas, and **'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**

As always, except for what I made up, everything belongs to Bioware and David Gaider. And above all else, enjoy!

Arthur exited through the great hall's side door behind him, barely hearing the discussion now occurring between his father, Duncan and Howe as he left. After a brief moment of indecision, he decided to take a right: going left led to the castle's chapel, but Arthur had no wish to go there at the moment. He was a believer, sure enough, but he had no doubt that Mother Mallol, the priest who tended the spiritual needs of the Cousland family, would have her hands full tending to the confessions of hundreds of soldiers about to depart for the front, and he had enough respect not to add to her burdens. He'd spent enough nights in the chapel praying forgiveness for his many 'indiscretions' to have nothing but respect for the priestess. '_Though, maybe I'll pop in there later, just to be polite'_.

He headed right, in the direction of the library, hoping to obtain a book or two for later that evening when, from a dead-end corridor, he heard a laugh of triumph from behind a heavy, iron bound door to the right. Turning away, Arthur headed down the corridor and opened it. His first sight was of two men in chainmail armour marked with the white laurel crest sitting at a table, playing cards. As he watched, the man on the far sight of the table scraped a pile of silver coins across the table top towards him, laughing at his look, and then looked up...and saw the son of his lord staring down at him. The man immediately bolted to his feet and saluted "Oh, my lord! We were just..."

"Taking a break?" Arthur archly finished, raising an eyebrow. He saw to his left, a heavy iron door and remembered this was the guard room for the Cousland treasury. His father had assured him a great many of the family's most prized possessions, though Arthur had never been inside; no doubt his father thought he might purloin some of the House's valuables to finance a night of debauchery in Highever's taverns and bawdy houses. '_Not without reason'_ Arthur conceded.

"Well, the treasury's safe. I don't know why the teyrn stationed us here..." the guardsman answered. Arthur knew this was true; the castle was in no danger and he knew full well his parents were the only ones to possess the key to the treasury. '_Even so, these men are on duty...'_ Arthur thought, _'and a single lapse in vigilance could end in disaster_ ._I could report them, but it's a little thing...and I've done far worse'_. Arthur nodded and remarked as he left "I forget about it...this time". The guardsmen nodded and immediately got to their feet, beginning to patrol back and forth in front of the treasury door. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord". Arthur exited the guard room and closed the door behind him. He reached the corridor he'd been walking down before, heading for the library, and as he passed a right corridor that led up to his family's quarters, he saw a shadow to his right...and nearly walked straight into a man of about his height and size. Arthur jumped back and saw he was looking at Ser Gilmore, his father's captain of the guard. He was a formidable man, with a broad, muscular frame, short, wild red hair, and wore a suit of chainmail marked with Highever's emblem, and a sword stamped with the Cousland crest on the pommel.

Ser Gilmore's status as his father's captain was quite an achievement; he was only twenty seven, but Arthur knew his commitment to his duties was absolute. He had duelled the man several times on the practice field and gained a great respect for the man's sword arm, which had left him with a fair number of cuts and bruises in his time. _'The Grey Wardens will benefit greatly with as good a fighter as he in their ranks' _Arthur knew, though he felt a pang of jealousy at not being chosen himself. To his surprise, he saw the man looked weary and haggard; likely the stress of having to assemble the castle's men-at-arms, arm them and get them on the march south.

"Ah, there you are" he briskly said by way of greeting. "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt"

"Hello to you too, Ser Gilmore" Arthur curtly answered. He could understand that the man was tired, but he could still remember the niceties of respect. The man looked chastened and replied "Forgive my manners, my lord, but I have been looking all over the castle for you. I fear your hound has the kitchen in uproar again. Nan is threatening to leave"

Arthur gave a groan of exasperation. _'That bloody dog_!' There were days when he agreed to Nan's claim the dog got into the larder purely to annoy her; certainly that dog had a propensity to cause trouble. _'Edward, what have you gotten up to now!'_ Edward; that was the name he'd given the dog. The young warhound pup had been a gift for his tenth birthday, and during the celebrations, his father had told him a tale of his grandfather, Edward. The old man had died long before Arthur ever had a chance to meet him, a great shame. And the way his father had described him that day had only made Arthur like the sound of his grandfather more; "Proud, stubborn as a mule and so very hard to impress. His respect was not something he gave lightly, but when he did, you treasured it, for in him, you gained a friend whose loyalty was hard as iron, and who'd gladly fight and die at your side for no more reward than the love of a friend" Bryce had said of his own father. And looking down at the mabari pup resting on his lap, Arthur knew what to call the dog, whose qualities sound much like those of the man he'd just heard about.

There were days, however, when he regretted that choice, since his faithful hound had the talent of getting into as much trouble as his master. Even so, he doubted whatever mischief the mutt had gotten up to demanded the attention of Castle Cousland's captain of the guard. "Nan's just blowing off steam, she's always been like that". And it was true; even when she's been his nursemaid, Nan's sharp tongue and waspish temper had been evident.

"Your mother disagrees. She insists you collect the dog and quickly. After all, you know these mabari warhounds; he'll listen to his master, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off!"

"Edward's a handful, but he knows better than to hurt anyone" Arthur protested, but Gilmore was adamant. "I'm not willing to test that. You're quite lucky to have your own warhound; '_Smart enough not to talk'_ my pa used to say. Of course, that means he's easily bored. Nan swears he confounds her to amuse himself!" Arthur sighed- he was well acquainted with Nan's assertions Edward persecuted her for fun. Ser Gilmore pressed on "At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

Arthur shook his head and tried to get around the knight, muttering "I need to find Fergus...' but Gilmore cut across him "Your mother was quite specific; 'Unless the castle is under attack, you get that dog before doing anything else!' _**Her**_ words, not mine!" Arthur sighed; ever since he'd turned sixteen and started flirting with every pretty thing in the castle, his mother seemed to live in perpetual fear that he would forever forgo his duties in favour of finding the newest, inexperienced maidservant and charming her into a tumble in the stables. Arthur sighed; she had the measure of him. With a shrug of his shoulders, Arthur sighed and waved a hand onward. "To the kitchens, then"

He turned and made to head down the passage to his right in the directions when he felt Ser Gilmore's hand on his shoulder. "Before we go, my lord, might I beg a question? I have been hearing rumours that a Grey Warden is here in the castle. Is that true?"

"It is true".

"Then is it also true that this Grey Warden is asking after me?" Ser Gilmore pressed on, an edge of hopeful desperation in his voice. Arthur nodded and replied "He intends to test you for recruitment". Ser Gilmore's face lit up with delight at the thought "Maker's Breath! Me, a Grey Warden! Can you imagine? It would be everything I've ever dreamed of! Of course" his face fell slightly "I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Pardon my outburst". Ser Gilmore's hand lowered and they headed right, past the sloping ramp that led up to the family quarters to the left, in the direction of the kitchens. As they got closer, he could hear loud barking and a woman screeching in fright. Finally, they turned left down a short passageway and opened a door on their left. As they entered, Arthur heard a severe woman speaking.

"Get that bloody mutt _out_ of my larder!"

Arthur stepped in and saw Nan, his old nursemaid and now the castle cook, a thin severe woman with grey hair and a figure that in her old age made her look like an underfed crow, glowering down at a pair of elf servants-a young elf male with short red hair and a female with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail- and giving them a severe tongue lashing. The elf maiden-'Cath, her name is, if I remember rightly'- looking down at her feet, mumbled "But mistress, it won't let us near!"

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both you useless elves, I swear it!" Nan angrily snapped back. Ser Gilmore coughed and said "Calm down, my good woman, we're here to help". Nan whirled round irritably at the voice, and her eyes widened in annoyance as she saw Gilmore and who was with him.

"You! And **YOU**!" Nan swung round, pointing at Arthur and giving him an angry glare that would make a High Dragon run with its tail between its legs. "That bloody mongrel of yours keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!" Nan angrily snapped.

"Maybe you should lock your larder up tighter..." Arthur answered with an innocent grin.

Nan swelled up angrily like a puff adder of the marshes. "If I locked my larder up any tighter, _**we**_couldn't get in!" The elf girl put a hand on Nan's shoulder and, flinching as she did so, as though frightened the old woman's fury was about to turn on her, muttered "Mistress, calm down"

"That's IT!" Nan yowled, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I'll quit! Inform the teyrna! I'll go and cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn!". Arthur sighed in exasperation; he'd quite forgotten Nan's penchant for melodramatics. Fortunately, Ser Gilmore took charge of the situation, speaking in a mollifying tone "Nan, calm down. We'll get the dog". Nan gave a humph and then gestured to the larder door. "Just get him gone! I've enough to deal with feeding a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

Moving aside and waving the elves back, Nan stepped aside. Arthur and Ser Gilmore stepped forward. Arthur reached the door first, twisted the knob, and the two men stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

The first thing Arthur noticed was the mess. Plates and glasses lay smashed and shattered on the floor. Bottles of wine older than him lay broken, their priceless contents seeping into the stone floor. Blocks of cheese, bread and other foods lay on the floor with large paw prints stomped into them. And in the middle of this chaos, looking up at him from the centre of the mess with a dopey, pleased expression on his canine features, was his pet mabari warhound, Edward, his light brown fur streaked with spilt wine and milk and his tongue lolling from his mouth. '_By the Maker, how does he do it!_'. As soon as the dog saw him, Edward immediately began barking in an insistent fashion, running back and forth from Arthur's feet to a cluster of sacks in a corner of the larder. Arthur knew a cue when he saw it.

"What is it, boy? Are you trying to tell me something?" The dog's barks only grew more insistent. "It does seem like he's trying to tell you something" Gilmore conceded. Suddenly, there was a scurrying sound from behind the sacks, followed by a cacophony of angry hisses. "Wait, what was that?"

From behind the sacks, a half dozen large brown shapes emerged, hissing angrily at the disturbance. More began to emerge from cracks and holes in the wall. Drawing a long bladed dagger-his sword was far too cumbersome in the confined space- Arthur, Gilmore and Edward went to work with a vengeance as the large rats went on the attack, red eyes flashing and yellowed, knife-like incisors bared.

Within seconds, the fur had literally begun to fly. Arthur skewered one rat with his blade and stamped on another, breaking its back. A third leapt into the air, its jaws snapping at his hand, but Arthur seized it in midair and snapped its neck, tossing its furry corpse aside. Gilmore impaled two simultaneously with his sword, while Edward clawed another and shook another to death in his jaws. A dozen rats attacked the trio, and in as many heartbeats, the vile rodents were dead, at the cost of only a few minor bites and scratches to the victors. Ser Gilmore and Arthur wiped their blades clean and admired their handiwork; in addition to the mess of trampled food, spilled milk and wine and other stuff the dog had knocked over, the floor was now littered with the bodies and cooling blood of a dozen foul rats.

"Your hound must have chased them into the larder through their holes. I guess he wasn't raiding the larder after all" Ser Gilmore mused. Edward gave a bark that sounded almost resentful at the accusation. The old tales said mabaris were smart enough to understand the conversations of their masters, so it wouldn't surprise Arthur if the dog was fully aware what they were accusing him off.

"Those were some very large rats..." Arthur mused. Ser Gilmore added "Those were rats from the Korcari Wilds; best not to tell Nan. She's upset enough as it is! But seeing as you've got your hound under control, I'll be off; I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men". With that, Ser Gilmore sheathed his blade, stepped out of the larder and closed the door behind him.

Arthur briefly stopped to acquire a linen cloth and an amazingly unspilled pitcher of water, which he quickly used to tidy himself and Edward up, as well as tending to the few bites and scratches the beasts had inflicted; '_The last thing I want to do is start my term as governor in my father's absence lying in bed, sweating with fever because I've gotten the plague!'_. Once the blood was wiped away and the wounds cleaned, on both master and dog, Arthur turned to his hound and said "Well, let's see if there's a reward for our bravery!". The dog barked enthusiastically.

Arthur and Edward stepped out of the larder to find Nan and her two elven assistants staring at him uncertainly; doubtlessly they'd heard the noise, the barks and the sound of fighting, but hadn't known what to make of it. Nan recovered first, pointing an accusing finger at the dog, mistaking the rat blood dripping from his teeth as meat juices. "There he is, as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Hardly, he was defending your larder from rats. _Big_ ones" Arthur replied in defence of his furred friend. The elf maid, Cath gave a yelp of fright. "_**RATS**_! Not the large grey ones!". Her male counterpart also shook vigorously with fear. "They'll rip you to shreds, they will!" Nan gave an exasperated sigh at her helpers' cowardice. "See! Now you've gone and scared the servants!" Another sigh escaped her lips and she put a hand to her brow. "I expect those filthy things are dead?"

Arthur gave a nod and a theatrical bow. "My brave, faithful war hound made sure it's safe". Nan gave a snort and replied "I bet that dog led those things in there to begin with!" At this, Edward loped over to Nan and gave her a pitiful whine, nuzzling against her leg and fixing her with his large, wide eyes. Nan scowled "Don't even start with the sad eyes! I'm immune to your so-called 'charms'!" But Edward's whines and playful manipulation paid off as Arthur saw Nan's severe expression thaw and a thin smile appear, much like the ones he'd seen as a child, when she'd been both annoyed and yet secretly amused by his antics as a little boy. With a reluctant laugh, she turned away and tossed a lump of pork crackling to the dog. "Here you are, and don't say Nan doesn't give you anything, bloody dog!" Edward gave a happy bark as he chewed on the meat.

Nan tossed Arthur an apple by way of thanks as well. "Thank you, my lord. Now we can get back to work". She turned back to the elves and she was back to her old self; sharp and harsh. "That's right, you two. Quit standing about! Adney, sweep that hearth! And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it!"

As Arthur departed, he heard the male elf mutter "Miserable old bat!". "Old bat, am I!" he heard Nan snap, and Arthur quickened his pace before he could hear the rest of Nan's terse reply.


	4. Chapter 3: Darling Boy & Sweet Iona

Arthur quickly headed back the way he'd come, leaving the kitchens and heading towards the stone ramp that led to the upper most part of Castle Cousland; the opulent family quarters. As he took the right from the kitchens and headed up, he saw his path blocked by a quartet of people: two finely dressed, stately-looking older women with grey hair clad in clothing of the finest cut, made by a master tailor, a young man with short red hair wearing a fine yellow shirt and red britches, and a lovely-looking girl clad in what looked to be a maid's attire, made of white-gold cloth. _'Well, after that escapade in the kitchens, Father won't mind another little delay..._' his mind, spurred on by his roving eye, reasoned. Spurred on, Arthur headed up the slope towards the group.

As he approached, he heard the woman to his left talking in her pleasant, wonderfully familiar voice, her greying hair pulled back in two buns at the back of her head, her bright face smiling pleasantly as she spoke to her guests, pointing at the elegant purple silk dress she was wearing "And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year. The Marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king!" she finished, her anecdote drawing a laugh from her listeners. As she looked round, the woman saw him approaching, and her smile only widened.

While many of the nobility of Ferelden said Arthur resembled his father, he'd inherited his mother's wide blue eyes. Though nearing her fiftieth year, she was still a handsome woman, and from the hardness he could see in her eyes, Arthur had no trouble in believing the stories he'd heard that she'd fought side by side with his father during the rebellion against the Orlesians. They ever still saw her on the practice field sometimes, practicing her archery, but rarely...her duties as a teyrna often kept her busy. She favoured him with a smile as he approached and said to her companions "Ah, here's my younger son". She nodded to Edward, who having seen his master stop, was sitting down. Even sat on his haunches, the dog came up to Arthur's waist. His mother glowered at the mutt and remarked "I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound that the situation in the kitchens is handled?"

"Yes, Mother" Arthur answered. "Nan's back to work as we speak". His mother nodded approvingly "You've always had a way with her" and then directed his gaze towards her companions. "Darling, you remember Lady Landra, don't you?"

Arthur looked at the tired looking woman stood to the right of his mother; her face was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Her long grey hair hung limply about her tired looking face. Her eyes looked a little glassy and he could smell the wine on her breath as she curtsied and said "I think we last met at your mother's spring salon, your Lordship?"

'_Ah yes'_. Now he remembered her. Lady Landra, the wife of that half-wit boor, Bann Loren. He also quite vividly remembered the last time they'd met; at that ghastly soiree his mother had held earlier that year, hiding in a corner, trying to evade the attention of what seemed like every damned noblewoman in Ferelden high society trying to persuade him to consider marrying their daughters. He'd sat on a divan next to Lady Landra purely because there was nowhere else to sit, and then had to endure the rest of the night with her pawing him incessantly, running her hands up his thigh and her inability to accept that 'No means NO!'.

'_Still, I can hardly say that!_' he knew. Plastering the same false smile and honeying his voice with the same pleasant welcome he'd favoured Howe with, Arthur gave a full bow and said "Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady". Landra, however, seemed to be thinking the same thing and laughed "You're too kind, my dear boy! Didn't I spend the whole evening shamelessly flirting with you?"

"Right in front of your family, too!" the young man to Landra's left muttered embarrassedly. Landra gestured to the man and said "You remember my son, Dairren? I believe you sparred in the last tourney?"

"And you beat me handily, as I recalled" Dairren grinned self-deprecatingly and held out a hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again, my lord". Arthur took the hand and shook it firmly, smiling in greeting. "And you. And you're being too modest; you fought well". That was stretching the truth a little- as Arthur remembered, Dairren had been out cold for fifteen minutes after their sparring match- but there was no harm in complimenting him. Despite his skill with the blade, Arthur still favoured his silver tongue as his weapon of choice.

"And this" Landra continued, indicating the last of their guests "is my lady-in-waiting, Iona". Arthur looked and was immediately taken with what he saw. The woman's high cheekbones and wide eyes immediately marked her as an elf, even if he couldn't see her ears. Her eyes were a vivid blue and were looking at him with respect and-he couldn't tell-interest? Her long hair was blonde, so pale it was almost white, and she was clad in a fine maid's dress of white cloth, studded at the neck with a number of precious stones. The dress she wore bared her pale shoulders and accentuated her curves. Suppressing a thought about how he'd like to divest her of it, Arthur smiled softly and bowed low to the girl. "Do say something, dear" Lady Landra chided her maid. The elf blushed a little and curtsied, saying "It is a great honour, my lord. I have heard many wonderful things about you!"

'_Andraste's ass, please let it be good_!' Arthur mentally pleaded, praying that the elf maid hadn't heard that damnable rumour he'd bedded every maid in Highever Castle. Not for the first time, he mentally swore to find and throttle whoever started that damn story; it was perfectly fine when the only ones hearing it were a bunch of fellows in a city tavern, drinking, playing cards and telling tall tales, but it made it exceptionally difficult to flirt with a pretty young woman if she'd heard the rumour, since it ended with a tendency for to get annoyed and fling something at his head if she believed he didn't think her special, merely another notch on a heavily worn bedpost. His musings were interrupted by the sound of Landra tittering and turning to his mother "Don't look now, Eleanor, but I think the girl has a crush on your lad!"

"Lady Landra!" Iona protested at the teasing, her already red face blushing further. Eleanor came to the elf's rescue, slapping Landra lightly on the arm. "Hush, Landra. You'll turn the poor thing scarlet!"

"I can handle my own affairs, thank you, Mother" Arthur protested, but Eleanor turned a stern eye on him; no doubt, she'd seen the signs of his roving eye. "All evidence to the contrary" she replied. Landra smiled and then said to his mother "I think I shall retire for now, my dear. Dairren, I will see you and Iona at dinner". Her son nodded and motioned to the elf maid "I think we shall retire to the study for now" and he and Iona departed down the ramp and took a right, heading in the direction of the library. Lady Landra bowed to Arthur, murmured a good evening to him and headed, somewhat unsteadily, in the direction of the guest quarters upstairs. His mother waited until they were gone and walked over to him. "You _should_ say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance, darling"

"Do you know where Fergus is?" Arthur asked. His mother nodded upstairs and answered "Probably upstairs with Oriana. You should speak him to him soon, before you pursue...other things" she archly remarked, Arthur noticing her looking at Iona's rapidly retreating back. Ignoring the barb, Arthur decided to change the subject. "Why am I not to go with Father and Fergus?" His mother's easy smile evaporated, becoming a serious grimace.

"I know it's hard to remain here and watch others ride off without us, but our family has always done our duty first, you understand?"

Arthur nodded, but pressed on anyway. "I could make a difference!" he insisted, but his mother would hear none of it. "It's in the Maker's hands now, and we must make the best of it". Arthur sighed in defeat. '_Father was right; this is no debate!_'. Abandoning it for a lost cause-for the moment- he relented and again changed the subject. "Are you staying at the castle?" he enquired. Eleanor nodded and answered "For a few days, then I'll leave with Lady Landra to her estate and stay with her for a short while. Your father thinks my presence here might undermine your authority" she finished, an edge in her voice as though she were amused at the thought.

Arthur felt no such levity, only dread. '_They're all leaving me here by myself! They'll come back from Ostagar to find this placed burned to the ground_!'. But he said nothing, merely nodded and said curtly "As you wish"; he knew begging his mother to stay wouldn't work and only demean himself. Eleanor gave him a soft smile and said "Good, I was worried being in charge for the first time would unnerve you. I needn't have worried" she finished approvingly.

Wanting to get away from these murky waters before he either collapsed from terror and started getting emotional at his mother's approval, Arthur again thought for a change of subject. His mind cast around for a subject, and eventually landed on Duncan. "Mother, did you know there's a Grey Warden here?"

"Yes, I heard" Eleanor nodded. Her eyes hardened, and her eyes looked at him with hawk-like scrutiny. "You haven't got it into your head you want to be recruited?". Arthur felt something harden in him and when he answered, it was in a firm, confident tone that he imagined the likes of Garahel, Maric and all the other heroes of legend had spoken in to inspire all of the truth in their words. "The darkspawn have returned, Mother. The Grey Wardens are needed"

Sadly, it seemed his charms were wasted on his mother. "There will be enough to occupy you here, Arthur Cousland! I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother!" she bluntly answered, the iron tone in her voice as capable of turning his guts to water now as it had been when she'd chastised him as a boy of five caught stealing apples, or as a youth of sixteen caught in a compromising position with two of the serving girls, all three of them in a state of undress. Conceding defeat, Arthur nodded and sighed; he had to admit there was truth in his mother's words; he was going to have plenty on his plate, without wanting to run off hunting monsters. "If you'll excuse me, mother, I should go and see Fergus". Eleanor nodded, and then did something that caught him completely offguard: she threw her arms wide and openly hugged her younger son, pulling him close to her. "I love you, my dear boy. You know that, don't you?"

A little surprised, all Arthur could think of in reply was "I'm hardly a boy any longer". Eleanor gave a soft smile and loosed her grip a little, and Arthur was surprised to see tears of pride in her eyes. "Indeed. I turn around, and here you are; a fine young man in your own right". She smiled softly and released him, finishing "But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Go, do what you must. I shall see you soon" and with that, his mother turned away and headed up towards her own chamber. Arthur watched her go, whispering "I love you too, mother" under his breath, and then turned around. He would see Fergus, but there was something he wanted to do first.

At the bottom of the ramp, he turned right and headed in the direction of the library. The library was a large, wide room, lined on all sides with great wooden shelves literally creaking under the weight of thousands of invaluable books. To one side of the room, he could see his old tutor, the venerable sage Aldous, a man well into his seventies, but still as strict and hard a disciplinarian as ever, tutoring two young boys about ten or eleven years old. The old tutor waved him over but Arthur shook his head; any other time, he'd be quite happy to help his old schoolmaster instruct his youthful charges in whatever subjects he was attempting to enlighten them on, but not now; at the moment, he was more interested in the vibrant potential of the future, rather than the dusty remnants of the past.

He found what he was looking for; the door to his left, leading to his father's study. He gently pushed open the door and stepped inside. An elegant mahogany desk stood in the centre of the room, with a few books lying atop it; some still open on the pages his father had left them on. Arthur knew that this place had originally belonged to his grandfather, and now his father, serving as their office from where they managed the business of Highever, or more likely, as a sanctuary when that business got too much. Arthur suspected that in the next few weeks, he'd be seeking a lot of refuge in here.

He bumped into Dairren inside ;they exchanged a few pleasantries about books and wishing each other luck with their respective challenges, before Arthur looked and saw, crouched by a bookcase in a right corner of the room, the person he was really after. She had her back to him, and he walked over towards her, trying to be as silent as possible, so as not to scare her by creeping up behind, but Edward, ever excitable, bounded over and almost collided with the petite girl, knocking into her back with his extended snout. The bump caused the elf to turn around, and she smiled as she realised what had caused that. Her smile hit a part of Arthur he thought he'd buried long ago; it raised memories both pleasant and heart-wrenching.

"Greetings once again, my lord" she smiled sweetly, curtseying as Arthur bowed to her in turn. She put out a hand to Edward, who licked it enthusiastically, encouraging the girl to scratch his ears. "This is a wonderful dog" she mused "He seems very noble and intelligent" eliciting a happy bark from the mabari. "Is there something you wished of me, my lord?"

Trusting to his charm, even though his throat was suddenly dry, Arthur calmly said "You're very pretty, if I may say so". Iona blushed and smiled softly. "My lord is very kind. Thank you". Arthur pressed on, looking thoughtfully at her "I must admit, I haven't seen many elven ladies in waiting"

Iona nodded and said "Lady Landra has been very good to me; I am lucky" She looked around conspiratorially and continued, in a much softer voice "If I may, your mother has no ladies in waiting herself. Is that unusual for a noblewoman of her rank?"

Arthur dropped his voice to the pitch of hers, looked over his shoulder to ensure Dairren wasn't listening and whispered, with a sly smile on his lips "If she found a maid like you, I might encourage her". Iona only reddened further. "You are very kind" she demurely said in answer. "I am no one special. You make me blush"

"In all honesty" Arthur continued, speaking truthfully this time "I don't think she's ever desired one. She doesn't like to be fussed over". Iona nodded understandingly at this "That is a very Ferelden attitude I think, to be so self-sufficient".

"How did you come to know Lady Landra?"

"My family has been in service for many years" Iona explained. "Lady Landra has elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty" At this, a worried edge entered her voice and her eyes seemed uncertain. "I only hope this position will pass to my daughter"

"You have a daughter?" Arthur asked, intrigued. Iona looked a little chagrined and murmured "Forgive me, I shouldn't have mentioned her" to the floor. Arthur lifted her chin up and gave her a soft smile. "It's quite alright" he assured her. "Any mother has a right to be proud of her children...I know mine is".

Encouraged by this, Iona spoke up "Her name is Amethyne. Her father...died of a wasting sickness two years ago".

"I'm sorry" Arthur said. "You speak of your daughter fondly"

"Amethyne is my life. You will understand when you have children. This is why your mother keeps you from the coming battle" an edge in her voice telling Arthur just how much she valued her daughter, and how well she thought of his mother for her own such judgement. Another pang struck Arthur, as he was reminded of another mother he'd known...

Seeking to get away from such dark thoughts, Arthur gave Iona a wry grin and slyly whispered "I bet she has your beautiful eyes..."

Iona giggled a little at this. "She..._does_. People say she looks a great deal like me. I am the only one to see her father in her..."

"But surely, every parent wishes their children to do well. You don't hope for more for your daughter?" Arthur enquired, curious at the thought.

"I...have risen very high for my people. I would not tempt fate by wishing more" Iona answered, an uncertain look in her eyes. Arthur nodded at this logic and concluded "It sounds like Lady Landra has been good to you". Iona nodded and elucidated "Lady Landra is good to her elven servants. That is not true in many households, but I hear it is true in yours. It speaks well of your father to show such compassion".

Arthur nodded "Many nobles challenge my father's view of equality for the elves, but not I. I respect him for it; moments in my life have proven the valuable contributions elves have made, and will, make to Thedas. If it were up to me, I'd tear down the walls of every alienage, scrap all those outrageous laws that restrict your people and make using the term 'knife-ears' a punishable offence. Your people have contributed so much to this kingdom; it is shameful the way they are treated. I would see it changed!" As he finished, he saw Iona's sapphire eyes almost overflowing with respect for him, and what was more, every word he had sent to the girl, he meant it.

Feeling he'd given away a good deal of himself, he turned back to the girl and smiled. "Tell me about yourself, please". Iona looked quite surprised that the son of so important a human lord would show such great interest in her, but she recovered and said "I am an open book, my lord. What would you like to know?"

"Where were you born?"

"Lady Landra's mansion is not half as large as your castle, so my family lives in the Alienage". Now he understood why her respect had emerged: she was from an alienage, she knew precisely what hardships her people endured. "Do you..._enjoy_...living there?" he asked, immediately regretting asking a stupid question. His unease must have shown on his face, because Iona giggled a little and answered calmly "There, we do not stand out so much. In an alienage, my daughter learns what it is to be elven...as much as possible. So much of our history has been lost..." she finished regretfully, and Arthur empathised with her. '_How terrible it must be, to lose everything that makes your people who they are. They deserve so much better than that...'_

Trying not to sully their conversation with anger, he casually asked "Is there anyone special back home?" The elf girl looked surprised at this, but shook her head "No longer. I have no time for such things"

"Surely you jest" Arthur chuckled "Someone as beautiful as you?" Iona's eyes went wide as she took in the compliment-'She's clearly never had anyone like me talk to her like this before-, but she giggle and blushed all the same. "You flatter me, my lord. I am not so pretty that suitors are lining up if that's what you mean". Arthur laughed and replied "I find that hard to believe, but perhaps you could tell me more later, as I think we should get to know each other better, Lady Iona"

"Aren't we doing just that?" Iona enquired, a little uncertain. "What more did you have in mind?". Arthur approached the elf maid, bent down to her ear and whispered "Something more..._intimate_, later on, in my room?". As he pulled back, he favoured her with a wink and his most charming smile. He leant back against the study wall, his hands loose at his side, a move he knew had a winning effect on most girls.

Iona's eyes widened, but a small smile crinkled the edge of her lips. "I...I see. I think I might _like_ that" This time, she came over to him, running a hand along his cheek as she pressed her lips to his right ear and whispered "If I come to your door when everyone is asleep...would that be agreeable, my lord?"

"Please...call me Arthur" he replied in answer. The elf's eyes brightened and her smile spanned from ear to ear almost. She kissed him on the right cheek and whispered "Until tonight, then". She picked up the book she'd been taking when Edward caught her attention and exited the study, pausing only at the door to blow him a kiss and mouth "I want you" at him as she departed. Arthur bowed as she left, then followed her out of the study, turning left out of the library and up towards the family quarter. He moved with such speed, it felt he was walking on air, not stone.

_'I'm really looking forward to tonight now'._


	5. Chapter 4: Family Meeting

At the top of the ramp leading to the family quarters, Arthur opened the heavy oaken door into the first of two sets of opulent bedrooms. The first door he passed led him through the guest quarters-from behind the door to his left, he could hear loud, extremely un-ladylike snoring-'_Probably Lady Landra'_ he thought as he passed, then went through the door in front of him into the next door, into his family's private quarters.

Three doors greeted him; the one to his left was his own room, but he'd no reason to go in...yet. The door directly ahead led to his parents' room, but he had no need to go in there. Even if he did, the door was heavily locked and bolted; his father and mother took no chances of an assassin getting in and killing them in their sleep. The door to his right was ajar, however, and he could hear voices coming from within; a man and a woman talking. He couldn't quite hear what was being said, but when a third, high voice piped up, Arthur knew he'd found what he was looking for.

As Arthur pushed the door further open, he heard the high voice say "Will you bring me back a sward?" Arthur recognised it as his infant nephew, Oren. He'd been born six years before, and Arthur had never seen his big brother so happy as when he'd cradled his newborn son in his arms for the first time.

As Arthur stepped inside, he saw his older brother Fergus, clad in a heavy suit of chainmail with a sword sheathed on his back, crouch down beside his son and ruffle his hair. Fergus had a good five years on him and more than a head in height. Unlike Arthur, who'd inherited his father's broad shoulders and frame, Fergus was more like his mother; tall and thin, though like his father and brother, Fergus's hair was dark brown and cut short like his father, and his eyes were those of his father's. He laughed as he ruffled his son's black hair, smiling "That's '_sword_', Oren. And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise"

"I wish victory was indeed so certain. My heart is...disquiet" Oriana, Fergus's young wife, dressed in a fine dress of rose-coloured silk chipped in fearfully. She was slightly younger than Fergus, but Arthur knew full well she loved him with all her heart. Her slightly accented voice betrayed her as being from Antiva, that mysterious desert nation of merchants and assassins. She was pretty, with mousy brown hair, bright green eyes, with a silver tongue to match his own and a friendly disposition. Arthur remembered when they'd first met, when her father, a prestigious merchant, had stopped at Highever for a time and she and Fergus had gotten to know each other. Arthur, who'd long been inseparable from his big brother and only thirteen at the time, was greatly put out that his big brother, his constant companion in his youthful mischief, was forsaking him purely for the company of a girl. But as time went on, and Fergus fell more in love with her and Oriana spent more time getting to know his family, Arthur began to appreciate the woman for the truly wonderful person she was.

When Fergus went down on one knee in the middle of the Midsummer Ball and asked Oriana to marry him, that same night Arthur had gone to her room and apologised for only realising then that in Fergus falling in love with her, he hadn't lost his brother; he'd gained a sister. Many of Ferelden's nobles with unmarried daughters had protested in outrage-such was their angry that anyone would have thought Fergus had said he was taking a horse to the marriage bed, or offered a marriage proposal to Dumat, instead of simply taking a foreign girl for a bride- but Fergus and Oriana hadn't cared, their families hadn't cared, and Arthur didn't care; in Oriana, Fergus had found the best friend he could ever have, a woman whom he loved and who loved him with every fibre of their beings, as well as being a sweet and friendly daughter and sister-in-law, and a truly wonderful mother. '_What does the rest matter?_'.

But in treating her like a sister, he took every opportunity to tease them about it. 'And today will be no exception!' he gleefully thought as he stepped inside. Fergus put a hand on his wife's arm "Now, don't frighten the boy, love. I'll be back before you know it" As the floorboards creaked, Fergus turned round and saw him. Cracking a smile, he turned back to his family and said "And here's my little brother to see me off! Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well!"

Sensing the sombre mood, Arthur decided to try levity to lighten the mood. There was no need to scare Oriana and Oren with fears about what was to come. "Let me know when you two are finished!"

Fergus laughed at this, and Oriana cracked a small smile. "HA! When there's a woman in your life, you'll understand"

Arthur gave a snort. "No fewer than three, thank you!". Upon turning sixteen, he'd put the arts of seduction he'd learned from watching Fergus flirt with Oriana to good use, as his brother knew; he was well aware of Arthur's ability to charm the knickers off every pretty girl in Highever. Some days, Arthur swore it was Fergus who'd started that damn rumour, just to piss him off on one of their few bad days.

Fergus chuckled at this. "_Bold_ words, little brother! I'm talking about a _real_ woman, not a turn in the straw!"

Oriana's eyes widened at this and she elbowed Fergus in the ribs, nodding to their son. "Fergus, language!". Oren's wide eyes had been going back and forth between his father, mother and uncle, his face not quite understanding what his elders were talking about. Turning to look at Arthur, he spoke up in his lisping child's voice "You like to play in the stable too, uncle? I like to hide in the hay!" he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Arthur had to suppress a laugh as he realised what his nephew thought he meant. "Oren, I only like to play in the hay when there's a pretty girl hiding in there for me to find!" At his nephew's clueless expression, he muttered "I'll explain when you're older..." trailing off as Oriana angrily puffed out her breast like a mother hen, looking sternly down at her son. "Don't you listen to this! If I catch you with your clothes full of straw again, I'll send you to Mother Mallol!"

"But Mama! She talks forever!" Oren protested, pouting. Fergus laughed at his son's deflated expression as Arthur decided to be serious and replied "I wish I could come with you". "As do I" Fergus agreed. "It's going to be tiring, killing all these darkspawn myself". Oriana's pretty face wrinkled in concern for both her husband and brother-in-law as she asked "Surely your father wouldn't place both his heirs in danger?"

"He isn't" Arthur said. "While my brother gets to ride into battle to save us all from the Blight, I have to sit here and deal with dull-as-manure politics!". Oriana smiled and said "Well, if you should need any help in the coming days, I would be glad to offer it". Arthur nodded in thanks and, putting one arm around Oriana's shoulders, gave her a brotherly hug. Turning back to face his brother, Arthur said "Do you really think the war will be over so soon?"

Fergus nodded "Word from the south is the battle has gone well so far. There's no real evidence this is a true Blight; just a large raid". Even so, the unspoken unease in Duncan's voice earlier made Arthur mutter " Be careful, bro" out of the corner of his mouth. Even if this was only a large attack to pillage and ravage by the darkspawn, rather than one of their hell-birthed crusades against life itself under one of the fallen gods, there was no sense in proceeding without caution. Oriana, having not heard this, looked at her husband hopefully. "Could that be true?"

"I'll see for myself soon enough. Pray for me, love, and I'll be home soon" Fergus answered her, then cupped his wife's face in his hands and their lips met. Arthur looked away, giving them privacy, but feeling a slight pang of jealousy and regret. The sight, and his early flirtation with Iona, reminded him that he hadn't had anything like what Fergus and Oriana shared in a long time. A part of him wondered if he ever would. Pushing down his unhappiness, he smiled and said "You'll be missed, brother"

Fergus sighed. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll freeze in the southern rain and be completely jealous of you all safe and warm" Oriana favoured her husband with an impish grin, wryly laughing "I am positively thrilled that you will be so miserable, husband!"

The thought of the southern battle and the darkspawn brought Duncan back into Arthur's mind: he was certain Fergus probably knew already, but if he didn't, he'd no doubt be angry no one thought to. "Do you know there's a Grey Warden in the castle?"

"Really!" Oren squeaked, his eyes lighting up with excitement, much as Arthur's had when he was his nephew's age and the subject of the Order had come up. "Was he riding a griffon!". "Hush, Oren" his mother chided him "Griffons only exist in stories now". Fergus smiled at his son and then turned back to his brother "I'd heard that . Did he say why he'd come?"

"He intends to test Ser Gilmore".

"Good for him! I hope he makes it!" his brother remarked. "Still, if I was a Grey Warden, I'd have my eye on you...not that Father would allow it!" Arthur suppressed again the pang of jealousy he felt at being denied the chance to at least consider falling in with the Grey Wardens, and with Fergus's remark, remembered the very reason why he'd intruded. "Oh, that reminds me. Father sent me with a message; he wants you to take the troops to Ostagar; he's staying behind to wait with that ferret, Howe. His men are delayed; I think he said something 'bout damaged levies; no doubt the money to repair it 'miraculously' vanished from Amaranthine's treasuries and reappeared in his pocket!" Arthur sneered.

Fergus sighed. "So the arl's men _are_ delayed! You'd think they were all walking backwards!" Fergus sighed again in exasperation, then kissed Oriana passionately again, bent down to Oren and kissed his son on the brow and then stood up and hugged Arthur. "Well, I'd better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!"

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave" an instantly recognisable baritone spoke from behind them. Arthur looked up and saw his mother and father standing at the door of Fergus's room, watching the scene between their children with parental pride and happiness. Eleanor and Bryce stepped into the room and walked over to their sons, daughter-in-law and grandson. Eleanor approached Fergus with open arms and pulled him into a close hug. "Be well, my son" she murmured, stroking her eldest child's hair. "I will pray for your safety every day you are gone".

"You could have delivered your message yourself" Arthur muttered a little petulantly, somewhat annoyed at having been reduced to little more than an errand boy. Bryce laughed and replied "And miss having both my children in one place before I leave! Not likely!". At this solemn family gathering, Oriana bowed her head, clasped her hands in prayer and intoned "The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands and fathers, and bring them back safely to us". It was a special, intense moment of peace and contemplation of family...

Which Fergus spoiled so magnificently by glibly joking in mock prayer "And bring us some wenches and ale while you're at it...for the men, of course!" he quickly added at the sight of his wife's scandalised expression. "Fergus!" she squawked, looking again like an angry mother hen. "You would say this _ in front_ of your mother!" Oriana snapped, gesturing at her mother-in-law's disapproving stare.

The serious moment was interrupted perfectly by Oren, who confusedly asked "What's a wench? Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well!" Arthur had to put a hand over his mouth to stop himself bursting out laughing at his nephew's innocent, hilarious comment, but all the family could see his shoulders shaking. "A wench, Oren" Bryce answered "is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern. Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale...!" he added in a quiet undertone, though not quiet enough to be unheard by his wife. "Bryce!" Eleanor laughingly scolded. "Maker's Breath, it's like living with a pack of small boys!"

Fergus finished laughing his head off and kissed his mother on the forehead. "I'll miss you, mother dear!" he said, turning to face his younger brother "You'll take good care of her while I'm away?"

"Mother can take care of herself" Arthur answered, shrugging his shoulders "Always has". Fergus nodded and chuckled "It's true! They should be sending _her_, not me! She'd scold those darkspawn back into the Deep Roads!" he joked, wincing as his mother slapped him in the ribs. "Well, I'm glad _you_ think this is funny!"

The conversation turned away as Eleanor, Oriana, Fergus and Bryce began to talk among themselves. Suddenly, Arthur felt a hand tugging at his belt. He looked down and saw Oren looking up at him with an impish grin. "Mama says you're going to be watching over us while Papa is gone. Is that true, uncle?"

Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. "I _really_ wish you wouldn't call me that". Oren giggled happily and said "But you're my uncle! What else could I call you, silly!" Oriana looked up and smiled understandingly "Your uncle no doubt thinks it makes him sound too old, Oren". Arthur nodded "Your mother has the right of it: I don't need 'uncle' to make this body feel any older!"

"But he is old!" Oren protested. "But not as old as you, Mama!". Arthur choked in mock outrage at this "You cheeky little...! Get him, Edward!". Oren was abruptly bowled over as a large brown shape charged into the room and the little boy found himself pinned down by the slobbering mabari. In battle, Arthur had seen Edward drag and pin grown men to the floor and then tear their throats out, but he had no concerns for his nephew's safety; the only danger Oren faced was being licked to death by the playful dog. After a few seconds, Arthur decided 'He's suffered enough!', and called Edward off. Oren got back to his feet, wiping the dog drool from his face, looking a little worse for wear, but grinning from ear to ear.

"Will you teach me to use a sword, uncle? Then I can fight evil too!" he asked, waving his arm as though he were cutting a path through a horde of demons with a sword. "Take that, dire bunny! All darkspawn, fear my Sword of Truthiness!"

"Maybe" Arthur replied "Ask your mother".

"I'm thinking..._no_!" Oriana replied quickly. Oren huffed in frustration "I _never_ get to do anything!" Arthur laughed at his nephew's expense, and then turned to see his father staring at him "You'll want to get an early night, pup. You've much to do tomorrow" Bryce stated. Fergus chuckled at this "Getting sent to bed early, are we?"

Arthur gave a wolfish grin. "I don't mind" he said as he walked up to his brother and embraced him "I have someone waiting for me!" he whispered in his big brother's ear. Fergus choked with laughter at this. "What! You sly dog!" he grinned, earning another elbow in the ribs from Oriana. "Fergus, _really_!" she pleaded, nodding at Oren; fortunately, the boy was too busy playing tug-of-war with Edward to notice his elders.

"It's the elven lass that arrived with Lady Landra, isn't it!" Fergus interrogated. "You've always had a soft spot for them, so don't you tell me it isn't!" Fergus laughed again. "Enjoy the long march south..." Arthur archly replied "in the _**cold**_!" Fergus winced at this "A warm bed doesn't sound too bad now, come to think of it!". He chuckled and then sighed, and the two brothers embraced in a crushing bear hug. "At any rate, I'll miss you, brother. Take care of everyone, and _be here_ when I get back!"

"Take care, and bring me back a darkspawn head" Arthur replied "It's probably the only way I'll see one of the bastards up close! And look after yourself; no getting yourself eaten by ogres or trodden on by the archdemon, you hear me!" Arthur released his brother and headed towards the door. He looked back and smiled at the peaceful scene. His mother and Oriana were talking softly. Fergus laughed as Oren, playing tug-of-war with an old, knotted sock, was all but dragged across the room by Edward, but his father was looking at his younger son with great scrutiny. Arthur went over to Bryce and looked his father in the eye.

"You should be on your way, pup; long day tomorrow!" his father remarked. For the first time, Arthur let a tinge of unease creep into his voice "I must speak with you, father. Are you sure you and Fergus will be alright?"

"Your brother and I go into battle, not an afternoon tea!" his father sighed. "Who knows what will happen to us? I will say this, however" Bryce said, and Arthur could hear the pride in his voice "You're my cherished son, I love you, and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name, if the worst should happen". Arthur felt tears well up in his eyes, that his father trusted him so deeply, so completely. "But don't worry about me, dear boy. You'll have plenty to keep you occupied while I'm gone".

Wiping his eyes dry, Arthur took a serious tone "Is it truly wise to send all our forces south?" Bryce nodded "When the king demands it. In fact, not sending our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea. Don't worry, pup" Bryce added placatingly at his son's unease "You shouldn't see many problems. But I want you to prepare the men...just in case".

"In case of _what_?" Arthur had to ask. Bryce gave a grimace at the question "You've read the stories, pup. Legends of the Blights tell of..._horrible _things. If we can't defeat these darkspawn, you must prepare for the worst". Arthur nodded, making a mental note to get up early in the next few days and spend some serious time on the practice field. "But come, let us not speak of such worrisome things. We shall assume that all will go well".

"Speaking of the Blight, about this Grey Warden..." Arthur began. Bryce gave a rueful smile and nodded understandingly "Ah, I was wondering how long this would take. Has he asked to recruit you?"

"No" Arthur replied, a little sullenly. "He has respected your wishes. I am simply curious".

"If it is truly a Blight in the south, then Grey Wardens will be needed. There is no higher calling. If more comes of it, we can discuss it when I get back. For now, just show him every courtesy. Duncan is a fine man, and a hero". His father finished. "I will, father, you have my word. Now, I suppose I shall go..." Arthur answered. He made to leave, but felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

"I know that you'll do me proud. You've grown into a fine man, that much is clear. And pup" he added, his voice a little hard "try to keep your nose clean? I know you've inherited my youthful wandering eye, as well as an appreciation for a pretty face, but I don't want to come back to find Highever's citizenry rioting because you've been dallying where you shouldn't! And do try to get some sleep, as hard as it might be to resist that girl's charms!"

Laughing to himself as he realised his father's meaning, Arthur departed from the room. He took one last look back at the truly wonderful family he'd been blessed to be born into, and prayed to the Maker that this vision of perfection in which he lived would stay forever so.


	6. Chapter 5: Love's Labours Lost

If the reviews and favourites I'm getting are anything to go on, you guys are clearly enjoying this, which for me, is truly great because it inspires me to keep going! For those of you who've played the Human Noble Origin, the tale gets very dark now, so I'll try to do my best to convey that sense across.

For now, we get a little 'fun' with Arthur and Iona, as well as a bit of a back story for Arthur that came to me really out of nowhere: it's not in the game, of course, but I think it's important to go into a bit of the background I imagined, since it will explain some facets of Arthur's personality; that deep down, under the skin of the easygoing fun-lover, he's a fellow with a lot of scars on his heart...which 'someone' has to heal (i think you can guess); hopefully, you'll enjoy it!

Thanks to **ethan** and** Ygrain33** for your truly great reviews (your compliments are really inspiring!) and to **ayzume**, **Forlin**, **Imperator Valentine** and everyone else who's read and appreciated my humble tale! If I've forgotten anyone, give a shout and I'll

Hopefully by today, we'll be out of Highever and onto Ostagar! Until next time, Season's Greetings, and **Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**.

Bioware owns everything but my embellishments

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Arthur took his leave then, whistling to Edward to follow, exiting Fergus's room and closing the door behind him. Instead of heading towards his room, he left the family quarters and headed first to the library, where he picked up the castle's copies of '**Dragons of Tevinter' **by Brother Timious and '**Tales of the Destruction of Thedas' **by Brother Genetivi, wanting to read up on the darkspawn so as to calm him a little; he could feel his heart racing in his chest and his hormones were raging. The anticipation he always felt from the thought of a night in the arms of a beautiful girl was greater than usual; he wanted to make this night special, and he knew _why_. With that in mind, he slipped off to the kitchens and purloined a bottle of Orlesian burgundy that Edward hadn't broken earlier, along with two glasses, and slipped off back to his room. As he headed back up the slope to his quarters, he bumped into Lady Landra and Iona in the passage; since they were in company, the pair couldn't say anything more than basic pleasantries, but the veritably smouldering look the elf's sapphire eyes said far more than any words could. It was a sight that both aroused Arthur's passions and brought a painful memory.

It was not the first time an elf had looked at him like that...

Clutching the books and the wine bottle to his chest, Arthur headed back to his quarters, removed the leather armour he'd worn most of the day in favour of a comfortable wool shirt and trousers, collapsed on the bed, opened up '**Dragons of Tevinter'** on the page he'd marked the last time he'd finished and tried to distract himself, but he felt his eyes begin to droop, and suddenly, he found himself dreaming...

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Many people assumed that Arthur was never going to settle down with a good woman; that he was content to merely bed anything with a pretty face and long legs, then slip away and move on to the next conquest. But that wasn't quite the truth. Arthur was more than happy to fall into as many beds as he liked, but he never truly opened his heart, never let any woman have his heart in the way his mother possessed his father's, or Oriana possessed Fergus's. He'd only ever done it once in his life and it had almost led to disaster. Four years had passed, and the scars still hadn't healed.

Her name had been Niamh. She'd been the daughter of one of Highever's servants, an elf who'd been manservant to his father; they'd been born in the same year and more or less grown up together. As children, they'd been inseparable, often sneaking away from their respective tasks to play with the other children, or make a general nuisance of themselves to the guards and castle staff trying to keep them out of trouble. Many people had disapproved of a teyrn's son spending as much time as possible with a servant girl ('and a knife-ear, at that!' many had sneered) but it had only made them do it more to annoy the critics. But as they'd gotten older, and turned from children into youths, Arthur had felt something change in his feelings for her. When your best friend transforms from a gangly girl into a beautiful young woman with a willowy figure, long hair like white gold, mesmerising green eyes, made all the more exotic by those long, pointed ears, it was hard not to. His new feelings had crystallised when they'd turned sixteen, and on the night of his birthday, Niamh had sneaked into his room and told him she wanted him to be the first.

That night had turned what had been a simple infatuation into what, he'd thought, was love. That night, they'd lain naked and entwined in each other's arms. Arthur had promised her it was something that would last always.

And then, less than three weeks later, that perfect vision had been destroyed.

Niamh had come to his room and told him that her family had arranged her marriage to another elf living in the Denerim Alienage. Arthur, horror-struck at the thought, had offered to take her elsewhere, to elope with her, to go anywhere where it was just the two of them. To his unease, she had grimaced and slipped out, saying she needed to think. The next night, she'd come back to find him throwing items into a pack, and at this, she'd sat down on his bed, took his hand and spoken seriously. Whatever they felt, she said, it couldn't go on. If they ran away, it would tear their worlds apart: the scandal caused by the son of so important a teyrn eloping with a servant girl would turn the House of Cousland into a laughing stock. His family would, no doubt, disown him, leaving him a pariah and she'd be lucky if she didn't end up with a price on her head. And even if they escaped, where would they go? she asked. Settle down in an alienage, where the elves and humans would look down their noses at both of them? Or hide out in the middle of nowhere, never knowing peace or respite. She loved him too much to make him suffer that, she said.

And Arthur, though he hated it, knew she was right; if they went through with it, it would destroy them both. Niamh had kissed him one last time, given him a final night of passion and then spent the night in his arms. When he woke the next morning, she was gone, likely already on the road to Denerim. That day was the first time Arthur had cried since he was seven.

That was why Arthur flirted with so many others, bedded others. Because deep down, part of him could pretend it was still her. Why he felt he'd never open his heart to some stuck-up, perfumed noble's brat, because it would never be the same as lying in the arms of a girl who saw not the son of a teyrn, not her passage to wealth and position but simply a good man, one worthy of respect and love.

And that was why he supported the elves, because his time with Niamh had shown what a miraculous contribution they made to people's lives. And as his musing was interrupted by a faint knock on the door, he thought '_And now, one's about to make another'_ amused. He remembered the honest, open look on Iona's face, and thought '_Maybe this is one who can start the healing...'_

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"My lord?" a soft female voice whispered through the door, followed by a gentle knock.

"_Arthur_?"

The youth leapt up from the bed and loped over to the door. He quickly pulled it open and a pale figure slipped inside. Edward, who'd been curled up at the foot of the bed, got up and walked over to the figure, who scratched the hound's ears. Arthur took a good look at the vision before him; Iona was dressed in a simple nightgown of white silk that looked divine on her. Her pale hair was hanging loosely about her pretty face and a soft smile was on her lips. She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, while Arthur reached for the bottle of burgundy and one of the glasses, managing to pour some of the vintage and holding the glass to the girl's lips. She took a sip and smiled, her lips dyed red by the wine.

"I think I will enjoy this" she whispered in his ear, and then she seized his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. It caught Arthur offguard, but he responded with enthusiasm. His hands ran through her long hair, down the back of her head and neck, to her shoulders. He pulled back slightly to give her a wolfish grin, hooking his fingers around the hem of the gown at her neck, and then tore it open. Iona gasped in shock as the cold night air caressed the bare skin of her chest, but the wry smile on her lips told him all he needed to know. In answer, she pressed herself against his chest, her weight pushing him back until they collapsed in a tangled heap on the bed. Iona pinned him to the bed, looking down at him with a cat-like gleam in her eye as she tore open his shirt and her long-fingered hands began to work their way down to her objective. Iona's hands gently began to unbutton the woollen trousers covering his legs, and as her lovely long fingers found what they sought, she playfully whispered "I heard tales that you were a master of all weapons, Arthur. Well, I want to see how well you wield _this_ one" she teased.

"Well, I'd be more than happy, sweet Iona, to show you how well honed my skills with that particular weapon are" Arthur grinned back. Iona's catlike grin spanned from ear to ear as she straddled his hips, placing his hands on her bare breasts. As she guided his weapon of choice between her legs, she groaned his name in ecstasy, and as their bodies intertwined, when he gasped hers back, he meant it for her, and not a past love. It was her he wanted, and she gave herself willingly.

It felt like Arthur had been asleep for only a moment, but he could see from the brilliant pale light streaming in from the small window above his bed that it was almost midnight, the full moon hanging bright overhead. He couldn't remember what had stirred him; it had sounded like a yelp from outside. Looking around, he could see Iona sound asleep and cuddled up next to him, the soft, warm weight of her pressing gently down on him, her head resting on his heart, rising and falling gently with his breathing, one pale arm draped across his chest, a soft smile on her lips. The next thing he noticed was Edward, stood up by the door, fur bristling, ears flat against his skull, growling angrily.

'What's gotten him so annoyed?' Arthur wondered. He gently eased his way out of Iona's embrace, taking pains not to wake her and pulled on the studded leather boots, cuirass and pauldrons. As he pulled on the leather gauntlets and wrapped his sword belt around his waist, he heard a strangled wail coming from outside and Edward angrily barked in answer. He heard a sleepy moan coming from behind him "What's happening?"

Arthur looked round to see a groggy Iona rubbing the sleep from her eyes, pulling the remains of her nightgown around her and getting to her feet. "Sorry, did I wake you?". "Not you. Your hound is making so much noise! He seems so angry!". At that moment, he heard a loud pounding from outside, and a sound that was unmistakably yelling. "Something is wrong, perhaps?" Arthur suggested. "Stay in bed, keep warm, I'll check it out" kissing her on the cheek and motioning her to go back.

Iona shook her head. "I'm going to see if there's someone in the hall". She walked forward and put her hand on the door knob and began to turn it...just as it was smashed down from the other side. Iona gave a shriek of horror as she fell back, but the damage hadn't been done by the door slamming into her petite form...it had been done by the arrow that the assailant had shot point blank into her chest.

"IONA, NO!"

Arthur roared in grief-stricken fury, moving to catch her as she fell, her bright blue eyes wide with pain, her slender hands-so dextrous and skilful-clawing at the dark-fletched shaft embedded just above her heart. He caught her before she hit the ground and gently lowered her to the floor, barely hearing the approach of the bastards who'd broken down the door and were now trying to get in to finish the job. Shock and grief threatened to overwhelm him, but as he saw her eyes roll up in her skull, her agonised grimace begin to fade away, replaced by a look of peace, heard her last words-"Amethyne..."-escape in little more than a whisper from those beautifully soft lips, that had been so affectionate, so tender, so lovely, that he felt the grief and the pain replaced by rage, rage at the bastards who broke into a man's house without warning, and killed an innocent, defenceless woman without provocation, and as Edward broke into a run, barking with rage at the interlopers, Arthur ripped his own sword free, and together, master and hound charged out to defend their home, howling for blood.


	7. Chapter 6: My World, Burnt to Ash

Arthur charged out of his blood-soaked room, roaring like a bull as he charged the two bastards responsible for the intrusion. He saw two men in leather armour, one armed with a sword and shield, the second aiming a shortbow directly at his head. Arthur aimed his course at the archer-'_You die first, elf-slayer_!'- but Edward got to him first. The dog struck the man like a bolt of lightning, slamming his front paws into the man's chest, the sudden weight knocking the thug to the floor and sending his bow skidding from his hand. Before the man could draw a blade to defend himself, the dog bit down, clamping its jaws over the man's face. The archer's agonised screams became wet, choking gurgles as the mabari's powerful jaws crushed his skull like a walnut.

The swordsman turned to stab the warhound in its flanks, but Arthur reacted quickly and, spinning on his heel, took the man's head. The bastard's head went bouncing across the floor and landed next to his parents' bedroom door. Arthur looked down at his attackers' corpses and saw one thing; amidst the blood and the damage, emblazoned on both men's breast was the emblem of a bear; the heraldry of Amaranthine.

'_Howe! Howe, you treacherous bastard! What the fuck are you playing at, you snake!'_ Suddenly, he heard the door behind him burst open; Arthur spun round, his sword raised, but to his great relief, he saw it was only his mother. She was no longer in the dress of Orlesian silk; instead, she was in thick leather armour with a longbow carved from the boughs of an elm tree strapped to her back with a full quiver of white-fletched arrows, engraved with carvings of warhounds along its length.

"Darling, are you alright?" she urgently blurted out. "I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you alright?"

"I was about to ask you the same question!" Arthur answered. A quick look answered his question: his mother was completely unhurt. "No darling, you stopped them before they could get through the door" She gestured to the butchered corpses littering the floor. "Did you see their shields? Those were Howe's men! Why would they attack us!"

"Maybe you'd like to find Howe and ask him..." Arthur dryly replied. Eleanor scowled and answered "If Howe is behind this, I'll slit his lying throat myself!" Her stately, lovely face contorted in an enraged growl, and then became fearful as she looked at her younger son earnestly. "Have you see your father? He never came to bed!". Arthur shook his head "No, I haven't. I was..." he couldn't bring himself to finish. "Maybe he stayed up with Howe" he worriedly confessed.

Eleanor's eyes went wide. "We must find him!". In the uneasy silence, he could hear the clash of metal on metal and cries of anger. "Sounds like the battle's downstairs. Can you still handle a weapon?"

"I'm no Orlesian wallflower!" Eleanor bristled, gesturing to the bow on her back. "Give me a sword and I'll use it!" Arthur bent down to the body of the swordsman and tossed it to his mother, as well as taking the dead man's shield. "Mother, grab father's things from his trunk. I'll grab my things!" Arthur stepped back into his room and hurled open a small wooden chest to the right, pulling out a spare knife, two dozen arrows and his own bow, and a number of bandages, poultices and tinctures in case of injury. As he pulled out the contents and closed down the lid, he looked away...and saw Iona's lifeless body, her brilliant blue eyes staring emptily at him, one pale arm pointing at him, as though in death, she were trying to reach him. Arthur fought back a sob; she'd deserved better than this. If she hadn't opened the door first, it would have been him-him who'd taken the fatal shaft in the chest, him who'd fallen with his life's blood spilling down his front.

Acting on an impulse, Arthur gently picked Iona up-she was so light- and laid her on the bed. With a gentle touch of his fingers, he closed her eyes and wiped away the blood from her body. With the peaceful look on her face, she could just have been sleeping. Arthur kissed those soft lips one last time and whispered "I am so sorry. You saved my life, and now I can never repay you for that kindness, but I promise I will avenge it tenfold! And I swear, I will find your daughter, and I will ensure she is safe. May the Maker take you into his arms, sweet Iona". As he stepped back, he wasn't surprised to feel tears in his eyes. His mother was stood outside, and as Arthur stepped out of his room and closed the door on the poor girl lying serenely inside, she put a comforting arm on his shoulder.

As he exited the room, he looked ahead, and saw the door to his brother's room was ajar again. "Oriana...Oren!" he cursed and raced across the hall and smashed the door open with his foot. What he saw inside would be forever burned into his mind.

One of Howe's hatchet men lay on his back, his hands closed in vain around the hilt of a stiletto driven into his neck at the gap between mail jacket and helm. It was a blade of Antivan make, studded along the handle with topaz and pearl. It was Oriana's misericorde, a weapon she'd been given by Fergus so as to defend herself in times of need.

'_Oriana...!'_ And then Arthur saw her, lying on her back in a pool of her own blood, dressed in a pink silk nightgown that was now crimson. He could see two deep wounds in Oriana's chest-still fresh, if the blood still pumping raggedly from it was anything to go on. He thought that the sight of watching Iona die before his eyes and now seeing his sister-in-law's brutalised body was the worst atrocity, but then he looked around the room and saw in the far left corner, a misshapen form, limbs twisted at impossible angles. Arthur moved closer and with a jolt of horror, saw a tangled mess of dark hair and wide bright eyes...

"NOOOOO!" Arthur screamed in horror as he ran over to the broken form of his nephew and fell to his knees beside the corpse. Oren had suffered terribly; his left leg was broken at the knee, his arms and little chest had been hacked open to the bone in places by what could have only been an axe, and a look of utter terror contorted his small features. Arthur openly wept as he cradled his nephew's body in his arms. _'Poor mite. What must he have suffered...! He was a child! He's never done anything to deserve this!'_

He heard a strangled sob behind him, and turned to see his mother holding Oriana's head, gently stroking her daughter-in-law's hair and openly weeping. She gently closed Oriana's eyes and looked at her son, only then seeing what he was holding in his arms. "NO!" Eleanor Cousland shrieked like a banshee, wracking sobs of grief shaking her whole body. "My little Oren...what manner of fiend slaughters innocents!" she wailed, cradling her grandson's mangled body.

Arthur felt the grief coalescing into fury "I will make them pay...!" he snarled through gritted teeth, fingering the hilt of his sword and imagining the scream of agony he would gain from plunging it into Howe's shrivelled black heart. '_I'm coming for you, you bastard! Every life you've taken here tonight will be avenged ten-fold! And Maker help anyone who gets between me and you!'_

"Howe is not even taking hostages! He means to kill all of us!" Eleanor wept, hugging Oren to her chest. "Oh, poor Fergus! Let's go; I don't want to see this!" Eleanor got to her feet, gently lowering Oren to the floor, but Arthur took his nephew in his arms and carried him over to the bed in the corner of the room. Lying Oren on the bed, he lifted Oriana into his arms and laid her beside her son. Gently closing their eyes, Arthur kissed both on the brow and whispered "Now, they are together. Always. Goodbye, Oriana; in you, I found the sister I never had. And you, Oren, you were the best nephew an uncle could ask for. May the Maker take you into his arms". Arthur guided his weeping mother out of the door and gently closed it behind him, leaving behind yet more bodies of those he held dear.

He and his mother quickly raced out of the family quarters and into the hall of the guest quarters. A quartet of thugs were there, but Arthur leapt to the attack and gutted the first attacker, then ran a second through with his blade. Eleanor took down the third with a well-placed arrow that hit the man in the right eye and punched through the back of his skull, and Edward finished the forth, pinning the man under him and tearing his throat out. They briefly looked into the guest quarters, and found Lady Landra lying on her back on her bed, her throat cut so deeply her head had almost been severed. His mother broke into fresh sobs, tearfully blaming herself for bringing Landra to her death, and Arthur felt a pang of regret. '_I didn't care for her, but_ no-one _deserves this...!_'. Arthur pulled his mother away and the pair fled from the family quarters.

Arthur burst through the door to the slope down to the rest of the castle, and choked on the smell of smoke and blood. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of battle; swords clanging, men shrieking and yelling, and anguished cries of shock and terror as other of the castle's occupants awoke to find the nightmare they were now in. As they approached the bottom of the ramp, his mother pulled him to one side and said "Can you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere!"

Arthur seethed with anger. Images flashed through his mind: Iona lying on her back with an arrow in her chest, her daughter's name on her dying lips, Oriana and Oren lying butchered like sheep in their chambers, Landra with her head nearly cut from her neck... '_And Maker alone knows what else these fucking savages have done!'. _The youth fingered the hilt of his sword and snarled "Then we take the fight to them!"

"Don't be foolish!" his mother chided. "You would throw your life away! We must get to the front gates; that is where your father must be!"

"Then we're just going to let that bastard get away with this! We can't just let Howe win!" Arthur protested.

"Listen darling, we haven't much time" Eleanor cut across her vengeful son. "If we can't find your father, _**you**_ must get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here!" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she spoke "If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle" Eleanor then clicked her fingers "We must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape, do you hear me?"

Arthur angrily snarled "I-WANT-HOWE-_**DEAD**_!" Eleanor fixed him with a serious, calm stare and answered "Then survive...and visit vengeance upon him!". Arthur growled in frustration but reluctantly forced himself to accept that his mother was right. Staying and fighting would only end in death; no matter how brave and skilled he fought, there would be no way he could fight his way through an entire army to take Howe's head. This night was lost, but Arthur swore there would be another, where the odds would be in his favour, and that night would be his. '_The patient hunter gets the prey' _Arthur thought, remembering one of the bits of wisdom his old tutor had taught him. '_We will have our reckoning, Howe. Not tonight, but one day, you will be called to account for this!'_

Arthur and Eleanor sprinted down the rest of the slope and nearly ran straight into a fleeing servant. The servant- a man of about thirty, with thin brown hair- was dressed in tattered night clothes and wielding a blood-stained carving knife. He raised his knife with a snarl as they approached, but then lowered it when he saw who was approaching, and Arthur saw the terror in the man's eyes; he'd fought for his life already.

"What's going on, man!" Arthur asked.

"The castle has fallen! I'm getting out of here!" the man blurted, but Arthur seized the man by the shoulders "Don't be a coward, man! Stand with us! Howe's men will butcher anyone in their path; you stay with us, the better your chances of getting out alive are!" The fear in the man's eyes began to recede as the truth of Arthur's words permeated his skull; he nodded and raised his weapon.

"Yes, my lord! I am your bondsman, and I will obey! Lead on". Suddenly, they heard the tramp of armoured footsteps coming closer. " HERE THEY COME!" the man shouted, pointing behind him.

Arthur looked up and saw a crowd of Howe thugs come racing towards them from the right, howling their battle cries with their blades raised high. Arthur answered with one of his own and hurled himself into the fray, lashing out with the sword, blocking blades and arrows the enemy aimed his way with the shield, or alternatively slamming his shield into the faces or chests of an enemy and then finishing off the stricken foe before they could recover to fight back. Eleanor and Edward contributed, either killing foes outright with their arrows, fangs and claws They fought their way to the great hall, fighting to assist the guards in the library (Arthur felt another pang as they found the body of old Aldous), the chapel and the passage leading to the treasury, helping the guards to fight off their attackers long enough for the valiant garrison of Castle Cousland to make a fighting retreat to the great hall.

The fight at the treasury was among the hardest, for a trio of archers let loose mabaris of their own-three of the beasts- at them. Eleanor aimed at the archers while the others faced the hounds. Arthur blocked the scrabbling claws of a black-furred war dog with his shield and then slammed the dog to the floor, stabbing his sword through its neck before it could recover. Edward slammed into another of the dogs and the two hounds went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and snapping teeth, while the third dog leapt at the serving man; however, he leapt aside and Arthur gutted the beast in mid-leap. By the time, he'd seen his mother's deadly accurate archery had dealt with their human foes, and that Edward was victorious; the dog licked his master's hand as Arthur saw Edward's canine foe lying on its back with its throat torn out.

At the treasury, Eleanor gave Arthur her key and told him to empty the vault; she flatly refused to let the finest treasures of the Cousland family be besmirched by Howe, and Arthur greatly agreed with her. Arthur quickly worked, filling his own pack with bronze and silver coins and gold sovereigns from the treasury chests, and trying to decide which of the valuable treasures held within was most important to save. But the decision was made for him when Eleanor approached him, holding in her arms a kite shield of silvery metal, marked with the laurel emblem and a magnificent silver sword, wrapped in a black, gold-bound scabbard and its pommel marked on one side with Highever' s emblem and the Cousland family crest on the other.

"The Shield of Highever, and the Cousland family sword" his mother said. "These are the most prized relics of our family" Arthur nodded: he had heard the history of these truly miraculous objects: the Shield of Highever, a prized possession of his great-grandfather Ardal Cousland, who died bravely fighting the Orlesians as their armies began their invasion of Ferelden, and the Cousland family sword, a relic from the time of King Calenhad, the Silver Knight himself, nearly four centuries past. Arthur cast aside his own sword, bent and damaged, and the wooden shield, unwilling to carry anything bearing the traitor's foul insignia any longer, belting the Cousland sword to his waist and taking the shield on his arm. "I never dreamed I would be worthy to wield such honoured items, tangible evidence of our family's glory! I will not dishonour them!"

Eleanor nodded approvingly and answered "I know you won't. Above all else, that sword cannot fall into Howe's hands: it must sever his treacherous skull!" Arthur nodded in agreement and drew the sword, its silvery blade gleaming in the torchlight. He imagined Howe's blood staining the silver, and drew comfort from it. _This_ was the weapon with which he would avenge Iona, Oren, Oriana, Landra and however many others who'd perished this night. With their task done, the group exited the treasury for, what Arthur feared might well be the last time. They raced from the treasury corridor and burst into the great hall through a side door.

The scene that greeted them as they raced in was one of pure carnage. Ser Gilmore and half a dozen of the Highever garrison were fighting for their lives against nine men of Howe's army. No, ten; Arthur had just noticed the white haired woman at the back of the group, clad in sky-blue robes and holding a staff of white wood. Arthur recognised the sigil on her robes as the mark of the Circle of Magi; _'No doubt a mercenary Howe's hired to assist! What did he promise the Circle for their help_!' Such matters vanished from Arthur's mind as he realised the witch's reasons for being there were unimportant; what was important was to kill her before her spells decimated them all.

Arthur took charge of the situation "Ser Gilmore, drive these wretches back! Mother, cover us! Edward, KILL! Leave the mage bitch to me!" The mage's head snapped up as she heard his shouts and she glared at the young Cousland. She extended her hand and Arthur saw electricity crackling in the palm of her hand. Knowing a spell when he saw one, Arthur leapt aside as a bolt of brilliant lightning tore through the space where he'd been seconds before. As the mage staggered, clutching her head, trying to gather her power for another attack, Arthur leapt at her and smashed the Shield of Highever in her face. The woman fell back on her arse, groaning, and Arthur pressed the attack; as the woman began to get to her feet, hoarfrost forming at her fingertips as she prepared another spell, her staff aimed at him with a spear, Arthur lashed out with a high slash. The frost evaporated as two heads fell to the floor; the head of the witch's staff hit the floor, cleanly severed halfway along the length, followed abruptly by her own. Arthur seized the witch's head as it bounced along the floor.

The witch's death galvanised the men of Highever as, free from the threat of magical onslaught, they fell upon the foe. The Howe thugs were swiftly slaughtered and in the aftermath of the skirmish, Arthur collapsed to the floor, exhausted beyond measure. However, a strong arm pulled him up and Arthur found himself being dragged to his feet by one of the garrison soldiers. Arthur knew the man was right; he couldn't afford to rest now, there was still too much to do.

"Go!" he heard Ser Gilmore bellow to the few men he had left "Man the gates! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!" Arthur watched as three of the men raced to the great hall's door and began to pile chairs, tables and other objects, even their own bodies in an effort to barricade it. As Arthur watched, he heard a loud crash against the door from outside. 'Battering ram' he instinctively knew.

"Your Ladyship! My lord!" Ser Gilmore blurted, his sweat-streaked face set in an expression of relief. "Thank the Maker you're alive; I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"They _did_ get through!" Arthur snapped. Eleanor nodded at this, tears forming in her eyes. "They killed Oriana...and Oren...I can't believe...!" She put a hand to her eyes, wiping away the tears, and her voice hardened "re you alright?"

"When I realised what was happening, it was all I could do to get the gates closed! But they won't keep Howe's men out for long! If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

"Where is my father!" Arthur demanded of the captain. "We need to find him!". Ser Gilmore looked uneasy as he answered "When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded. I urged him not to go, but he insisted on finding you! He went towards the kitchens; I think he thought to find you at the servants' exit in the larder!"

His mother nodded and gave Ser Gilmore a brief embrace "Bless you, Ser Gilmore! Maker watch over you!"

Gilmore nodded as he shook Arthur's hand briskly and drew his sword "Maker watch over us all!" he replied as he turned and ran towards the gate to help his men. His mother ran towards the side door out of the hall to his right leading to the kitchen. Arthur followed her, and as he followed her out, took one last look at Ser Gilmore and the brave soldiers of the garrison, crowded by the door, willing to valiantly give their lives so their lords and lady could escape, and he vowed that he would not forget it. '_Your bravery and your sacrifice will not be forgotten. You will be remembered, and you will be avenged, I swear it_!

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Arthur, Eleanor, Edward and the group of guards, servants and other staff they'd managed to save from death, racing from the passage towards the kitchens. Arthur's vile anger was threatening to overwhelm him: he wanted to go back and fight to the end, and if he died, so be it, so long as he could split Howe's skull before falling, it would be worth it. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that so many had and were giving their lives for him to get to safety; it would be a grave insult to make their sacrifice for nothing. He knew it was the truth, but it didn't stop him from feeling angry with himself.

A piteous scream came from the servant quarters cut through his mind and he raced over to the door and opened it. What he found only enraged him further: two of Howe's butchers had an elven maid pinned down to a dresser, one man holding her arms over her head, the other pressing his hips against hers and running a hand against her thigh. One hand was crudely groping her breasts, the other held a serrated knife to the poor girl's throat. "You struggle, you fucking knife-eared little slut, and I'll open your neck!" the thug snarled at her. The girl, sobbing in fright, stopped struggling and the Howe thug lowered the knife away from the poor elf's throat, preferring to use the hand that held the weapon to push up the sobbing girl's skirt, ready to do the deed. Arthur seized his chance; drawing the Cousland sword as quietly as he could, he stepped up behind the man pinning the elf down and seized him by the back of the head.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size!" he snarled, and slashed the Cousland sword across the brute's throat. As the man's hands let go of the girl and futilely clutched at his throat, Arthur shoved the man aside and stabbed his fellow rapist in the mouth before he could react to the threat. Leaving both men to slowly bleed out on the floor, he offered a hand to the girl, who was still sobbing, but now with gratitude; she embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, my lord! I was so afraid they were going to kill me, or..."

"It's alright, sweetheart" Arthur answered in a calm tone of voice to reassure her; hearing his own fear would only frighten her more, he knew. "What's your name?"

"Arsinoe"

"Arsinoe, come with us. We're getting out of here! We're heading for the servants' exit in the larder and we're on borrowed time as it is. Can you walk?"

"Yes my lord" Arsinoe replied, wrapping her torn shirt around her chest. "They only injured my dignity". Arthur nodded at this and helped the girl out of the servants quarters. With this new addition in tow, the survivors headed for the passage leading to the kitchens. As they turned right into the passage however, they found their path blocked by five men; four men in leather armour with swords and shields bearing Howe's crest, and a knight in black mail wearing a skull-like helm and wielding a hefty, two-handed hammer that he hefted over his head and roared an order at his subordinates. The thugs gave a vile cheer and charged. One man went down, still jeering at the thought of inevitable victory, one of Eleanor's arrows embedded between his eyes. Edward smashed into a second, slamming him from his feet. The few guards with them engaged their Amaranthine counterparts. Arthur set his sights on the Howe Knight.

An arrow from his mother's bow hit the bastard in the shoulder, but it didn't stop him. The warrior swung out at Arthur's head and the youth ducked, feeling the wind on his hair as the hammer passed inches from turning his skull into red paste. He stood up tall, and the knight slammed the pommel of the maul's haft into his face. Arthur fell back clutching his swollen eye and the knight raised the hammer above his head, ready to bring it down and mash Arthur's head to pieces, when a brown thunderbolt charged howling past him and slammed into the man's leg. The knight turned away, distracted and shrieking in agony as Edward sank his fangs even through the thick chainmail the man wore into the flesh of his right knee.

As the man shrieked and pummelled the mabari's head with a gauntleted fist to get the dog to release him, Arthur seized the family sword from where it had fallen beside him and drove it through the knight's midsection. Howe's man squealed like a stuck pig as the silver-grey iron blade punched through his chest, cleaving through armour, flesh and bone. The last foot of the sword's blade protruded from the man's back and he bent double, staring uncomprehendingly at the sword hilt jutting from his chest. He took several steps back and Arthur slammed the Shield of Highever into the man's face, sending his helm flying off. Arthur saw the man's ruddy face, framed by a tangle of sweat-matted blonde hair and recognised him as Ser Balthus, one of Howe's finest knights. The man fell to the floor, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief, and Arthur, slamming a foot down on Balthus's chest to pin him, pulled the Cousland sword free and hacked down with it. As with Howe's witch ally, Balthus's head went bouncing across the floor. Arthur looked around and saw the others had dealt with the rest of Balthus's thugs. Arthur seized both Balthus's fine helm-'no sense in letting such a fine piece of armour go to waste'- and Balthus's head, placing the skull-like helm on his head and the severed head along with the other he'd acquired and raced with the others down the rest of the passage to the kitchens.

The group reached the door to the kitchens and Arthur couldn't believe that what seemed like a lifetime ago, but only mere hours, he and Edward had been battling it out with giant rats, that he'd snuck in to swipe a bottle of fine vintage for the pleasure of a charming woman..._'How could things have gone so wrong so fast!'_

Arthur shouldered open the door, expecting more of Howe's wretches inside, but what he found was far worse: the bodies of Nan and her servants. Judging by their wounds and the blood staining their clothes, they'd gone down fighting against Balthus and his murderers, Cath and Adney holding blood-stained knifes and Nan clutching a meat-cleaver. They'd given a good accounting of themselves; several more of Howe's men lay dead about them. Arthur knelt beside Nan and the two elves, closed their eyes and muttered the prayer to the Maker he'd said so many times before. More tears spilled down his mother's face, and even the servants and guards looked regretful; Nan had been at Highever so long, many had never thought they'd see her gone.

As despair threatened to overwhelm him, he saw the larder door was ajar and he could hear hacking coughs coming from within. '_Father!'_ Arthur bolted to his feet and threw open the door.

"There...you both are" that instantly recognisable baritone, choked with pain, said as Arthur entered, followed swiftly by his mother. "I was wondering...when you would get here". Arthur and his mother looked round and saw, in a tangled heap in a corner of the larder, his father with his back propped up against a cupboard, his hands clutching at a ragged wound in his side, one that was bleeding heavily.

"BRYCE!" his mother shrieked as she saw the state of her husband. Mother and son ran to the father's side, Eleanor's hands reaching to the wound in Bryce's side. Arthur, meanwhile, moved to the far left corner of the larder and dragged aside a heavy sack. Under it was a wooden trap door, which he quickly raised; beneath it, a ladder extended into the darkness beneath the castle. Arthur looked firmly at the guards and servants who'd managed to escape with them. "Get out now while you still can. I release you from our service; save yourselves. Get out of Highever; there is nothing but death here for any of us so long as Howe possesses it!"

The men and women nodded and bowed one last time to him, then one by one began climbing down the ladder, entering the tunnel that would get them out of the castle. As the last guardsman began to climb down, he looked Arthur in the eye and said "One day, milord, when the day of reckoning comes for this bastard, you'll take back what is yours, and I'd be honoured to help you, as I've been honoured to serve your family for so long!"

Arthur bowed respectfully and replied "Not as honoured as I would be to have you with me, good ser. Now go, look to your own safety, and pray to the Maker for mine!". The guard nodded and clambered down the ladder. Now it was just the three of them in the larder, his mother trying in vain to staunch the blood spilling from her husband's guts, painting her hands crimson.

"Maker's Blood, what's happened! You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men...found me first" his father choked, wincing in agony as he spoke. "Almost...did me in, right there".

"How did you get here, father?" Arthur questioned. "You look like you can barely walk!"

"Duncan...found me...brought me here..." his father gasped.

"AND LEFT YOU LYING IN YOUR OWN BLOOD!" Eleanor shrieked, horrified. "We must get you out of here!"

"I will not survive the standing, I think" Bryce groaned, slumping to the floor. "Then we'll just have to drag you with us!" Arthur answered, seizing his father's right arm and trying to move him towards the secret ladder. The old man was a dead weight.

"Only...if you're willing to leave pieces of me behind, pup!" he chuckled. Arthur shook his head; his father's sense of humour hadn't left him even on the steps of the gallows, so to speak.

"Bryce! This is no time for jokes!" Eleanor snapped. "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us. We must go!"

"Someone must...reach Fergus...tell him what's happened..." his father choked. "And take vengeance!" Arthur snarled through gritted teeth. "Yes" his father nodded "...vengeance".

"Bryce, no!" Eleanor pleaded "The servants' passage is right here. We can flee together, find you healing magic!"

"The castle is surrounded!" Bryce groaned, rolling onto his back. "I...cannot make it!"

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct" a hard, accented voice, accompanied by armoured footsteps sounded. Arthur leapt up, seizing his sword, only to see the intruder was Duncan. His armour, along with the ornate sword and dagger in his hands, was spattered with blood, and there were a few new wounds on his already scarred flesh. '_I guess, like us, he's seen his fair share of fighting tonight_!' Howe's men weren't fussy about killing woman and children; why would they stop to spare a hero like him!

"Howe's men have not yet found this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past them will be difficult".

"You are Duncan, then?" his mother asked. "The Grey Warden?"

"I am, your Ladyship" Duncan replied, giving a full bow. Arthur nearly laughed with maniacal intensity; he hadn't thought courtesy existed any longer in his world, a world that had gone mad with cruel savagery and barbarism. "The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner"

"My younger son helped me get here, Maker be praised" Eleanor answered. Duncan nodded approvingly at him "I am not surprised"

"Can you do something about Howe?" Arthur asked, almost pleadingly. The stories of old would have him believe that the Grey Wardens could turn aside whole armies and face down ancient evils without flinching; surely a greedy arl would prove no challenge?. But his hopes were dashed when Duncan regretfully shook his head and replied "Not here. There are too many men, and they seem just as willing to kill me as they are all of you. Flight is the only option".

"Whatever is to be done, it must be done quickly! They are coming!" his mother pleaded. Bryce reached out to Duncan, his hand seizing the Warden by the front of his armour. "Duncan...you are under no obligation to me, but I beg you...take my wife and son to safety!"

"I will, your Lordship" Duncan promised. "But" and here his face became rather uneasy "I fear I must ask for something in return. What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose upon the world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat _demands_ I leave with one".

"I...understand" his father sighed. At this point, Duncan turned and looked Arthur directly in the eye.

"Are you talking about...me?" Arthur asked.

"You fought your way to me through Howe's men. I think the Maker's intention is clear" Duncan replied, in the same respectful tone he'd used when he'd expressed satisfaction at Arthur's skill as a warrior, then turned back to Bryce. "I will take the teyrna and your son to Ostagar to inform Fergus and the king what has happened here. Then...your son joins the Grey Wardens!"

"So long as justice comes to Howe...I agree" Duncan allowed himself a satisfied smile and turned to Arthur, extending a hand. "Then I offer you a place in the Grey Wardens. Fight with us".

At any other moment in his life, this would've been a dream come true for Arthur; to be inducted into the company of heroes. But here, now, trapped in the burning ruins of his home, covered in the blood of friends and loved ones, it was the farthest thing he wanted. "My duty" he snarled "is to take vengeance on Howe!"

Duncan's face showed sympathy, but his voice was stern as he replied "We will inform the king, and _he_ will punish Howe. I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedent over revenge". Arthur glared at the old man, and was about to protest further when he felt a strong hand grasp his forearm. He looked down, to see his father staring up at him, his eyes wide with desperation. "Howe thinks he can use the chaos...to advance himself. Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done. Our family _always_ does our duty first. The darkspawn _must_ be defeated. You must go, for your own sake, and for Ferelden's!" The look of desperate pleading in his eyes and voice made it clear to Arthur this was his father's last request. 'I can't deny him this' Arthur realised. With a deep, bitter sigh of reluctance, Arthur grasped Duncan's outstretched hand and shook it. "Then I suppose I've no choice". Duncan nodded in satisfaction and answered "We must leave quickly, then"

"Bryce, are you...sure?" Eleanor asked, tears flowing freely down her stately face and a quavering note in her voice. Bryce nodded "I told you the day he was born, the day I named him he was destined for greatness. Our son will _not_ die of Howe's treachery. He will live, and make his mark on the world"

Eleanor nodded, and then turned to her boy. "Darling, go with Duncan. You have a better chance to escape without me". Bryce and Arthur reeled as if struck. Her husband regained his capacity for speech first. "Eleanor..." he pleaded.

"Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard who comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you!"

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself, mother!" Arthur yelled, but his mother shook her head defiantly. Tears began to flow freely down Arthur's face, but he didn't care; _'I've lost so many people I love tonight, I don't know if I can lose any more and go on!"_ He seized his mother's hand and looked her straight in the eye, pleading with her to see reason "We can find another way, we can fight! _**Please**_...!"

Eleanor stroked her son's face gently, smiling softly at his sheer stubbornness. "So we all die here? No, your place is with the Grey Wardens now. My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond". Arthur's tears only intensified, and he clutched his mother's hand to his cheek, revelling in the softness of her skin, the smell of her perfume- all those little things that he'd taken for granted, and now he was about to lose forever. Eleanor smiled softly, stroking her son's hair softly as she'd done so many time when he was a little boy upset or in pain, both wishing the moment could last forever. Suddenly, Bryce gave a choking gasp and Eleanor turned from her son to her husband. Arthur heard a sigh from behind him, and saw Duncan stood behind him, a look of deepest regret in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry it's come to this, my love" Bryce wept, his eyes brimming with sorrow as he reached out to his wife. Eleanor smiled and kissed her husband on the brow. "We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children now" she answered, looking up at Arthur. His father did too, and Arthur could tell from the pride in their eyes that, for all they'd complained and joked about his youthful indiscretions and mischief, their pride and love for him transcended all description.

"Then go, pup. Warn your brother...and know that we love you both. You do us proud".

Suddenly, there was an almighty crash from somewhere in the castle; the gates had finally fallen. Arthur felt a strong grip close about his shoulder, barely resisting as Duncan dragged him to his feet and over to the hatch to the secret passage. The Grey Warden seized Edward, placed the dog over his shoulder and began to climb down the ladder. "They've breached the gates. We must go. _NOW!_"

Arthur, misery, grief, guilt and self-hatred all warring in his chest, began to climb down after him. The last thing he heard as he seized the trap door and pulled it closed behind him was his mother's voice, brimming with a mother's pride and certainty her son would become all she dreamed for him and more.

"Goodbye, darling".

Then the door closed, and Arthur cut the last tie to his family. He quickly clambered down the ladder, seeing Duncan and Edward waiting at the bottom. "We got left" he snapped flatly. It's a bit of a walk, but it'll come out in a warehouse just outside the city"

"What about the right?" Duncan enquired. "My great-grandfather followed that to its end. It goes on for miles, and then comes to a great chasm that leads down into the Deep Roads. He had several smiths seal the passage and collapsed the tunnel. There's nothing that way"

"Then lead the way, friend Arthur" Duncan answered.

As they began their long walk down the tunnel, Arthur turned to Duncan, coldly regarding the man for whom he'd abandoned his parent to their certain deaths, and asked in a flat, emotionless voice "Do you have a quill?" pulling the leather gauntlet from his left hand.

"Yes" Duncan answered, confused. "Why? What do you intend?"

Arthur drew the Cousland sword from its scabbard, gripped its blade in his left hand, and then used it to cut open the skin of his palm.

"To send a message"

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As the sun rose over Highever, Arl Rendon Howe savoured his victory. In one fell stroke, he had obliterated the last obstacle that stood in the way of getting what he wanted, what was his by right. He fingered the hilt of his sword, remembering the sweet sensation of plunging it into the heart of the trusting fool who'd welcomed him with open arms, but only after watching him degrade and defile that stuck-up bitch of a wife. Her screams as he'd broken her had been sweet indeed. Howe only regretted that his men hadn't taken that Antivan slut they called a daughter-in-law alive too; he would have enjoyed ravishing her, making that weak fool Bryce watch him and his men defile his wife and daughter-in-law, then force Cousland to look as he slit their throats, along with that obnoxious half-breed brat of a grandson and their waste of a second son, happy to spend his time dallying with elven whores and moon-faced peasant sluts instead of respecting his duties to serve his betters and make a proper marriage to true nobility. He gave a snort; none of them were deserving of life, so he wouldn't let them keep it.

'_Truly, how did the Cousland line last so long_?' Howe wondered. '_How the likes of Elythea and Ardal would weep to see their descendants mingle their blood with Antivans and elves! Their filth should have been eradicated years ago! I should have done this years ago!'_

He'd won the day, but there were far too many loose ends for his liking. They'd found the bodies of all the people Howe had ordered dead; the teyrn and his wife, his extended family, their noble guests, most of the guards and most of those who would believed if word of his actions had gotten out, but two hadn't been found; Arthur Cousland and that damned Grey Warden. They were two witnesses to the events that would be believed. And if they got out of Highever, doubtless they'd run for Ostagar and blab to the king. And that damnable wretch Cailan, given his deep respect for the whelp's father and his obsession with those archaic, warmongering doomsayers would see him take away everything that was Howe's right from him. No doubt the libertine brat would demand his head, and the king would all too willingly give it. And the allies and plans Howe had spent months, even years preparing, would be undone; his head would end up on a spike above this castle, his _right!_

Also, the two wretches he'd tasked with leading the assault-Ser Balthus, supposedly one of his best men, and that damned witch –'_What was her name? Agatha? Arianna?'-_ whom he'd spent a small fortune on to convince the Circle of Magi to loan him one of their acolytes-were nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, one of his captains entered the great hall of Castle Cousland-'_No, Castle Howe!_' Rendon corrected himself- and deposited a cloth bundle on the table beside his master. Howe looked at the man, who was shaking with unease, picked apart the ties keeping the bundle shut, and opened it.

Inside were the heads of Ser Balthus and the mage woman, cleanly severed by a sword. Rendon was quick to notice that a sheaf of vellum had been pinned to the tongue lolling from Balthus's slack mouth by a rusted nail. Howe tore the vellum free and read what it said.

The words on the vellum had been written quickly and in a strange red ink. They read:

_To the oathbreaking snake who betrays the trust of his oldest friend,_

_If you are reading this, then know I am out of your vile clutches. Your ambitions have won you your ill-gotten prize for now, but know this; I will remember. I will not forgive. And I will not forget._

_I know not how long your moment of triumph will last; a day, a week, a month, maybe if you are lucky a year. But rest assured, it will end soon enough. I will see to it. _

_So enjoy your new home. Play with your stolen riches, and think you've won, but know that from the ashes of the home you took from me, your destroyer has arisen. I will hunt you, I will find you and when I do, you will beg for death before the end. If I have to claw my way from the Fade, and cast down the Tevinter Imperium itself, the day will come when our positions are reversed, when you will sit in the ruins of your world, when I will stand over you with the executioner's blade in my hand, and I will show you and all your kin the mercy you have shown mine._

"_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting"...for you have brought death to your ilk, and doom upon your world._

_AC_

The vellum was stamped at the bottom with a handprint, and he realised the whelp had used his own blood to write his threat. Howe shook with fury, crumpled the sheaf and tossed it onto a fire, but even so, he couldn't crush the tiny sliver of fear that had wormed its way into his heart. Seizing a quill and vellum of his own, he began to pen a letter of his own, to his allies. If the boy had survived, then he was more than likely in the company of that Grey Warden, and there was only one place they would go...

Fortunately, one ally he could rely on was there; one who could ensure the boy didn't survive that place. Battlefields were easy places for accidents to happen, and he needed to ensure one did. He didn't care if the boy ended up with poison in his cup, a knife in his ribs or was simply left to the mercy of the darkspawn, that brat had to die. Howe felt fear's icy claws sink into his heart for real; he was all too well acquainted with the fact that when a Cousland swore to do something, they had an annoying tendency to accomplish it against odds most would consider impossible.


	8. Chapter 7: A Royal Welcome

_Well, that's Arthur's Origin completed; now we get into the story proper. Hopefully, I should have the Joining and the Battle of Ostagar done by week's end, I hope, since lousy real life is starting to intrude on my writing time again, but I'll try not to let it slow down my writing too much!_

_As always, must send thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favourited or subscribed to the story, so thank you to __**Ygrain33, Aaron W, Sova, roxfox1962, ayzume**__: your reviews, comments and appreciation give me the drive to keep going. It means a great deal as a writer to see your work gain such appreciation and enjoyed by so many, so thank you all so much! I promise to keep up the good work!_

_Hopefully have more for you soon!_

' _**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

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Three days after narrowly escaping Highever with their lives found Arthur and Duncan on the Imperial Highway south, having by chance fallen in with a column of fresh infantry recruits heading south from Denerim; reasoning that there was safety in numbers, the pair had decided to follow the column south, still wary Howe might send his agents to intercept them. The pair barely spoke to each other, Arthur lost in his own grief, and Duncan unwilling or perhaps unable to console him. When they did talk, Arthur only asked simple, curt questions about the Wardens, the darkspawn and the new danger they were heading into, and Duncan gave him simple, polite answers in return.

It took them nearly three weeks to march south, leaving the northern reaches of Ferelden behind, marching past the eastern outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. Arthur felt a great thrill of unease passing by that foreboding expanse of green; he was well acquainted with the tales of that place, said by haunted by strange beasts, walking trees, the living dead and packs of wandering Dalish, all too willing to kill any who trespassed on their territory. Every day as they marched and every night when they made camp, Arthur kept one eye on the forest, and judging by the looks of the soldiers they marched with, he wasn't the only one to feel like they were being watched.

On the second week of their march, they finally left the forest behind and came to the village of Lothering. Here the infantry column turned south, along with Arthur and Duncan, heading for the Korcari Wilds, and the battle that awaited. Arthur distinctly felt it grow colder as they got closer to their destination, as they drew nearer to the borders of the frozen wasteland that was supposed to be further south of Ferelden. As they drew nearer to the Wilds, Duncan began talking to him in far greater depth, schooling him on as much as possible about the darkspawn, to which Arthur listened intently; he wanted to know all he could about the enemy before facing them in battle-it wouldn't do not to be fully armed with knowledge about these beasts were capable of.

Around midmorning on the second day of the third week of their march, Arthur saw something on the horizon protruding above the tops of the trees; a tall thin tower of stone. He'd pointed it out to Duncan, and the old warrior had smiled and answered "You've seen your first sight of our destination; the fortress of Ostagar. The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands". Arthur nodded at this brief piece of history; he knew full well the Imperium had long feared the threat of the barbarian tribes of their conquered territories rising up against them_. 'And for good reason' _he thought '_if the Imperium's eventual fate is anything to go on!'_

It took until the early afternoon to reach the fortress itself. The infantry column and the two Wardens were let in through a swiftly-constructed wooden gate built at the ruined entrance of the fortress. The infantry continued marching onto the camp, crossing a miraculously intact stone bridge across an incredibly deep valley below, heading to make camp on the far side of the bridge, but Duncan and Arthur lingered back, the old Warden still lecturing his newest recruit.

"It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest. The king's forces have clashed several times with the darkspawn, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. This Blight must be stopped, here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall..."

"HO THERE! Duncan!" a pleasant, friendly voice called out, interrupting Duncan's monologue. Arthur and Duncan looked round and saw, crossing the bridge towards them, three armour-clad figures. Two wore ornate but functional silverite armour and full helms, bearing fine swords and shields marked with the emblem of Ferelden's king. The third was clad in gleaming golden plate armour, engraved with the face of a dragon upon the breastplate and gleaming resplendently in the sunlight. He carried an impressive helm under his right arm and on his back, a magnificent silver sword was sheathed. The man himself was no less impressive, with a handsome face, wide green eyes, a charming smile that bared perfect white teeth, and long golden hair that fell to the base of his neck. Arthur felt his jaw drop; he'd only ever seen pictures of him, but the fellow was instantly recognisable...

"King Cailan!" Duncan answered, happily seizing the arm Cailan proffered to him when they were close enough and shaking it enthusiastically. "I did not expect..."

"A royal welcome?" Cailan supplied. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I can help it, your Majesty" Duncan wryly replied. Cailan grinned like a schoolboy who'd just gotten away with the perfect prank and said "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! _GLORIOUS!_" At this, the king turned his attention away from Duncan and looked to Arthur for the first time. "The other Grey Wardens told me you'd found a promising recruit. I take it this is he?"

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty..." Duncan began, but Cailan cut across him. "No need, Duncan. You're Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've actually ever met?" the king enquired of him.

Arthur felt a little awed that Cailan actually knew remembered he was. The king was slightly wrong; they had met before, but it had only been for the briefest of moments when Arthur had been fifteen and Bryce had taken the entire Cousland family to Denerim to attend the memorial service for the late King Maric and Cailan's coronation. Arthur had been fifteen at the time, and Bryce had introduced his family to the new king, who'd spoken to them pleasantly for a few moments, before his duties and the demands of other well-wishers had dragged him away. He didn't know the king well, only that while many thought him a glory-hungry fool interested only with carving out his own place in history, Bryce had told him Cailan was a good man, who loved his people and took his oath to serve and protect them seriously. _'And he's my only hope to get any justice for what's happened..._' Arthur thought, the memories of that night threatening to overwhelm him.

Regaining his emotions, Arthur gave a full bow and answered "Yes, your Majesty. My name is Arthur". Cailan nodded at this and seized Arthur's right hand in a firm grip, shaking it warmly. "Well met, friend. Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we're still awaiting word of your father..." Cailan trailed off as he saw Arthur's face become distant, his eyes haunted by some terrible memory...

"You don't know what's happened?"

"News from the north has been unreliable at best" Cailan answered. Arthur nodded in understanding; it made sense that no one would have heard. Highever was a great distance from Ostagar, and Arthur knew enough to interpret that Howe would have gone to extremely great lengths to ensure that word of his actions didn't get out, since if even one person told of his treason, the wretch would find himself kneeling over a wooden block, awaiting the caress of the executioner's blade on his neck... '_As I intend to make sure he does...'_ Arthur hatefully thought. The simmering rage must have shown in his eyes, because Cailan put a fraternal hand on his shoulder and asked in a concerned voice. "What is it? What's happened?"

Arthur tried to speak, but his voice was choked by emotion and he couldn't trust himself to speak. Fortunately, Duncan took up the tale while Arthur regained control of himself. "Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself for a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we" gesturing to himself and Arthur "not escaped, he would have killed us, and told any story he wished". Cailan turned away, his eyes wide with shock and horror. He tried to speak, but his voice shook with outrage, causing him to stumble on his words.

"I can scarcely believe...did he think he would _get away_ with such treachery!" Cailan angrily asked of no one in particular, running an armoured hand through his golden hair. He turned back to Arthur and his face was as hard and serious as stone. When he spoke, it was in such a powerful, commanding tone that Arthur had no trouble believing it. "I _swear_, as soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have _my word_!"

"What sort of justice?"

"He will _hang_" Cailan's reply was hard as iron. "I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this..._atrocity_". Arthur nodded; he'd simply wanted to confirm he'd get what he wanted. In his mind's eye, he saw a vision of Howe standing on a gallows with a noose around his neck, shrieking like a whore as the door beneath his feet opened. It was a beautiful image. '_I swore your moment of glory would end soon enough, and it will. I'll see you, and your misbegotten kiddies if they had any part in this, dancing jigs on the end of the hangman's rope in Denerim before the month is out!'_

"No doubt you wish to see your brother" Cailan said, the anger in his voice being replaced by sadness. "Unfortunately, he and his men are out scouting in the Wilds, and are not expected to return until after the battle". Arthur felt terror and uncertainty cut through him at the thought of his big brother, the only family he had left, in the midst of a monster-infested wilderness, completely unaware of how much the world had changed for the brothers. Part of him wanted to see Fergus, to take comfort in the fact that not everything from his old home, everything he'd taken for granted, was irrevocably lost, but a sense of trepidation made him uneasy. '_How am I going to explain to him what's happened? How do I explain how I survived when all the others-Mother, Father, Oriana, Oren-were slaughtered when I was supposed to protect them!'_

Arthur gave a weary sigh and answered in a quavering voice "I...I am not eager to tell him, Your Majesty". Cailan gave him an understanding nod and tightened the supportive grip on his shoulder. "Of that, I have no doubt. I am sorry for your loss, truly, but there is nothing more I can do at present. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being".

Arthur wished to snap at Cailan that that wasn't good enough, but forced himself to calm. Making an enemy of the king, a good man who'd already promised to help him exact retribution would not improve or change the situation. '_And Cailan is right; the darkspawn are the priority. I can wait for Howe; like they say "Revenge is a dish best served cold"_'. Arthur nodded, and in a flat voice simply replied "Thank you, your Majesty".

Cailan gave another understanding nod, then removed his hand from the younger man's shoulder. "I'm sorry to cut this short, friend Arthur, but I must return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies" Cailan said, rolling his eyes at the thought.

"Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week..." Duncan began to remark, but Cailan waved his hand, dismissing the old Warden's comments with a bark of laughter. "HA! Eamon just wants in on the glory! We've won three battles against these monsters, and tomorrow should be no different!"

"You sound very confident of that..." Arthur remarked, raising an eyebrow; confidence is all very well, but the king's tone made his words sound more like hubris. Cailan favoured him with a roguish grin and replied "A little too confident, some might say. Right, Duncan?" he said, winking at the older man.

Duncan, however, did not share the king's levity. In a solemn tone of voice, he calmly but firmly protested "Your Majesty, I am not so sure the Blight will be ended as quickly as you imagine..." but the King again brushed aside his concerns. "I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon".

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow. Cailan answered in return "I'd hoped for a war like in the old tales. You know, a king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" Cailan gave a disappointed sigh and replied "But I suppose this will have to do! Ah, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party" he concluded with a chagrined scowl. "Farewell, Grey Wardens" he finished with a bow. Arthur and Duncan gave full bows and Cailan thusly departed with his honour guard, heading back across the bridge.

Once they were alone again, Duncan turned to Arthur and said "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn already".

"And yet you don't sound very reassured" Arthur remarked. Duncan gave a weary nod and sighed, then motioned Arthur to walk with him towards the bridge. As they walked, Duncan continued talking, and Arthur could hear the unease in his voice. "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde only grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to surely outnumber us. I _know_ there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings"

This caught Arthur by surprise. "Why not? He clearly holds the Grey Wardens in high regard".

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Warden contingent from Orlais: he believes our legend makes him invulnerable" Duncan replied. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference". _'Teyrn Loghain is here? The Hero of Ferelden himself! It makes sense; he's not likely to let the darkspawn take the country he spent most of his life freeing from the Orlesians!'_ Arthur thought, slightly awed that he was in the company of one of the heroes of his childhood.

His reverie was interrupted by Duncan, who said "To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay".

'_Joining! I've never heard of this before!'_ Arthur thought to himself. "What do you mean? What ritual?" he asked of the older man. Duncan looked very uneasy as he answered "Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon". Arthur pressed on "Why is this ritual so secret?"

Now Duncan definitely looked unhappy as he solemnly answered "The Joining is dangerous. I cannot say more of it, except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done...is necessary". This did little to allay Arthur's fears, but he wisely chose not to pursue the matter. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the thought of what this initiation ritual might entail.

"Am I the only recruit you have?" he enquired. Duncan looked relieved at the change in subject as he answered "No, there are two recruits here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive".

"Wonderful. Well, let's get this over with, then" Arthur muttered. Duncan nodded and they continued walking towards the bridge, stopping just before it. "Feel free to explore the camp as you wish; all I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits". At this, he handed Arthur over a medallion like the one he wore; a silver chain holding a griffon carved from pearl. "This will identify you as a member of the Grey Wardens, so all may know you are one of our number. Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business; I must head for the valley and should be back in an hour. When I get back, you can find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, if you need to".

With that, Duncan gave a loud whistle and began to cross the bridge, Edward following behind. Arthur watched him go, taking in the surroundings; the great tower behind him, the mountains, the deep valley and forest far below, and then set after Duncan across the bridge at a brisk pace.


	9. Chapter 8: Many Meetings

Arthur crossed the bridge at a brisk walk, looking briefly over the eroded stone sides into the valley below; he could see the miniscule forms of men and women in armour setting up barricades at the mouth of the valley, intended to funnel the enemy into the narrowest point of the valley, along with positions for the archers at the back of the valley past the bridge, or digging stake-lined pits and laying out snares and foothold traps all around the plain in front of the valley mouth leading to the forested outskirts of the Korcari Wilds. Arthur was impressed at the depth of planning and preparation being made for tomorrow's battle. '_Who knows?_' he mused. _'Maybe Cailan's right and tomorrow will see this threat ended for good!'_

As he reached the far side of the bridge, he was hailed by a guardsman in chainmail with the king's emblem on his breast. Arthur asked a few brief questions about the site-learning the fortress of Ostagar had been built by the Tevinter Imperium in centuries past to fend off attacks by Chasind marauders- and history aside, learned what he needed to know; the location of the Grey Warden tent to the west of the camp, learning that the Warden he'd been sent to find had been sent north to speak with the mages, and the location of the quartermaster, just a bit to the north. Arthur decided to make the quartermaster his first port of call: his old leather armour was in a terrible state, scarred and torn by mabari claws, magical blasts and the blades of Howe's thugs.

He crossed the bridge and entered through the ruins of a large stone gate into what had been a great courtyard in the fortress's heydays. All around, he could see banners flying the colours of a multitude of regions and factions: the twin lions of Ferelden's king, the wyvern of Gwaren, the bull's head of West Hills, the gate of South Reach among others, along with the sun emblem of the Chantry and the mark of the Circle of Magi.

The people he could see moving around the courtyard were no less varied; foot soldiers and cavalry men in the colours of their lords, priests and priestesses in the rose and gold-coloured robes of the Chantry, passing through the camp offering prayers and confessions. He could see elf servants running about carrying either messages or bundles of weapons to be distributed, and men and women, both human and elven, clad in vibrantly-coloured robes and holding ornate wooden staffs prowling about the camp, followed a few steps behind by armed warriors in gleaming plate armour and full helms, their hands permanently on the hilts of their swords; enchanters of the Circle of Magi and their templar minders. He could hear a cacophony of noise as well: men and women either incanting the language of magic or intoning portions of the Chant of Light, along with the neighing of horses, the barking of mabari war dogs and the ringing of metal coming from either men and women practicing swordplay or archery, or the veritable legion of blacksmiths Arthur imagined had accompanied the army forging or repairing more arms and armour for the use of the soldiers.

He took a right from the entry and began to wend his way north towards where he'd been told the quartermaster had situated himself, turning to avoid walking into a pair of templars who'd cordoned off a small section of the camp. He'd seen a number of men and women chanting and holding swirling energy in their hands; '_Mages_' Arthur thought, considering the way the templars glared at them as he walked past...and straight into someone directly ahead. Looking round, Arthur saw he'd walked into an old woman, clad in russet coloured robes marked with the Circle's sigil. The woman was now picking up herbs that had been knocked from her arms when he'd walked into her. Arthur quickly murmured an apology and bent to the floor, helping the woman gather up her herbs. "Sorry about that" he said as they finished, but as the old woman nodded, he noticed her eyes quickly flash to the griffon medallion around his neck. Arthur saw with a pang that the woman, who looked nearly seventy but still handsome in her way, with her stern but wise face, pale blue eyes and grey hair tied back in a bun, bore a striking resemblance to his mother.

"Greetings, young man" she said as they got off their haunches from picking up the scattered leaves. "You are Duncan's newest recruit, are you not? He's not a man easily impressed; you should be proud. Allow me to introduce myself" she continued with a curtsey "I am Wynne, one of the mages summoned by the king". Arthur gave a full bow in answer and replied "I am Arthur, a pleasure to meet you"

"Well met, and good luck to you on the battlefield. To us all, in fact".

"It's not luck, but skill that will save us" Arthur replied, eliciting a soft smile from the mage. "And I'm sure you'll have plenty of that to offer. Still, to defeat the darkspawn, we need to all work together. It's not an idea everyone seems able to grasp" Wynne concluded in an irked tone of voice.

"You've fought darkspawn before?" Arthur asked, quite surprised. This elderly woman looked more like she should be acting as nanny to young children or knitting woollen socks; he couldn't imagine her blasting her way through ranks of darkspawn with magical energy brimming from her fists.

"Stragglers, yes-not the vast horde the scouts speak of" she replied. "I wonder, do you know much of the connection between darkspawn and the Fade?" Her voice took on a scholarly tone like Aldous, and Arthur saw a new image of this woman; in the black robes and cap of a school mistress, sternly prowling between rows of children at desks with a book in one hand and a cane in the other.

"I know the Fade is where you go when you dream" Arthur began. Wynne nodded and took up the tale, her tone sounded lecturing and thorough, as though she knew what she was saying off by heart. "Every time your spirit leaves your earthly body-whether it's to dream or to die- it passes into the realm we call the Fade. It's home to many spirits, some benevolent, others far less so". Arthur nodded; he'd heard this, of how spirits-and worse-demons hunted through the Fade, looking for prey in the form of mortal spirits. Mages were said to be their favourite fare, and Arthur knew that one of the Circle's primary purposes was to guard the mortal realm from demonic incursions.

"At the heart of the Fade lies the Black City. Some say the Black City was once the seat of the Maker, but when the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium found their way into the Black City, it was tainted with their sin. That taint transformed those men, turning them into twisted reflections of their own hearts. And they were cast back to earth, where they became the first darkspawn...at least, that's what the Chant of Light says" Wynne concluded.

Arthur nodded "Yes, I've heard this bedtime story before. And after what I've seen in these last few weeks, I'm more than willing to believe the Maker was content to unleash such suffering upon the world for no bloody good reason! I mean, he could have incinerated the magisters or simply tossed them out for the demons to chew on, but NO! Instead he thinks 'I know, I'll punish these fools by turning them into rabid beasts hell-bent on nothing but the destruction of life itself and then send them back to where they came from, to spread disease and dig until they find their heathen deities and twist them into the living weapons they need to bring my creation to its knees!'" He trailed off as he saw the old woman looking at him askance, her eyebrows raised and a severe expression on her face. "Forgive my anger; it is not your fault and should not be directed at you" Arthur apologised. Wynne nodded and her severe expression softened a little.

"It may be allegory, meant to teach us that our own evil causes human suffering, or it could be true. It's as good as any, for now". Arthur nodded and replied "Well, I think the lesson is that I'll just have to kill every darkspawn I can" eliciting an amused chuckle from Wynne. "A wise attitude. It's worked well for me in the past. But I'm sure Duncan has more for you to do than talk to me. Off you go, and thank you for the herbs"

Arthur nodded and left the old mage to her own devices. He quickly crossed the courtyard to a small alcove, where a portly man stood beside an anvil and racks of swords, shields, arrows and other weapons, along with stands of chain, scale and splintmail, along with a few suits of heavy chainmail and plate armour. Arthur exchanged his broken, tattered leather armour for a full suit of scale armour-jacket, gauntlets and boots- and refilled his quiver with fresh arrows. The quartermaster-a portly, jovial fellow, though distracted by the absence of several of his assistants- offered him a few special goods 'to keep morale up', but Arthur turned him down...for the time being.

As he left the quartermaster, he saw to his left two figures; a tall, blonde woman in chainmail with a mace and shield strapped to her back and a grinning young man of about Fergus's age, with pale skin, short, spiky black hair and a broad grin, clad in sturdy leather armour with two long daggers at his belt and a longbow on his back. He was clearly trying to flirt with her, but the girl's ever-growing scowl made it clear he was getting nowhere, and when he attempted to entice her into a quick tumble in the bushes by pointing out life was short, and that said girl's pretty head could be decorating a darkspawn spear come the morning, all he gained from his troubles was a cold glare and the disappointment of watching her stalk off with a haughty sniff of distaste.

"Believe me, friend" Arthur quipped, putting a comradely hand on the fellow's shoulder "If you want to talk to a woman about weapons, I'd advise it to be the one she is likely to be interested in...Provided you can wield it more sharply than your tongue!"

The fellow laughed and turned to face Arthur, and as they sized each other up, Arthur saw a pearl griffon medallion around the man's neck. '_This must be one of the recruits Duncan mentioned!'_ Arthur realised. The man must have realised the same, as he said "Well, you're not what I thought you'd be!"

"And what did you think I'd be?" Arthur enquired, raising an eyebrow. The man gave a laugh and grinned "Me? I was hoping for a comely lass with golden hair and terrible eyesight!" he laughed again, with a wistful look at his failed conquest, who had rejoined her regiment, which was marching through a wooden gate to the main army camp in the valley below, then turned back to Arthur. "The name's Daveth. About bloody time you came along; I was beginning to think they'd cooked this ritual up for _our_ benefit!"

"Isn't that a little paranoid?" Arthur asked. Daveth shrugged his shoulders and answered "Depends on what kinda life you've led. Me, I'm perfectly willing to believe this 'Joining' is some kind of punishment. If you're interested, I think I found out something on it. I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, and I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking, so I listen in for a bit. I reckon they plan to send us into the Wilds".

"Aren't there barbarians in those forests?" Arthur enquired; he'd heard stories of the Chasind tribes and their plundering raids on southern Ferelden. Daveth chuckled and nodded "Chasind barbarians, yes. Cannibals. Witches, too! And now darkspawn. My home village isn't far and I grew up on tales of the Wilds...even been in there a few times! Scary place..." he finished with a slight shudder.

"With so many dangers massing on the doorstep, seems like an odd place for an army to camp" Arthur remarked. Daveth answered cannily "I'm told the Blight started deep in the forest, so the army's here waiting for them to come out. Dangling meat in front of the bear, so to speak" Arthur nodded at this logic; considering the preparations he'd seen being made in the valley, the king's forces were clearly intending for the darkspawn to come at them. Arthur could only hope that the choice of position would give them an advantage against the horde.

"It's too secretive for me; makes my nose twitch" Daveth commented, then shrugged his shoulders "I suppose we'll have to wait and see...like we've got a choice!".

"They're forcing you to be here?" Arthur enquired, wondering if the Grey Wardens had inducted this man into their number against his will.

"I've got nowhere to go after what Duncan saved me from" Daveth replied. "Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything" the rogue finished. He and Arthur shook hands briefly, and then Daveth headed off to the west of the camp, in the direction of a large blue tent marked with the griffon emblem of the Wardens.

As Arthur continued to wander about the camp, he caught snippets of gossip from various soldiers talking among themselves. In one corner, he heard two men arguing about whether or not they were facing a true Blight, considering the ever-increasing numbers of darkspawn. Another group of soldiers were criticising Cailan's decision to invite the Grey Wardens of Orlais, along with a significant force of the Empress's chevaliers to join the war effort. Arthur could understand their distaste; considering the long and bitter history between Orlais and Ferelden, for Cailan to have invited chevaliers, the brutal iron fist by which the Usurper's will had been enforced, must have seemed as though the young king had gone mad. But the one snippet of gossip that caused Arthur the most shock was when he heard a soft female voice say "The last scouting party made it back last night..._barely_"

Arthur looked round; the speaker was a woman with dark hair in a bun clad in scale armour talking to a fellow in chain mail with short red hair. "What'd you mean?" the man enquired.

"Only two of them made it back and one was minus a leg. Said they encountered some darkspawn that was ten feet tall, with horns as long as your arm". The woman then dropped her voice into a whisper so low Arthur had to strain to hear what she said. "The injured one died last night. They said...they said his blood was already turning black!"

Arthur, hearing this, turned and sprinted the length of the camp, up a small ramp to a small pavilion from where he could hear agonised screams of pain: the camp's infirmary. Arthur had given up hope of finding Fergus soon after Cailan had told him his brother was scouting in the Wilds, but that piece of gossip made him wonder if his brother had been brought back to camp without the king knowing. He ran over to the entrance of the pavilion and stepped inside.

The air within the infirmary stank with the smell of blood and gangrene. Men and women in armour, bearing a multitude of wounds-deep cuts, burns, missing limbs, among others- lay on pallet beds, weeping and groaning in pain, while both priests of the Chantry and women wearing blood-spattered aprons over their clothes-'_Nurses'- _moving between the rows of injured and dying soldiers, offering poultices, medicines and other treatments for those who could be helped, and absolution and forgiveness for those who couldn't. Arthur quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for any sign that men from the Highever scouting party had returned, but to both his relief and dismay, he saw no signs of any man wearing the heraldry of Highever. Arthur felt both relief and fear in equal measure rip through him: relief that Fergus wasn't in this place, either already dead or thrashing about in the final stages of delirium brought on by infection, and fear because his big brother was still in the Wilds, still in danger of being set upon by the darkspawn, and still in danger of ending up in this place. Realising that Fergus wasn't going to be found here, Arthur turned away to make to exit the infirmary, not wishing to spend a further moment in this terrible place.

But as he made to leave, he felt a strong hand seize his forearm. He looked round to see a man clad in tattered splintmail, upon which he could just make out the emblem of Denerim, spattered with blood from a deep cut to his chest. The man's eyes were wild and staring frantically at him; Arthur could see the terror in them. "YOU!" the man pleaded. "You've got to convince them! We need to run! The darkspawn are coming!"

'So that explains his fear' Arthur thought. He imagined that the terrifying nature of their foe would have unnerved some men more than others. He gently tried to ease the man's grip on his arm as he spoke in a placating tone "We have them on the run, I hear..." but the man, in his fear wouldn't listen. "I saw them! We're going to _DIE!_" .

At this point, one of the nurses, a tired-looking woman of middle years, saw what was happening and swiftly made her way over, extricating Arthur from the patient's grip and gently forcing the man back onto his bed. "I apologize, Warden. He's been like this ever since they found him in the Wilds".

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur enquired. The woman shrugged her shoulders and answered "Aside from his wounds, we're not sure. His blood hasn't been tainted. He's just...terrified". At this point, the injured man bolted upright again and screamed at Arthur "YOU! You can feel it, can't you! They taint the land, turn it black and sick! Urgh, you can feel it inside!"

At this, the nurse seized the man by the shoulders, trying to force him to lie back on the pallet bed. "That's quite enough out of you. You need to calm down, my good man!" As the man's struggles became more intense, the woman motioned to Arthur; realising her entreaty for help, Arthur forcefully shoved the man back down on the bed, as the nurse soothingly tried to calm him, but the man would not be calmed, continuing to shriek "They'll come out of that forest and spread! Like caterpillars coming out of a tree, they'll swallow us whole!"

As the man's whimpering became more intense, the nurse soaked a cloth in laudanum and pressed it to the man's face. He continued to struggle for a moment, but then his protests ceased, and he slumped weakly back onto his bed. The nurse turned to face Arthur and sadly whispered "I apologize if the soldier unnerved you, Warden. He's been like this ever since they found him in the Wilds. It's so sad" she finished.

Arthur sighed understandingly and asked "I don't suppose you've seen any men bearing the crest of Highever, my good woman?" hoping and dreading her reply.

"No, we've seen none of Highever's men yet, though I don't doubt we will when the last patrol that went out returns. Most of that were infantry from Highever; why'd you ask, milord? Is someone you know in that patrol?"

"It doesn't matter. Thank you for your time, my good woman. I'll not distract you from your charges any longer" Arthur answered sadly and began to exit the infirmary. As he reached the exit, one woman to his right-a swordswoman from Gwaren missing her left leg below the knee and most of her hands, along with a hideous gouge carved through her face by a blade-sat up and grinned maniacally at him, hissing "Can you hear the song? The Dark Master, he sings so wonderfully!"

"What are you talking about, madwoman?" Arthur snapped.

The woman's deranged smile only widened and she continued "He is calling to us...Can you hear him? It is..._beautiful_!" The woman collapsed back on her pallet bed, giggling madly to herself and Arthur all but ran from the infirmary. Emerging from outside, he staggered over to a bench in the courtyard and sat down, choking down breath after breath of air mercifully uncontaminated by the stink of blood and infection, trying not to imagine his big brother lying weak and helpless on a pallet bed, stinking of gangrene and infection, shrieking mad doggerel through clenched teeth. '_Please Fergus; please get out of that hell-pit alive! We've lost so much to one monster, brother; I can't lose you to another!'_

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up and saw a tall man of large build, between thirty and thirty-five in age at a guess, clad in chainmail armour marked on the shoulder with the symbol of Redcliffe, with a greatsword sheathed on his back. His receding hair was dark brown in colour and cropped close to his skull, while a small chinstrap beard covered his weak chin. He was a well-muscled fellow, and Arthur suspected he knew how to wield the sword on his back to good effect, but Arthur noticed his eyes were rather beady and flicked from side to side like a rabbit looking for danger, as though about to bolt at the first sign of trouble. The other important thing Arthur noticed about him was the white griffon medallion around his neck; this fellow was the second of the recruits Duncan had mentioned.

"Greetings" the man said in a reedy voice. "You must be the third recruit we've heard about?". Arthur nodded and replied "I am indeed he". The man held out a hand, which Arthur took, and shook hands with a surprising firm grip. "Ser Jory is my name. I hail from Redcliffe, where I served as a knight under command of Arl Eamon." He scrutinised Arthur for a moment, then asked "You have the bearing of a man who knows how to fight. If I may ask, where you a soldier before you came here?"

"I am not a soldier, but my father..." Arthur answered, suppressing a shiver at the memory of an eight-year old boy with red-brown hair smacking his father hard in the backside with a blunt sword "My father did train me to fight".

"Are you a nobleman?" Jory asked. Arthur gave a brief nod and Jory clicked his heels and gave a full bow. "I am honoured to be in your company, my lord". As he straightened from his bow, Jory gave an excited smile and said "I hope we're both lucky enough to eventually join the Wardens. Is it not thrilling to be given that chance?"

"Aren't you nervous about fighting darkspawn?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow, since this fellow was the only one he'd met so far who'd expressed something other than bravado or trepidation at the thought of giving battle to the horde. However, as the question left his lips, Arthur saw Jory's jocular remark was a facade; the fellow was as uneasy as all the others. The man's face did look uncertain, and his nervous eyes made his resemblance to a frightened rabbit all the more real.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't. As a boy, my mother told us darkspawn hunted down all children who misbehaved. It is a foolish superstition I know, but I still shiver when I think of fighting them" he finished. Arthur nodded understandingly; what he'd seen in the infirmary had somewhat undermined the glorious illusions he'd once had of fighting the darkspawn.

Jory then continued, asking "Tell me, has anyone told you what this Joining ritual entails?". His face showed little enthusiasm for it.

"Daveth said we might be going into the Wilds. Why, do you dislike the notion?"Arthur enquired. Jory made a face as though he'd been told to eat vomit and sullenly muttered "I never heard of such a ritual. I had no idea there were more tests after getting recruited". Ser Jory gave an exasperated sigh and said "I suppose since you are here, I'd best get back to Duncan. I shall see you there" With that, he turned and walked in the direction of the blue tent Arthur had seen Daveth go towards without a backwards glance. Arthur watched him go; he could see Daveth standing beside a roaring bonfire along with several other soldiers, which Jory joined, but Arthur could see no sign of Duncan; he still had time, and as he looked towards the group, he saw just beside the Grey Warden tent, he saw another tent, formed of red and green cloth, and marked on its side with the golden wyvern emblem of the terynir of Gwaren...

'_Loghain!'_ Arthur knew. _'The Hero of Ferelden himself!'_. Of all the tales of chivalry and bravery on the field of battle Nan had told every night, the tale of Loghain had been one of his favourites; how Loghain and Maric's queen, Rowan, had faced a vastly superior force of Orlesian chevaliers at the River Dane, but with Loghain's ingenious tactics, they had ambushed and annihilated the enemy force. That battle had broken the back of the Orlesian usurper's army and ensured the end of the occupation, and for it, Loghain had been lauded as a hero. Arthur had seen Loghain from a distance once at Cailan's coronation-a fearsome and imposing man clad in heavy plate armour- but hadn't had the chance to speak to him. _'But surely, a person as important as a Grey Warden might be allowed to...'_

Arthur quickly wended his way through the camp to the teyrn of Gwaren's tent. As he walked towards the entrance, the sentry- a man of about thirty with short dark hair and a chinstrap beard, wearing heavy chainmail and a greatsword sheathed at his side put up a hand to halt him and snapped "Halt! You approach the tent of Teyrn Loghain. State your business".

"Is the teyrn inside? What is he doing?" Arthur enquired. The man shuffled his feet uneasily and murmured "He's inside, but I don't think it's my place to discuss his activities...". Arthur placed a comradely hand on his shoulder and gave him an ingratiating smile to put the man at ease. "Surely you can tell me a little about him?"

"I suppose...as long as we talk quickly. I can tell you that he and the king have been arguing for days now. As I'm sure you know the teyrn's known the king since he was swaddled, so they don't stand on ceremony. The teyrn speaks his mind, and the king yells right back". The guardsman gave an irked scowl at this and continued "Personally, I think the king should do what Teyrn Loghain tells him. Without the teyrn, we wouldn't be doing as well here as we are". Arthur nodded; he'd studied Loghain's strategies as a boy, and considered them pure tactical genius. He could trust Loghain would have considered a suitable stratagem to counter the darkspawn onslaught.

At this, Arthur nodded and politely asked "I would like to ask an audience with the teyrn". _'After all'_ he thought to himself '_How often is it you get to meet the hero of your bedtime stories, the one you pretended to be at play with the other children?'_

The guard considered him for a moment, pondering his request. "Hmmm. I suppose you have a message for him. Hold on then..." Arthur watched him walk to the tent, announce himself before stepping inside.

After a very brief moment, the guard stepped out of the tent, followed by an extremely tall, imposing man. Arthur recognised the man instantly as Loghain. He was every bit as Arthur imagined him; a head taller than him, with grey-streaked black hair and ruddy skin marked with a variety of scars, clad head to foot in gleaming silver plate armour, taken as a trophy from the corpse of the Orlesian commander at River Dane, whom Loghain had personally slew. He strode forward with the gait of a man used to being obeyed, both in the quiet halls of his court, issuing instructions to his vassals as well as bellowing orders on the field of battle. It was an impressive moment...but one thing stymied it; as Loghain turned to look at him, those cold ice-blue eyes focusing on his guest, Arthur saw the teyrn's eyes widen ever so slightly. The movement was almost imperceptible, but Arthur saw it. For whatever reason, Loghain wasn't happy to see him.

"Yes, what is it?" the teyrn snapped, as though annoyed at having been interrupted in the middle of something important. His voice was smooth and calm, if curt, but there was an undertone to it that sat ill with Arthur. He wasn't imagining things; Loghain clearly disliked his presence here. Still, the teyrn managed to mask his disquiet well, as he scrutinised Arthur with those cold, azure orbs and then saw the griffon medallion. "Ah, you are Duncan's new Grey Warden, I assume."

"How do you know this?"

"His majesty could not contain his excitement after your meeting. How could I not hear about you?" Loghain replied, and Arthur could hear the sarcasm in his voice. Loghain continued and Arthur could hear the sneer in his voice "Cailan's fascination with the Wardens goes beyond the ordinary" he blithely commented, crossing his arms across his armoured chest. "Are you aware his father brought your order back to Ferelden?"

"Of course I know!" Arthur snapped "I was born the day the Order's exile was repealed! Though clearly, it's a fascination you don't share..." the youth finished, glowering at the old man. '_You may not like them, but you can at least show some respect...'_

Loghain scowled at this, but then gave a smarmy smile and continued in an oily tone that grated on Arthur's nerves "The Wardens are..._impressive_, but not as relevant as Cailan thinks. But that's not an argument I'll repeat here" he finished with a sigh. Loghain then gave a look of hawk-like scrutiny, studying his face carefully. "You look familiar. Have I seen you at the Landsmeet?"

Arthur barely managed to suppress a snort: Loghain's reaction to him made it clear he knew precisely who he was talking to, but he decided to play along. "No, I've been out of Highever in some time..." he began, but Loghain clapped his hands and pointed again to Arthur's face "But you're Bryce's son, his youngest from the look of you. I thought you looked familiar...I never forget a face. The king told me of his promise, and I'm certain he has every intention of following it through". Again, Arthur heard that uneasy note in the teyrn's voice. '_You're hiding something..._' he thought coldly.

His reverie was interrupted when Loghain curtly questioned "I don't suppose you'll be riding into the thick of battle with your fellows, will you?" The sneer in his tone made it clear what he thought would come of such. Arthur, bristling at the man's arrogant tone, grinned coldly and, fingering the hilt of his sword, answered boldly "I certainly hope so!"

"Here for the glory, then?" Loghain concluded dismissively. "Fair enough. Now I must return to my task. Pray that our king proves amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort."

He turned as to take his leave, and Arthur couldn't resist twisting the knife a little further, "And if he doesn't?"

Loghain turned back, glaring coldly at him "Then simply pray." Loghain again made to turn away, but Arthur pressed on mercilessly "I must say you don't seem very fond of our king". Loghain whirled round at this, looking outraged and Arthur feared for a moment he'd pushed the old warrior too far. For a second, Loghain looked so furious Arthur thought the teyrn might challenge him to a duel, but after a moment, Loghain gave a look that clearly said he considered Arthur of as much notice or threat as a cockroach, and growled "He is Maric's son and the leader of my beloved Ferelden, and a very young man. I try to keep that in mind, as should you". With that, Loghain stormed back into his tent without another word.

Arthur walked away, his mind whirling. Loghain's attitude still sat ill with him; the teyrn had been clearly irked by something about him, and not just because he was acting like an uncertain youth. '_What is it?_' he wondered. _'What are you hiding?_' Though he knew he was unlikely to get another audience with Loghain after that escapade, he decided to keep a close eye on the tent. As he approached, he saw the guard turn back to the teyrn, and straining his ears, heard Loghain hiss in a terse voice "Get rid of this missive; I've seen what I need to. Do not read its contents, and do not let _anyone _else see it, especially not that Cousland brat. When you are done, summon me a messenger; I need to send a message north with all haste!"

Watching, Arthur saw the guard take a sheet of parchment from Loghain's hand-the teyrn himself still in the tent- and approach one of the many camp fires dotted about the encampment, then drop the sheaf on the fire and leave, heading in the direction of the quartermaster to acquire one of the elven messengers running about the camp. Arthur quickly moved to the fire and looked down at the burning parchment. It was all but crumpled into a black ball, but he could make out some fragments of words; '_Execute the...ever is take...no witness'_ but the thing that unnerved Arthur most was that he could make out the remnants of a wax seal at the parchment's base.

The seal was marked with an emblem that looked suspiciously like a bear.

'_Is that...Amaranthine's emblem? Does Loghain know something about Howe?_' Arthur wondered, horror-struck at the thought. Part of him wanted to storm Loghain's tent and wring the old man's neck until he started talking, but as he looked up, he saw two familiar figures re-entering the encampment from the main camp in the valley-Duncan and Edward- and remembered his own task. After ascertaining the location of Alistair-somewhere near the ruins on the fortress's great hall- he set off to the northwest of the camp, but his mind was still whirling with thoughts of Loghain, asking questions for which he had no answer.

'_You're up to something, you old sod, I know it. The question is, what are you up to? And more importantly, what does it have to do with me!'_


	10. Chapter 9: Into the Wilds

Arthur headed up a small flight of steps into the ruins of the fortress's great hall: a colonnaded hall that, though old and eroded by time was still impressive. The only thing of note in the hall was a long wooden table and a pair of female elven servants attending to their tasks; seeing nothing else, Arthur heard raised voices talking to his right, and headed up a small stone ramp that led to a ruined upper chamber that looked like it might have been a chapel or temple during the fortress's occupation.

The guards he'd asked for directions had told him the Grey Warden known as Alistair was in this direction, and as he headed up the steps, Arthur realised he had no clue what the person he was seeking even looked like. He had imagined that this Alistair would look something like Duncan: a hard-bitten, grizzled veteran of countless battles with the darkspawn, clad in gleaming plate armour scarred by the blades and claws of such monsters, likely missing an eye and bearing a few battle scars himself. However, as he climbed the ramp and took in the two figures conversing in the chapel, neither of them exactly matched his expectations.

The first of the two figures, a stout, portly man with swarthy skin, clad in opulent maroon robes-marking him as a Senior Enchanter of the Circle of Magi-and clutching a twisted staff of hawthorn, looking at the other man with an exceptionally sour expression on his face. "What is it now?" the mage snapped to the chapel's other occupant "Haven't Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?"

The words 'Grey Warden' drew Arthur's attention to the other person present, whom he assumed was the mysterious Alistair. Arthur raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of the fellow, because he was nothing what Arthur had expected. He was young, perhaps Arthur's age or slightly older-twenty one, twenty two at the oldest- and a handsome enough fellow, seemingly unscarred with short, spiky blonde hair and a light dusting of stubble around his jaw line. He was clad in a suit of worn, but serviceable splintmail armour, and bore a wooden kite shield identical to those carried by the templars, and a sword stamped on the pommel with the griffon emblem of the Grey Wardens. "I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage" the young Warden answered politely enough. "She desires your presence"

The mage gave a snort at this. "What her Reverence _desires_ is of no concern to me. I am helping the Grey Wardens-by the king's order, I might add!". The young Warden gave a mischievous smile and opined "Should I have asked her to write a note?". The mage's scowl only deepened and he glowered coldly at the young fellow. "Tell her I _will not_ be harassed in this manner!"

The young man's eyebrows rose and he sarcastically opined "_Yes_, I was _harassing _you by delivering a message". Arthur gave a snort of amusement at this; the mage whirled round to face him, his dark face illuminated with such a grimace that he looked as though his head was about to explode, and then turned back to the other man "Your glibness does you no credit!"

"Oh, and here I thought we were getting along so well" the young Warden replied with a frown of sarcastic hurt. "I was about to name one of my children after you...the _grumpy_ one". At this, Arthur couldn't help but burst out with laughter. Both men looked up at this; the young Warden grinned mischievously, but the mage looked apoplectic with suppressed outrage, whirling between both of them with a look of fury on his face, before throwing up his hands in an annoyed snarl of exasperation and snapped "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!" He turned on his heel and stormed away, forcing Arthur to jump back as the mage barged past him. "Get out of my way, fool!"

"Charming…" Arthur muttered under his breath. The young Warden sighed and commented "You know one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together". His lopsided grin proved infectious as Arthur, for the first time that day, allowed himself to smile honestly as he answered "I know what you mean". His companion chuckled with a cheesy grin "It's like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands…that would give the darkspawn something to think about!". His face suddenly gained a pensive look as he uncertainly asked "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you're another mage?"

"Would that make your day worse?" Arthur sniggered, raising an eyebrow. "Hardly" the blonde fellow replied with a shrug "I'd just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment! Wait, I do know who you are: you're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever. I should have recognised you right away. I apologise".

"And how would you recognise me?" Arthur enquired. "Duncan sent word. He spoke quite highly of you" the man answered, though there was a solemnity in his voice that made Arthur suspect Duncan had informed exactly what had happened in Highever. Then it vanished, as he smiled genuinely and said "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alistair, the new Grey Warden, though I guess you already knew that. As the junior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining". The two men grasped hands firmly and gave a friendly handshake as Arthur gestured to himself and said "Pleased to meet you. I am Arthur". At this, Alistair grimaced and slapped his own forehead as though unable to believe his own stupidity. "Right, that was the name. So I'm curious, have you ever faced darkspawn before?"

"Not a live one" Arthur replied. He was acquainted with descriptions of darkspawn from the tales of the Blights, and while exploring the camp, on the far west side he'd wandered in a military briefing, in which a veteran sergeant had been instructing new recruits on the nature of the foe they were facing. To assist in his demonstrations, the sergeant had shown the recruits the corpse of one slain by the scouts: a short, stocky creature the man had called a 'genlock'. The darkspawn had been the most hideous thing he'd ever seen; had it stood, it would have come up to his stomach. Its skin was leathery and a pallid green in colour, and pockmarked with boils, lesions and scars that still wept dark, foul-smelling fluids; the creature stank worse than a dozen corpses left to rot in the sun. Its short body was clad in tattered remnants of chainmail that looked to have been taken from the body of someone it had killed and then 'altered' to fit it. But its head was the worst; bald and scarred- looking far too much like a skull for his liking-with large, bat-like ears, a mouth packed with needle-sharp teeth twisted into a permanent death's-head grin, and milky-white eyes sunken deep into their sockets. It had been hideous enough to look at; Arthur couldn't imagine what it was like to actually battle one of those vile things. He'd gathered from the sergeant's briefing that while genlocks were a common sight in the horde, they were not the only ones.

"No, I've never fought them though I'm acquainted with the tales. Why, have you?" Alistair's face became a grim mask as he shuddered at a memory. "When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to facing another" His face brightened considerably as he said "Anyhow, whenever you're ready, we'd best get back to Duncan: I imagine he's eager to get things underway. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Otherwise, lead on".

As they exited the chapel and began to head in the direction of the Grey Warden pavilion, Arthur turned back to Alistair and enquired "So what was that all about?"

"With the mage?" Alistair replied. "The Circle of Magi is here at the King's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit: they just _love_ letting mages now how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position; I was once a Templar". "You were a mage-hunter?" Arthur replied, intrigued; this man matched up as little to his expectation of a Templar as he had to of a Grey Warden. Alistair grimaced and replied "Not that that's all Templars do, but yes. I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult-sending me as her messenger-and the mage picked right up on that". Alistair gave a sigh and continued "I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan said we're all to co-operate and get along. _Apparently, _they didn't get the same message". Arthur nodded in understanding, then thought of another question.

"Tell me a little about yourself." Arthur enquired. "I wish to better know my comrade-in arms". Alistair look surprised but answered "Well, as I said, I was trained as a Templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago. The Chantry raised me and becoming a Templar was a decision made for me a long time ago." His eyes became distant and Arthur could see a pained unease in them; clearly the memory was a painful one. '_I think this fellow has as many scars on his heart as I do'_.. "Anyway, Duncan saw I wasn't happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now here I stand a proud Grey Warden."

"You speak fondly of Duncan." Arthur noted

His features softened with a look of affection, "I spent years in that chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what I wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the Grand Cleric to help me."

"What else can you tell me about Duncan? I've only really heard tales and snippets of gossip about him. I tried to get some information about his past out of him, but I must say, he's not the most talkative of people"

Alistair answered "Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden...which he would say doesn't mean much, as there aren't many of us here. _Yet_." At this Alistair gave another look of He grinned, "Beyond that he is a good man. A good judge of character. I owe him a lot. What about you? What do you think of him?"

"I owe him as well" Arthur nodded. "He…saved me" the youth finished, emotion choking his voice at the memory. Alistair, sensing this, put a comradely hand on Arthur's shoulder. "That sounds familiar. He's done the best he can with what little he has...and that includes me I guess." Arthur nodded at this and then another thought came to him. "I have a few more questions"

"What about?"

"The Blight"

"Of course" Alistair replied solemnly. Arthur composed himself and asked "So…where do darkspawn come from?"

"Do you want the Chantry's version, or the truth?"

"I'm well acquainted with Chantry dogma about the darkspawn. But I imagine the Wardens know more on the matter than the priesthood, so let's have the truth" Arthur replied. Alistair sighed and answered "The truth is, we don't really know. They come up from the ground and that is as far as we've gotten."

"Question: considering the fact that below our very feet, an army of monsters lies in wait, perpetually seeking the one thing they need to pose a threat to the entire world, would it not be simply easier to add our might to the dwarves, and kill the darkspawn while they're underground?"

Alistair gave him a strange look-Arthur couldn't tell if it was shock or awe- and replied "They've controlled the Deep Roads ever since they defeated the dwarven kingdoms. Even if we invaded the Deep Roads, we can only chase them so far."

"So what the Chantry tells us-the storming of the Golden City, the casting out of the mages, the fall of the dwarves- that was the first Blight?"

"Yes, and it nearly wiped us all out, not just the dwarves. When defeated the darkspawn flee underground to seek out another old god to corrupt with the taint, thus bringing another Blight. Without the leadership and iron will of an Old God to drive them on, they could remain underground for decades, centuries even. This is why so much time passes between Blights."

"Duncan told me he could sense the presence of an archdemon, that he was sure that this is a true Blight. So why are some people so sceptical?" Arthur enquired

Alistair sighed, "The Grey Wardens killed so many darkspawn by the end of the last Blight, people decided they were gone for good. It didn't help that the rulers of the nations ravaged by the Blight encouraged the lie to help the recovery of their lands"

"So where is the archdemon for this Blight?"

"We haven't seen it yet. People are beginning to think this is just an unusually large darkspawn raid without an archdemon to unify them." Alistair made a face, "But seriously...the archdemon could be in the Wilds, or underground. It could be hiding. Just because it hasn't shown itself doesn't mean it isn't out there."

"So just how many darkspawn does this monster have at its command? How large do you believe the host arrayed against us is?"

Again he shrugged, "Thousands? Tens of thousands? They've had centuries to build up their numbers." Arthur felt a thrill of unease; the trepidation he'd seen in the encampment was well placed. _'We could be outnumbered anything from 3-1 to 20-1!'_

"So, how does anyone even know about this Blight?"

Alistair's face became guarded. "The Grey Wardens keep watch. We...feel the darkspawn when they come. You'll understand after the Joining, if you...well, you'll understand." His face looked distinctly uneasy as he finished.

Arthur raised an eyebrow: this shiftiness among the Grey Wardens regarding this Joining ritual sat ill with him. From what he could deduce, this initiation ritual entailed something so dangerous, the Wardens had no wish to even mention what happened in public. At this point, he saw Alistair staring at him askance and decided to change the subject. Part of him wished to enquire further about the Joining ritual but he suspected he wouldn't get any more information about it. _'All things in their time'_ he relented.

"So, how exactly do the Grey Wardens defeat Blights?"

Alistair's answer was blunt and straightforward. "We chop off the snake's head. It's the only way. According to those texts, the most famous Grey Warden leader, Garahel, killed the archdemon Andoral in personal combat at the battle of Ayesleigh to end the last Blight. Without the archdemon to command them, the darkspawn fled back underground." Arthur nodded and said back "I know; I grew up on stories of the Grey Wardens. I spent most of my childhood running through the streets of Highever, pretending to fight the likes of Andoral, Toth and Dumat!"

"Where are our fellow members of the Order now?"

"The others are camped with the King's soldiers in the valley. The King's given us a position of honour at the vanguard, despite our small numbers." Alistair rolled his eyes, "I think Cailan is actually excited to ride into battle with us. Maybe he thinks that's what his father would have done?

"So what about the upcoming battle? Duncan mentioned the others had gone well, but seemed more worried about this battle.

Alistair sighed, "I'll tell you, it's Teyrn Loghain we should be looking to win it, not the king. Cailan just wants his place in history. The teyrn is planning the strategy" Arthur nodded: though his meeting with Loghain had soured his opinion of the 'Hero of Ferelden', no one could deny that for his distaste for anything remotely Orlesian and his clear failings as a human being, Loghain was a genius when it came to military strategy. "Err, that's my opinion, anyway. I guess I should be thankful the king favours us Wardens, but I know who's keeping the lid on the pot." He heard Alistair conclude.

"Why is the battle being fought here, of all places?"

"We're at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, the eye of the Blight's storm, right where the horde will be coming. Ostagar itself is an excellent defensive position. The Wilders were pushed back from here time and again in ancient days. Hopefully this position will give us an advantage against the darkspawn. If we can dig in both here and in the valley, their numbers will count for nothing and we can bleed the horde against the walls of Ostagar".

"How much will we be participating?" Arthur enquired, feeling a bloodthirsty grin spread across his face. "My sword thirsts for darkspawn blood".

"You know that is a good question. The other Grey Wardens are riding into the battle with the king, myself included. I don't know if you or the other new recruits will be with us."

"And our chances of success?"

"I'm sure Teyrn Loghain has the battle planned to the last detail, as I said he has the lid to the pot. Still...no Blight has ever been defeated with so little cost." He shrugged.

"And if we fail?"

"If we don't break the horde here, Duncan says it will spread until it engulfs all of Ferelden. Then it will take an alliance of nations to fight it." Alistair sighed, "Which would be...bad. Neither the king nor the teyrn really seems to believe this is a real Blight, however." Alistair sighed and then looked around, seeing that they'd reached the Grey Warden pavilion, with Duncan, Daveth and Jory standing right in front of them. Edward gave a loud bark as he saw his master approach and gambolled over, licking Arthur's hand as he got close to the dog. Duncan nodded as he saw who approached and said "Good, you found Alistair. I'll assume you're ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course Alistair that you're quite finished riling up mages!" the old Warden turned on his younger compatriot, glowering down at him with an expression that reminded Arthur of his own father chiding him as a boy for his youthful indiscretions. Alistair's look of chastened discomfort reminded Arthur so much of himself in that situation he had to supress a snigger.

"What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army" Alistair protested, earning a deeper scowl and a raised eyebrow from Duncan. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonise anyone, Alistair; we do not need to give anyone more ammunition against us"

"You're right, Duncan. I apologise" Alistair replied with a chastised nod. Duncan sighed and then turned back to Arthur and the others. "Well, since you're all here, we can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds, to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit".

"Darkspawn blood!" Arthur asked, incredulous. One of the things he remembered from the briefing he'd walked into was that darkspawn blood was a powerful toxin more lethal than any man-made poison. So much as touching it was said to lead to instant death, or worse weeks of agonising madness, _followed_ by death. "What do we need darkspawn blood for?"

"For the Joining itself. I will explain more when you return" was Duncan's terse reply. This did little to allay Arthur's curiosity, but the youth had to admit, he did feel a sense of eager anticipation at the thought of combat. '_Cailan was right; I need to vent my frustration'_. He gave a grin and murmured "Finally, some action!" Duncan chuckled at this and replied with a small grin "Indeed. Darkspawn are not renowned for their willingness to surrender their blood!" At this, Duncan handed over three glass phials to Alistair.

"And what is the second task?" Daveth enquired. Duncan turned his gaze to the rogue and answered "There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind magically sealed to protect them." Duncan turned to his young underling, "Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"What kind of scrolls are these?" Arthur asked.

"Old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago." Duncan replied, surprised the youth would show curiosity, before his face became much more serious. "They were once considered only formalities. With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with."

"And what if they're no longer there?" Arthur's brow creased. "We could be chasing a needle in a haystack; hardly advisable in a dense forest overrun by darkspawn, you'll agree?"

"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen, though the seal's magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal."

Alistair piped up at this point, his face uncertain "I don't understand...why leave such things in a ruin if they're so valuable?"

Duncan sighed in regret "It was assumed we would someday return. A great many things were assumed that have not held true."

"So how will we find this archive?"

"It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search. I will be giving him a map of the area in the Wilds where you are going." Duncan shrugged, "Granted, the map is as old as the chest, but it should get you there."

"Is this part of our Joining too?"

Duncan shook his head "No, but the effort must be made. I have every confidence you are up to the task."

"Find the archive and three vials of black ichor from the vilest beasts ever to walk the face of Thedas. It will be done with all haste, milord" Arthur replied with glib sarcasm. Duncan raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Alistair "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely".

"We will" was Alistair's terse reply. With that, the quartet gathered up their weapons and supplies, made for the gate that led down to the main army camp in the valley, taking ten minutes to wend their way down the winding path to the base of the valley. From there, it was across the plain between the valley and the woods, and then into the depths of the Korcari Wilds.

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They got no less than a mile into the woods when they came under attack. A pack of wolves, ten strong, burst from the bushes and charged, howling in feral hunger as they threw themselves at the group. However, the beasts stood little chance: Daveth's deadly archery dropped two with arrows in their ribs, Alistair put a crossbow bolt through the eye of a third while Jory hacked another's head off with his greatsword. Realising they'd bought into more than they bargained for, the wolves retreated in search of easy prey, whimpering plaintively as they fled. The group had sustained only minor injuries and quickly tended to them, then moved on. Daveth and Arthur also quickly skinned the pelts from the creatures: Daveth said that the quartermaster was paying well for furs that he could sell for capes or blankets to soldiers who needed some extra warmth sleeping in a tent on a cold night in the wilderness.

Further on, they came upon a corpse of a Chantry missionary lying face-down in a pool of brackish marsh water; clearly someone the wolves had already gotten. They recovered a letter indicating the man had hidden a cache of supplies somewhere in the Wilds, then continued along the path…and came upon the site of a bloody massacre.

A pair of wagons lay overturned on their sides, the draught oxen that had been pulling them lying dead on their sides, bearing terrible wounds. Huge strips of meat and even some limbs had been torn off the animals; the darkspawn must have taken the meat as a prize. Bodies of men, clad in chainmail and the emblems of various terynirs, or in leather armour with braided hair marking them as Chasind refugees or mercenaries, lay scattered about where they had died. Many of them hadn't even managed to draw their weapons before they'd been cut down. _'These poor bastards were taken completely by surprise'_ Arthur knew.

Suddenly, he heard a gasp of agony, and saw one of them-a thin fellow in chainmail- thrash weakly on the ground. As they approached, Arthur could see _something _had slashed his side with long claws, and he could see the man was clutching his stomach, where a small, circular, but deep wound had been made. Arthur heard Alistair mutter the word "Shriek…" under his breath, but didn't know what to make of it.

Arthur went over to the man, wondering and dreading that he might be one of the Highever patrol, but to his relief he saw the fellow was from West Hills, not Highever. The wounded man looked up as he realised he was not alone. "Who is that?" he called. For a moment, Arthur saw a look of fear on his face-'_No doubt he thinks the darkspawn have come back to finish him off!' _Arthur thought- which turned to relief as he saw the interlopers were fellow soldiers "Who...is that?" His head tilted slightly in Alistair's direction, "Grey...Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks." Alistair opined.

The soldier groaned again, "My scouting patrol, we were attacked by darkspawn. They came out of nowhere…" The guard's pale face grimaced in pain as he struggled to raise himself up "Please, help me! I need to get back to camp!"

"Let's at least try to patch him up" Arthur suggested. Alistair nodded and pulled a roll of bandages out of pack, quickly tending to the gouges and the deep stab wound in his side. It took only a few moments, and then they helped the wounded man to his feet, who muttered his thanks and began to hobble off in the direction of the camp. The second the fellow was out of earshot, Ser Jory piped up, his voice so high anyone would think he was singing a soprano.

His voice pitched one octave higher, "Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" His eyes uneasily flicked from tree to tree, as if expecting darkspawn to come out from hiding behind them any second.

Alistair spoke in a placating tone before the Redcliffe knight could continue "Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful."

Jory however wasn't calmed, looking as ever like a frightened rabbit about to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

Again, Alistair toned his voice to be soothing, though Arthur caught the barest hint of annoyance. The youth had to agree with the Warden. '_Surely his whinging's more likely to attract the darkspawn's attention than our footsteps!'_. "There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

Jory ran a shaking hand over his close shaven head, "How do you know? I'm no coward, but…" At this, Daveth hid a snort in a poorly disguised cough, while Arthur raised an eyebrow at this. Ser Jory was fortunately preoccupied with trying not to soil his armour to notice their reactions. The knight concluded "But this is foolish and reckless. We should go back!"

Alistair let out an exasperated sigh and placed an exasperated hand on his brow. Arthur tried to talk the man down, relying on his silver tongue to reassure the unnerved man. _'I can understand his trepidation, but this is neither the time or place to easily spooked!_'. "Overcoming these dangers is part of our test."

Jory looked round at Arthur with a simple look on his face, "That's...true."

Alistair nodded gratefully at Arthur, before looking them all squarely in the eye as he addressed them "Know this. All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's _why_ I'm here."

Daveth favoured Jory with a wry grin. "You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first!"

Alistair groaned covering his face with his hand, while the knight squinted at Daveth. "That is...reassuring?"

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however" Alistair pointed out. "So let's get a move on."

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And so they continued deeper into the Wilds, seeking out their quarry. Along their way, they made several side stops-acquiring rare flowers that Daveth claimed were needed at the camp to treat war dogs sickened by darkspawn blood, locating a hidden cache of Chasind weapons, along with the possessions of a missionary of the Redcliffe Chantry, whose last wish had been for his belongings to be returned to his wife. They also inadvertently disturbed the resting placed of a shade of local legend, and were forced to battle the twisted spectre hungry to feed on their life force until Arthur drove the Cousland family sword through the shade's twisted form, banishing it from the mortal world for good.

They also had several encounters with the darkspawn; mostly just intermittent packs scouting the lay of the land. Most were simply genlock archers, for which the party engaged at range with bows of their own, killing the creatures or doing enough damage to drive them off. Unfortunately, the position of the creatures made it impossible to acquire the blood they needed for their own purposes.

However, as they came to a bridge crossing a deep river with no other visible crossing points, they realised why the darkspawn had been so willing to fall back easily; they'd been driving the group towards this point. A large force of darkspawn was gathered on the far side of the bridge. He could make out about five genlock archers, along with a half dozen other darkspawn. These creatures were much taller than their genlock counterparts, on a par in height with Jory, their tall, powerful bodies covered in crude armour likely taken from the corpses of those they'd killed. These ones were also wielding an array of crudely forged iron axes, scimitars and maces. Some wielded a weapon in clenched right fists, while crude shields that looked like they'd been hacked off the side of a building or flayed from the back of some monstrous beast, protected their arms, while others chose to wield blades in both hands. Twenty two malevolent eyes glared at the four of them; the eyes made the creatures look like old men with cataracts, but Arthur had no doubt the darkspawn could see him, if the fact their eyes were narrowed in almost feral hate was any evidence. The creatures hissed and snarled at the group, working themselves into a killing frenzy, but not attacking…yet. "If we can kill the hurlocks-the big ones!-" Arthur heard Alistair whisper "We might be able to scatter the genlocks, but we'll have to hit them hard and fast…!"

Suddenly, a strange figure pushed its way to the front of the darkspawn pack. Arthur took a step back in surprise; this creature was much different in appearance from the others. In size and appearance, it resembled the hurlocks, but instead of armour, its thin body was wrapped in a dirty grey robe and its clawed fists were closed around the shaft of a metal staff festooned with bones and dried blood. The top portion of its bald skull was wrapped in filthy bandages, covering its eyes-though as it cocked its head from side to side as it approached, Arthur had no doubt it could see them, and a crown of feathery spines stood erect at the back of its head. The creature looked at them and hissed a challenge, baring a mouth full of yellow fangs, and then clenched one of its fists. Its meaning was clear as its hurlock underlings gave a shriek of what sounded almost like delight and broke into a run.

Daveth, Arthur and Jory quickly notched arrows to their bows and loosed them as Alistair shot a bolt from his crossbow. Two hurlocks went down with arrows buried in their bald skulls, while a third fell to one knee, clutching a crossbow bolt in its chest. The crested darkspawn hissed in annoyance and spread its arms wide; with a feeling this could mean no good, Arthur shouted "That one's the leader: kill him and we break the others! Daveth, Jory, hold them up! Alistair, with me!"

Jory, roaring like a bull, his earlier unease forgotten, strode into the midst of the hurlocks, wielding his sword like a scythe as he slashed it across one monster's mid-section, then impaled a second through the neck. Daveth cast aside his bow and drew his daggers as one darkspawn tried to hit Jory over the head from behind with a mace, driving one dagger into the brute's chest, and then beheading it with the other. The crested darkspawn shrieked in anger and gestured to the genlocks behind it; at this, they drew knifes and clubs and began to charge at the oncoming Alistair and Arthur. Alistair blocked a genlock's stabbing knife with the stock of his crossbow, and then shouldered the thing to the floor. Before it could get back up, Alistair put a bolt point-blank into the creature's chest. The genlock shrieked like a stuck pig as the iron tip punched into its heart. Two more genlocks charged Alistair, who drew his sword and shield and made to fend them off.

Arthur, meanwhile, shouldered another to the floor and finished it off without breaking stride, his eyes set on the crested hurlock. The beast bared its fangs in challenge and raised its staff above its head in its right hand. He saw flashes of energy playing across the palm of its left, coalescing into a ball of lightning that the hurlock then threw at Arthur; he leapt aside and the lightning blasted the ground where he'd been.

'_Magic!' _ Arthur wondered. '_How!'_ It had been his understanding that darkspawn were little more than animals; surely they shouldn't have had the skill or even intelligence to use magic like a mage? And yet what had just happened said otherwise. '_Still, I've fought mages before, and if this creature's anything like them, it should need time to recover its power…_' But to his horror, he could see the darkspawn was clearly preparing another spell with incredible swiftness: the palms of both its hands crackled with magically-spawned flames that it was aiming at Alistair, who had his back to the creature, his blade locked with a genlock's axe. Suddenly, an arrow from Daveth struck the hurlock mage in its shoulder, distracting it enough for Arthur to charge in. He swung his shield into the monster's gut and as it staggered, wrenched its staff from its grip and snapped it underfoot. As the monster tried to regain its breath, Arthur stabbed out with the Cousland sword and drove it straight through the hurlock's chest. The monster shrieked in pain-crazed rage, a sound that caught the attention of its minions and the other men.

But as Arthur was about to pull the sword free, the darkspawn seized the wrist of his sword arm and hissed through clenched fangs "You-die-with-me, scum!" Arthur nearly dropped his sword in shock: seeing darkspawn that could wield magic was one thing, but one thing he'd been sure of was that darkspawn would be incapable of human speech. The shock of realising just how wrong he was overwhelmed him that he failed to notice the entropic power gathering in the dying hurlock's hands until it was too late. Before Arthur could react to either get away or finish the creature off before it could act, the power in the hurlock's hands coalesced into a glowing orb of fire that flew from its palm and blasted Arthur full in the chest. Both man and darkspawn were sent flying in opposite directions: the hurlock flew through the air, ending up impaled on the sharpened branches of a dead tree. Arthur was sent crashing to the ground, cracking his head hard on a rock as he landed, bounced and then crashed landed in the water. He heard distant voices calling his name…then saw darkness, then nothing.

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_He walked alone through a mist-covered plain. And then suddenly, he was not alone. He saw figures step out of the mist and he recognised them all: Oren, hacked to pieces, limping forward as his injuries had hobbled him, Oriana bleeding from the terrible wounds her killer had made to her chest, Eleanor, her beautiful, stately face marked by the marks of whatever cruel tortures Howe and his lackeys had inflicted on her, a wound at her breast leaking blood, and Bryce…he could still see the wound to his father's gut, his father's hands still clamped to his side, along with the final blow to his heart, delivered on the end of the traitor's sword._

"I am so sorry…" _Arthur whispered_. "I failed you all…it was my task to protect you all…and I failed…!". _But his mother shook her head and whispered, her eyes still gleaming with that last look of maternal pride he'd seen as he left her_ "We do not blame you. You could not have known, none of us did".

"None of us blame you, Arthur; the fault is not yours" _Oriana earnestly said, a soft smile on her blood-stained face. Oren shook his head, and the sight of the broken boy's forgiveness nearly broke his heart._

"Then why am I here, if not for you to judge me for my failure? Where are we?" _Arthur demanded. His father put a hand on his shoulder and answered "_This is the Fade, pup". "The Fade…!"_ Arthur questioned, awestruck_. "Then am I just dreaming? Or am I…dead? Are we reunited here and you are to take me to face judgement at the Maker's hands?"

"That, darling…is for you to decide" _Eleanor replied. "_What do you mean?" _Arthur asked, turning his head to regard his mother quizzically_. "There is someone here who must speak with you, someone whose words must contribute to what you choose" _Bryce interjected._

"Who?"

"The big bird, uncle…" _Oren lisped. Arthur looked around, and saw emerging from the mist, a large raven gliding down towards him from above. As he watched, the bird landed upon his right forearm and stared at him with its cold black eyes, then let out a caw. _"And what is it of such importance that you have to say, bird?"

_The raven opened its beak and to Arthur's amazement, shock and horror, it was not the harsh caw of the raven, but a woman's voice that emanated; a calm, cold voice with a rich timbre, but a malevolent edge to it. _"There are men who struggle against destiny, and yet achieve only an early grave. There are men who flee destiny, only to have it swallow them whole. And there are men who embrace destiny, and do not show their fear. These are the ones that change the world forever. The question, child…is which will you be?"

"Will you come with us, pup? Will you forget the real world and come with us, to the Maker's side? It is a little early, but I'm sure he will not mind and we do wish you to be with us again. Or will you go, back to the mortal world, to where Howe awaits to be slain, along with the archdemon? It will be a hard road, and you will know much pain and hardship, but there is light and love upon it, and at its end, hard though it will be to reach, glory and the immortality of history await, lasting until the end of days".

"I want nothing more than to go with you, but Howe's crimes cannot go unpunished. Your spirits deserve justice. They deserve vengeance. And I cannot abandon Highever, Ferelden, Thedas, to the darkspawn. I am sorry…"

"Don't be, pup. Do what must be done, as our family has always done. And know that we love you, we are all so very proud of you, and we will see you again when the time is right. Now go, pup" _his father answered._

_Arthur nodded, and then did what had to be done. He…_

_ #######################################_

He woke up.

He was lying on his back under the wolf furs they'd skinned earlier. He tried to sit up, and winced in sudden pain as fiery agony seared through his side. He reached beneath the blankets he was covered by, and saw his bare chest was swathed with bandages. He peeled them back slightly, and saw several dark burns on his flesh, along with a number of grazes and scrapes from where his momentum had dragged him across the hard ground. He reached up to his brow and winced as he felt more bandages wrapped around his skull, covering the point where he'd whacked his head, making him look like the darkspawn who felled him, he imagined. Suddenly, he heard a laugh and saw Daveth looking over him, grinning "Good to see you, mate! We thought you were a goner for sure! Oi, Alistair, our mage-killer is awake!"

"Where are we?" Arthur asked.

"In a secluded grove in the Korcari Wilds, whiling the night away. When that darkspawn mage took you out, we didn't know what to do. The beasts legged it as soon as they saw their leader skewer himself on that tree, but we were at a loss what to do with you. We had to get you away, but we're too far from the camp to have gone back, and you needed treatment fast. So we stopped just long enough to scoop up some blood into those phials Duncan gave us, then found somewhere quiet to treat you. By then, the sun was gone down and Alistair said it was too risky to keep going in the dark, but he says we're only a few miles short of the tower: once we're sure you're up to carrying on, he's says we'll continue onwards in the morning". Daveth finished.

He heard armoured footsteps approaching and saw Alistair approach from behind the rogue. "Good to see you're alive, my friend: if you'd karked it, Duncan would have had my tender regions mashed on an anvil…for a start! Go easy though, try not to overexert yourself; I'd say you're still quite weak. The emissary did a lot of damage!"

"Emissary?" Arthur asked, the term unfamiliar to him.

"The magic-wielding darkspawn that blasted you. They're the only ones of the horde smart enough to make use of it"

"It spoke…" Arthur said, shuddering as he remembered the guttural, choking tone of the monster's voice as it spat the words from a mouth never meant for the human tongue. Alistair nodded "As I said, the emissaries are the smart ones. Duncan told me they sort of act as intermediaries between the archdemon and the horde; in its absence, they relay the archdemon's commands to the horde and ensure they are obeyed. Records of past Blights confirm that at times, some of the archdemons even sent emissaries to speak to the rulers of cities their hordes were about to fall upon, though from what I gather, mostly the negotiations involved the emissary demanding immediate surrender and offering a swift death in return"

"Not much of a compromise" Arthur opined.

"From what I gathered from Duncan, the emissaries take charge of the darkspawn in the absence of an archdemon, leading the search for a new Old God to taint. Most of the time…"

"What do you mean?" Arthur questioned. "Duncan told me that not long after _he_ joined the Wardens, he went into the Deep Roads after one of our number who'd been taken by the monsters. Said they ran into an emissary that wasn't searching for the Old Gods, but following its own agenda…"

"What else did he say?" Arthur enquired, but Alistair merely shrugged his shoulders. "Not much. From what I understand, a good many Wardens that he knew and respected died in the Deep Roads because of that creature, and I think the memory is still too painful, even now for him. But that doesn't matter. Daveth!" Alistair snapped "Get Arthur some food; he needs to eat if he's going to get his strength back!" Daveth scowled but obeyed, returning with a piping hot bowl of what looked to be stew, which he had set down by Arthur, who took it and gingerly began eating. It was quite good: he could taste fish and another meat. "What is it?"

"Salmon and rabbit stew" Alistair replied. "That emissary's fire ball blasted a number of fish out of the water, and we found a good many rabbits in this clearing, which we caught a few of after making sure you were alright". Arthur nodded and tucked in with wild abandon, swiftly gorging himself on the fine fare, feeling hot stew trickle down his lower jaw as he rapidly spooned it down. He could just hear his mother's voice chastising him… "Slow down, Arthur Cousland! You're a civilised man, not a blight wolf with its head in a carcass!" Combined with the haunting visions from the Fade he had seen while unconscious, he felt a pain clawing at his heart. '_Was I right to leave them _again_?'_

At that moment, Ser Jory reappeared with a large bundle of firewood in his thick arms. "Build a small fire" Alistair ordered. "We don't want to attract any unwanted attention. As Jory dropped the bundle and began to create a spark by rubbing two pieces of flint together, Arthur decided to break the silence, by getting to know his comrades-in-arms. "So, Ser Jory, you said you were from Redcliffe?"

The knight looked round at him and answered "I hail from Redcliffe, but I was recruited by Duncan in Highever, a city off the northern coast." Jory gave a wistful homesick smile which reminded Arthur about his own feelings about Highever. _'I dread to think what our family's vassals are suffering under the brutality of that dog, Howe! For every one of them he hurts, I will repay him a thousand fold_!'. His vengeful musings were interrupted as Jory enquired "Have you travelled there?"

"I…" Arthur sighed. There was no point in dancing around it: they'd find out soon enough. "My father was the lord of that city". Jory did a double-take, then leapt to his feet and gave a full bow. "My Lord Cousland, I am honoured!". Alistair and Daveth were also eyeing him with interest. "So what did you do to get sent out here?" Daveth questioned. "That…is a story for another time, when I am more inclined to tell it. Please, continue Ser Jory" Arthur bluntly replied.

"I was in Arl Eamon's retinue when he attended King Maric's funeral. It was at Highever that I met my Helena." Jory's face took on a wistful, faraway look of joyful desire "I was smitten. She has the most beautiful eyes, my Helena. For years I found any excuse to return there. We married a year ago."

"Congratulations" Arthur replied without any real feeling. Jory, either not noticing or ignoring, nodded and carried on "Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve Highever, but I was attempting to persuade Helena to return to Redcliffe with me. Or at least, I was until Duncan recruited me." The knight shrugged solemnly "Last month, Duncan visited Redcliffe while I was there with my Helena, and one of the local banns held a tournament there in his honour. I won the grand melee."

"So you abandoned her?" Arthur sniped, raising an eyebrow.

Jory's voice became indignant and he scowled, his voice raising slightly in pitch as he curtly snapped "Never! I will return to her once my duty is done and the Blight defeated." He slammed a fist into his open palm to emphasise his point, "It was hard to leave my wife. We married only a year ago, and she is heavy with child now. But...Ferelden needs my blade, I shall not falter."

"So, what do you think of Duncan?"

Jory considered the question thoughtfully, his scowl becoming a grimace of contemplation before he stated "He has a seemingly impossible task, with a scarce handful of Grey Wardens. Yet he does not complain or flinch from his duty." Ser Jory shrugged, "We should find those documents as soon as we can. Although if they were so important, why leave them out here?"

"As Duncan said, they always expected to return for them. But even the best-laid plans can go awry. What matters is that we are here now and we will retrieve them from this place...provided our comrade's taste for heroics doesn't get him killed next time!"

Guiltily looking away, Arthur turned to Daveth and asked "What about you, Daveth? What's your story?"

"Ha!" the rogue laughed. "You just want to get the attention off of you. But if you're interested, I'll tell you; I grew up in a village 'bout a day's trip to the east. Little blot you wouldn't even find on a map." The rogue pulled a face at the memory and continued "I haven't been back in years. I struck out for the city as soon as I could outrun my pa. He and I never really got along after my dear old mum passed into the Maker's hands on winter. I've been in Denerim for what...six years now? Never liked it much, but there's more purses there than anywhere else." He gave a rueful grin.

Arthur grinned, raising an eyebrow "So, you're a rogue and a cutpurse."

Daveth shook with laughter "...and a pickpocket, thank you very much! Or I was, anyhow. Who'd ever guess I'd end up a Grey Warden?"

"So how did that happen? How did the Grey Wardens find you?"

"I found them. With the soldiers leaving Denerim for Ostagar, and all the crowds waving and cheering them goodbye...it was too much to resist. I cut Duncan's purse while he was standing in a crowd." Daveth sniggered, "He grabbed my wrist, but I squirmed out and bolted. The old bugger can run" Daveth joked, ignoring the glower of disapproval Alistair threw at him "but the garrison caught me first. I'm a wanted man in Denerim, you see, so the city garrison were going to string me up right there."

"And what happened then? How'd you get out of that one?"

"Duncan stopped them. Invoked the Right of Conscription, he did. I gave the garrison the finger while I was walking away." Daveth shrugged with a gleeful expression on his face, "Don't know why Duncan wants someone like me. But he says finesse is important, and that I'm fast with a blade...You bet your boots I am. Besides, it beats getting strung up." .

"I won't argue with you there!" Arthur nodded "So, what do you think of Duncan?"

"He's all right for an old bugger." Alistair again gave the rogue a cold glare but said nothing "He's faster than he looks too. And I'm grateful to him for his saving my ass from a short drop and a sudden stop, and his faith in little old me and my potential. Well, you heard the same speech I did. Still, I've never heard of a tower that stood for more than ten years in this forest…" he mused.

"Alright, that's enough chatter. Arthur, get some rest. Daveth, Jory, try and get some kip yourself but keep an eye on him. I'll take the first watch and change at midnight" Alistair cut across them. Arthur nodded and collapsed back to the ground. He gave in to sleep willingly, and fortunately, no strange dreams assailed him this time.


	11. Chapter 10: The Witch of the Wilds

_Well, we've had our meeting with Alistair and our comrades heading into the Wilds, now it's time for them to meet our favourite beautiful, barbed-tongued apostate and her crazy-ass mother..._

_First of all, thanks as always to those who've reviewed, favourited or subscribed to my humble tale: it's always a truly great privilege for a writer to know their work's appreciated by so many, so thank you to __**Shoveler, DigitalPage **__ and particularly to you, __**roxfox1962 (**__your thoughtful____reviews are greatly appreciated)._

_As I finish this, I am about to get cracking on the Joining itself and the lead-up to the Battle of Ostagar itself. Should hopefully have some more very shortly._

_Happy New Year to you all, my good people, and __**'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always your way in the dark'.**_

As always, everything but my embellishments belong to Bioware and David Gaider. And above all else, enjoy!

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They woke early, but it was mid-afternoon by the time Arthur felt strong enough to move again. The ruined tower of the archive lay directly ahead of them, but it took them a little under two hours to get there: Arthur had to go slow on account of the fact he was still quite weakened by the emissary's fire spell, and the others were forced to slow their pace to compensate. As the hours passed, and the sun sunk lower and lower in the heavens, the tower drew closer and closer, until they came to a steep hill atop which the tower sat. Swiftly, they began to make their way up it, Arthur even managing to jog lightly, buoyed up by the knowledge their quest was nearly at an end.

When they reached the tower's entrance, they were attacked briefly by a small band of hurlocks, but they managed to fend off the creatures, taking them down from a distance with arrows. The only real challenge had been a large darkspawn, a hurlock far bigger than its kin, wielding a curved sword in its right hand and a notched dagger in its left, clad in far heavier armour and its head protected by an ornate, horned helm. It had taken three arrows to even slow the creature, and it had taken some blade work to put the hulking brute down: Jory had taken the glory of slaying the hurlock, slamming his sword into its gut, then hacking the winded darkspawn down with a hefty blow that smashed the creature off its feet. In the battle's aftermath, Alistair announced the larger darkspawn had been a hurlock Alpha. Like the emissaries, the Alphas were smarter than the average darkspawn, acting as the captains of the horde, goading and bullying the darkspawn under their command into obeying the commands given to them by the will of the archdemon.

Quickly, they raced up a small flight of stairs into the ruined entrance hall of what had once been the tower. The chest they sought was to their left, heavily damaged but more or less intact. Directly ahead of them was a staircase that would have led to the tower's upper floor, but the walls of the tower appeared to have crumbled under the pressure of erosion, time and the elements and the tower's upper chambers had collapsed. The walls of the building were spotted with moss, and lichen, and creepers of ivy had snaked their way around parts of the structure. The only sign of life inside the structure was a large crow that took off as they approached, glaring at them with yellow eyes and screeching indignantly at the intrusion, flying off in the ruined upper portions of the tower.

Arthur quickly staggered over to the chest, instructing the others to keep their eyes peeled for any signs of trouble- it would be stupid to get complacent now, when they were so close to their quest's end- bent down to the chest and pulled back the cracked remnants of the chest's lid. There was nothing inside but a thin layer of wood dust; no scrolls, not even a hint of parchment. Arthur slammed the lid down angrily: _'We went through all those fights, battled all those darkspawn-I nearly died!-and now we find out it's all for nothing! What the hell are we meant to do now!_' The scrolls could be anywhere by now and this late in the day, the horde would most likely be getting ready to move on Ostagar, and Arthur knew they'd want to be back at the safety of the fortress by then. But how would they explain to Duncan they'd failed the task he'd set them?

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" a haughty female voice sniffed. Arthur whirled round, his hand flying towards the hilt of his sword, but to his surprise, he saw the interloper wasn't what he expected.

Loping down the ramp from the ruined upper quarters of the tower in long strides, moving with almost feline grace was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She looked to be about his age, and was tall and slender, close to Arthur in height, with elegantly long legs and delicate, long fingered hands. Her face possessed beauty that artists would sell their souls to capture, with jet-black hair tied back from a pretty face with a strong chin, high cheekbones and alabaster-pale skin that contrasted perfectly with her dark coils of hair. She was wearing a strange set of clothing: a torn and ragged purple vest that seemed to be for the purpose of exposing her ample bosom rather than covering it, along with a pair of black leggings that clung to her limbs. Her right arm was bare; her left covered by a long velvet sleeve that covered from her shoulder to her wrist. Her unusual apparel was completed by the addition of various feathers, beads and precious stones and a simple necklace was wrapped around her neck, the gem at its centre dangling just above her ample cleavage, along with a long wooden staff clutched in her right hand.

And yet, as she reached the bottom of the stone ramp and fixed them all with a beady eye, Arthur felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air of the Wilds run down his spine. The girl's eyes were a bright and vivid yellow-gold, and were staring at him with the predatory scrutiny of a bird of prey, and as the corner of her mouth curled into a small sneer, Arthur could tell she was deciding whether to consider them a threat...or perhaps as prey.

The woman's haughty speech made Arthur bristle; the damn girl was acting as if she owned the place. Her mannerisms suggested one who rarely interacted with other people "Are you a vulture? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long sine cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

"Which is it? Scavenger, or intruder!" she snapped. Arthur felt his hackles raise: he was quite tired of this wretch's stuck-up attitude. '_I suffered enough of that at the hands of Ferelden's women of high society and their air-head daughters; I'm not going to take it from this backwater wench who looks like she had a blight wolf for a tailor!_'. "Intruder?" he snapped. "And pray tell, miss, how exactly are these _your_ Wilds!"

The woman gave a mirthful chuckle and said "Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?" At this point, she stepped forward and began to circle the men, making Arthur think uneasily of a cat circling a trapped mouse before going in for the kill. "I have watched your progress for some time" she intoned. "'_Where_ do they go?' I wondered. '_Why_ are they here?' And now, you disturb ashes no one has touched for so long". She stopped against a ruined wall of the tower's entrance hall, leaning against the stone. "Why is that?"

"_Don't_ answer her" Arthur heard Alistair snap. Arthur looked round, and saw the Warden had his sword drawn, looking at the mysterious girl with a look of great dislike on his face. "She looks Chasind, and that means others could be nearby..."

The woman cut across him with a derisive snort, waving her arms in a mocking gesture of terror. "OOOH! You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she shot at Alistair, the sarcasm almost dripping from her lips. "Yes, swooping is..._bad_" Alistair answered, glowering at her.

At this point, Daveth cut in, and Arthur was surprised to hear a note of fear in the rogue's tone. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, I tell ya!" Daveth quailed slightly as the woman fixed him with her raptor's gaze. "Witch of the Wilds?" she questioned with a sigh. Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?"

Arthur felt that earlier chill down his spine: Nan had made sure to frighten him and his brother as children with tales of the Witches of the Wilds, stories of beautiful, but cruel and deadly sorceresses that possessed command over the storms and the creatures of the Wilds. Suddenly, his reverie was interrupted as the woman turned her attention back to him.

"You there! Handsome lad…" the woman snapped in a sultry voice, and Arthur had to suppress a soft smile at the compliment "Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civil". Arthur was caught a little offguard, but rationalised her request as not unreasonable. Even if she was a terrifying powerful practitioner of witchcraft, she hadn't done them any harm...yet, and she had been at least moderately civil. 'Besides, I am the son of a teyrn, and I won't have this woman thinking I'm the barbarian lout she clearly believes I am". With that, Arthur clicked his heels, gave a full bow and answered "I am Arthur. I consider it a pleasure to meet you".

The woman's eyebrows rose and her eyes widened with satisfaction; clearly she hadn't been expecting such decency. "Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds". At this, she gestured to herself with a long-fingered hand on her chest and said "You may call me Morrigan. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something which is here no longer?"

"Here no longer!" he heard Alistair snap angrily. "You stole them, didn't you! You're some kind of...sneaky...witch thief!" he angrily finished, glaring up at her.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men, I wonder?" Morrigan's lip curled in amusement as she sneered down at Alistair.

"Quite easily it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them." Alistair glared at her. Morrigan's amused sneer hardened into a cold scowl of annoyance as she glared down at Alistair as though he were a cockroach she greatly longed to crush. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish: I am not threatened." She finished huffily.

"Then do you know who took them?" Arthur cut across them. He decided to take charge of the situation before Alistair provoked a fight. Morrigan looked at him and answered "T'was my mother, in fact."

"Your...mother?" Arthur answered, raising an eyebrow.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed at this. "Yes, _my mother_" she replied, annunciating every word as talking to someone deaf and stupid. "Did you assume I spawned from a log perhaps?"

Alistair coldly muttered under his breath "A thieving, weird-talking log." Arthur bit his lip to suppress a chuckle and he heard Daveth snort behind him. Morrigan gave an exasperated sigh and leant against the stone wall, examining her nails as she answered, her facial expression saying she clearly found them more interesting than Alistair. "Not all in the Wilds are monsters. Flowers grow here, as well as toads". She turned to face Arthur, her tone becoming far more businesslike. If you wish, I will take you to my mother. T'is not far and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Alistair turned to Arthur, his voice a low whisper that only he could hear "We should get those treaties, but I dislike this...Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

"I know. I won't argue this seems a little...too convenient, but we've got no other choice, unless you want to go back to Duncan empty handed?" Alistair blanched at the very thought of it. '_Still_', Arthur thought, _'it would be foolish to go ahead with knowing what we're getting ourselves into!'_. Arthur turned his gaze back to Morrigan and said "First, can you tell us a bit more about your mother? I wouldn't want to offend the one who has what we need, after all"

"She...prefers her privacy, but I imagine she will be curious enough as to why you are here. Come, see for yourself" Morrigan beckoned.

"Why are you so interested in helping us?"

Morrigan's voice took on an annoyed tone, "Why not?"Morrigan snapped back in an annoyed defensive tone "I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"Well, I have no fear of you, but as you can see, my companions are somewhat more easily...spooked. So for their sakes, tell us, are you truly a Witch of the Wilds?"

Morrigan gave him an annoyed glowering look. "Have I been dishonest? Some call us witches, yes, but purely out of superstition."

Alistair's voice took on a hard, cold tone of voice that radiated menace. "You know what the Circle of Magi is, don't you? The Circle requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land and the Chantry."

'_Idiot! He's going to provoke her into killing us all!'_. "Alistair, you are not a templar..." Arthur began, trying to salvage the situation, but Morrigan cut across him "If you wish, tell your Chantry about me by all means. I have nothing to fear from priests." The witch haughtily held her head up while crossing her arms over her near-bare chest.

"Enough" Arthur snapped. "We're prattling away valuable time. Take us to your mother". Morrigan bowed "Finally, some intelligence from one of you. I didn't think I would see such"

Daveth piped up again, yelping "She'll put us in the pot she will. Just you watch!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change!" Ser Jory chipped in as they followed Morrigan out of the ruins.

################################################

Morrigan led them out of the ruin and back down the side of the hill they'd crossed, following a narrow dirt track they hadn't noticed before, following it round to the back of the hill atop which the ruin sat, wending their way through knee-deep marsh water that was as cold as ice, until they came to an island in the middle of the swamp behind the ruin, upon which stood a dilapidated cottage that looked as though it had been assembled from whatever wood and stone could be scraped together to build it.

Stood beside the cottage's door was a tall, grey-haired old woman clad in dirty, dull brown robes. Arthur's first opinion was a great deal of doubt that Morrigan and this woman were related: whereas Morrigan was been tall, elegant and beautiful, this woman was hunched and haggard. Her long grey hair fell about her face in tangled, matted curls that looked as though it hadn't been combed or washed in years. Her face was smeared with dust and muck; she looked nothing short of batty. And yet...there was something unsettling about her. He realised what it was as the woman turned her gaze upon him: her eyes viewed him with the same predatory scrutiny as her daughter had and her eyes were malevolent reptilian orbs that felt like they were staring into his very soul. And there was something behind them; a gleam that suggested power...and other things best left unseen. Arthur could feel this woman was not what she seemed.

Morrigan made her way to stand behind the old woman, gesturing to the four of them as they approached. "Greetings, Mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who..."

The old woman held up a hand to silence her daughter and spoke, cocking her head from side to side like a hawk as she considered her guests. "I see them, girl. Hmmm, much as I expected."

Alistair snorted sarcastically "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?". The old woman turned her gaze on him and Alistair fell silent under their unnatural gleam. "You are required to do _nothing_, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide: either way, one's a fool!" Her voice was clear and rich, but like her eyes, there was a strange edge to it, one that sat ill with Arthur.

"She's a witch I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!" Daveth chirped, and Arthur couldn't fail to hear the real edge of fear that was in his voice. He briefly looked round and saw that all his companions were uneasily looking at their old host, and he wondered if they could sense the unnatural sense of malevolence he could feel emanating from this woman.

"Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?" Jory snapped. Arthur couldn't help but crack a small smile. That had been probably been the wisest thing the knight had said all day.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." Morrigan's mother nodded at Jory with an amused half-smile, and then walked towards Arthur, stopping when only a few inches separated them. Arthur felt the full brunt of the intense gaze of those cold reptilian orbs locked on him, but he held his ground; despite his trepidation, he wasn't going to let this _woman_ see weakness, not when there was a chance it could have dire consequences. "And what of you? Do you have a different point of view? Or do you believe as these others do?" The woman enquired in her imposing voice.

"I'm not sure what to believe."

The old woman tilted her head at him quizzically, an eyebrow raised as though surprised and impressed by his answer "A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware...or is it oblivious? I can never remember. So much about you is uncertain...and yet I believe. Do I? Why it seems I do!" she concluded with a mad cackle of laughter. Arthur felt his unease grow; he was beginning to wonder if coming here was such a good idea after all. Despite her appearance, this woman was far from senile, and he suspected she knew far much more than she was telling.

"So_ this_ is a dreaded witch of the Wilds?" Alistair sarcastically quipped, interrupting Arthur's reverie. The old woman's baleful gaze turned to Alistair as she gave an amused snort of laughter. "Witch of the Wilds, huh?" She clapped her hands in front of her and smiled indulgently as her daughter embarrassedly slapped a hand to her brow "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon!" she finished, again cackling with mirth at her daughter's discomfort.

Morrigan gave an exasperated sigh as she tried to direct the attention of the conversation away from herself. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother."

Morrigan's mother looked to her daughter and nodded then turned back to Arthur and the others, her tone become more imperious and businesslike. "True, they came for their treaties, yes?"? And before you start barking" she snapped with a pointed look at Alistair "your precious seal wore off long ago." As Arthur watched, the old woman snapped her fingers at Morrigan, who retreated into the cottage for a moment, then returned carrying three rolls of aged parchment, each as long and thick as Arthur's forearm. The old woman took them from Morrigan's grasp and held them out to Arthur "I have protected these."

Alistair's voice sputtered angrily as Arthur reached out a hand to take the rolls of parchment "You...!Oh, you protected them?" his anger giving way to surprise as the old woman's words permeated in his brain.

Morrigan's mother raised an eyebrow at Alistair, giving him a pointed glare. "And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

"What do you mean the threat is greater than they realize?" Arthur asked. The old woman turned her gaze upon him and Arthur had to suppress a chill; he could see hidden behind the woman's eyes something...something that suggested this frail old woman knew things beyond his comprehension, and he shuddered at what must have happened to make her so omniscient.

"Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!" The woman threw back her head and gave a truly deranged cackle that set Arthur's teeth on edge. "And how is it you know all this?" he questioned.

"Do I? Perhaps I am simply a woman with a penchant for musty old parchments" she replied innocently, followed by another mad laugh. "Oh don't mind me. You have what you came for" He shrugged her shoulders innocently, but Arthur could tell she was hiding something. '_The question is...what?'_

"Time for you to go then" Morrigan curtly said, but her mother slapped her lightly on the wrist. "Do not be ridiculous, girl! These are your guests!" the old woman chided. The younger woman sighed and then reluctantly nodded. "Very well, I will show you out of the Wilds. Follow me". She gestured to them to follow her, and they began to return the way they came, but Arthur could feel the old woman's reptilian gaze on his back long after they had left the ruins behind. As they headed closer and closer to the edge of the forest, they could hear unnatural shrieks and howls coming from behind them-the darkspawn were readying themselves for battle- but Arthur's thoughts were preoccupied by the old woman they'd encountered, her cryptic comments and warnings, and the malevolent sense of power and unnaturalness that made Arthur certain there was more to the seemingly mad old biddy than met the eye.


	12. Chapter 11: The Joining

Morrigan left them at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, vanishing back into the forest without so much as a word. The quartet quickly made their way back into the valley and up the path to the royal encampment at the top of the fortress. They made a few brief stop-offs at the camp- firstly at a mage healer, to tend to the wounds that the emissary left on Arthur, which with a bit of magic were quickly closed up as if they had never been, then handed over the flowers needed to treat sickened mabaris to the kennel master, followed by a final stop at the quartermaster to restock their supplies- then headed back to the Grey Warden tent to meet up with Duncan.

The old Warden looked up as they approached, along with Edward, who barked happily at the sight of his master and bounded over. Arthur quickly ruffled the dog's fur and scratched behind his ears to quieten him, then turned to face Duncan. "So you return from the Wilds, a little later than I anticipated, but more or less intact. Were you successful?"

By way of an answer, Arthur held up the parchment scrolls and the three phials Alistair had been given, each sealed with a cork and filled almost to the rim with a dark reddish-black liquid. "Not that it was easy" he answered "but yes". Duncan gave a satisfied smile and extended his hands; Arthur placed the Grey Warden treaties in Duncan's left hand, and then deposited the vials of darkspawn blood into his right. The old fellow nodded in satisfaction and said "Good."

A thought came to Arthur and he said to Alistair "Perhaps we should tell him about Morrigan and her mother?" At this, Duncan's face took on a confused expression and he looked to his young comrade. "What's this?"

"There was a young woman at the tower, and her mother had the scrolls; they'd taken them from the tower, supposedly to protect them. They were both very..._odd_" Alistair replied. "Where they Wilder folk?" Duncan enquired, intrigued, but Alistair shook his head. "I don't think so. Personally, I thought they might be apostates-mages hiding from the Chantry"

Duncan sighed and gave Alistair an understanding, but exasperated look. "I know you were once a templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is _not_ ours. We have the scrolls; let us focus on the Joining". With that, Duncan turned back to Arthur, Daveth and Jory and addressed them "While you were away, I've had the Circle mages preparing: with the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately".

'_Makes sense; if the horde's preparing for battle, they'll want as many Grey Wardens on hand as possible_!' Arthur thought. Still, his earlier curiosity about what this initiation rite entailed came back, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask. "Will you tell us now what this Joining Ritual entails?". To his discomfort, Duncan looked uneasy, and there was a solemn note in his voice as he answered "I will not lie: we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree you pay your price sooner rather than later". The tone in Duncan's voice left Arthur in little doubt what kind of price the old Warden was talking about.

"You're saying this ritual could..._kill_...us?"

Duncan shrugged his shoulders "As could any darkspawn you face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I didn't think you had a chance to survive".

"Let's go then. I'm anxious to see this Joining now" Daveth replied, sounding resolute. "I agree; let's have it done" Jory added, though Arthur thought he heard a quavering note of uncertainty in the knight's voice. Duncan nodded approvingly. "Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple".

#############################

Alistair took them to the ruins of the fortress chapel where Arthur had first encountered him. They waited there for the better part of fifteen minutes, awaiting Duncan to rejoin them. Arthur leant against the wall, idly fingering the hilt of his sword to ease his tension. Daveth was rocking back on the balls of his feet, silent but Jory was pacing back and forth uneasily, and making no effort to conceal his trepidation.

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it" he muttered. "Are you blubbering again?" Daveth retorted, a sneer on his lips.

"Why all these damn tests? Have I not earned my place?" Jory snapped back. Daveth shrugged his shoulders and answered reasonably "Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you...!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory" Arthur said in a placating tone "There's nothing we can do about it now..." but the knight would not be eased. "I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. _If _they had warned me..." he gave a weary sigh of defeat "It just doesn't seem fair".

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth pointed out. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us!" Jory's high-pitched reply was almost a fearful shriek. Daveth merely shrugged and replied in a flat voice devoid of fear "I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight". Arthur raised an eyebrow, impressed; he hadn't expected the rogue to possess such wisdom and solemnity. "I must admit, you do make a good point, Daveth". The Denerim rogue nodded at him and turned back to Jory "You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?" Jory couldn't think of a suitable way to protest, and Daveth continued in an understanding, but firm tone "Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If no one stops the darkspawn, we'll die _for sure_". Jory reluctantly nodded at the rogue's logic, but sullenly muttered by way of an explanation "I've just never engaged a foe I could not defeat with my blade"

Armoured footsteps announced the presence of another entering the chapel. They looked up to see Duncan, carrying a large, ornate silver chalice in both hands. It was marked around its circumference with engravings of griffons and dragons and as Duncan passed, Arthur saw it was half-full with a strange, black liquid that stank of decay. Duncan set the chalice down on the remains of the chapel's altar and turned to face them. "At last, we come to the Joining. The first Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood...and mastered their taint"

Jory's face contorted into a look of disgusted horror. "We're going to _drink_ the blood of those...those creatures!"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As _we_ did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and our victory" was Duncan's solemn reply. Alistair added "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon"

"Those who survive?" Arthur had to know the full scale of what he was getting himself into. At this, Duncan turned to look him directly in the eye, and Arthur saw a great deal of sorrow and regret in those dark eyes, as if he knew precisely what Arthur felt. "Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. It is the price we pay" he concluded with a solemn sigh. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair nodded and bowed his head, speaking slowly and solemnly, intoning an ancient and solemn rite "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, _we_ shall join _you_".

With that, Duncan turned and picked the chalice off the altar, holding it in both hands.

"Daveth, step forward".

Daveth strode forward and Duncan held out the chalice to him. Daveth took it and raised it to his lips, drinking down a small portion of the liquid within. Duncan took the chalice from him, but as he did, Daveth staggered back, gasping in pain. The young rogue doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clawing at his temples. An agonised scream escaped his lips as he suddenly stood up and Arthur saw his eyes had rolled up in his head, exposing their bloody whites.

"Maker's breath!" Jory gasped in shock, the panic in his voice plain for all to hear.

As they watched in horror, Daveth collapsed to his hands and knees, one hand going to his throat as he choked and gasped for breath; with an agonised gasp, half the blood had downed he vomited back up, turning the stone floor black. His eyes returned to normal, and he looked up at Duncan, his face contorted by pain and disbelief. Duncan gave a regretful sigh and murmured sadly "I am sorry, Daveth". Daveth snarled in pained anger and then the last of his strength ebbed away and he collapsed face-down to the floor, twitching weakly for a few more seconds, and then was still. He had failed the Joining.

Duncan turned away from the corpse of Daveth and turned to face Jory. "Step forward, Jory". But the knight was backing away, terror on his face, his resemblance to a frightened rabbit about to bolt complete as his hand slowly reached for the hilt of his sword at his back. He shook his head, backing away against the walls of the ruined chapel, looking at the chalice and its poisonous contents frightfully. "I have a wife, a child...had I known" he pleaded, but Duncan's face showed no mercy. His face hardened, and his eyes were as cold and emotionless as a statue. "There is no turning back..." he answered in a flat voice devoid of pity or sympathy.

Jory shook his head and wailed "No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!". Duncan's face contorted into a look of regret, but he then drew a knife with a long, curved blade and advanced on Jory. The frightened knight, trapped like a cornered animal, gave a snarl of anger and charged Duncan with a high cut at his head, but the Warden parried his blade. Jory attacked again with a low slash, but Duncan blocked, knocked Jory's sword from his hand and drove the knife deep into the side of Jory's chest, twisting the blade as it entered. Jory gasped in shock as he felt the weapon bite into his flesh. Arthur saw the knight look Duncan straight in the eye, and this time, there was regret in his eyes as he sadly intoned "I am sorry" and pulled the knife free. With a groan, Jory collapsed to his knees, his hands weakly and vainly trying to staunch the blood flowing down in his side, until as with Daveth, the last of his body's strength flowed away, and Ser Jory collapsed to lie face down in a spreading pool of his own blood. He too had failed the Joining.

'_And now it's my turn'_ Arthur thought, trying to rein his terror at the thought his own corpse might join the two already on the chapel's floor. "Step forward, Arthur" Duncan said and Arthur reluctantly compelled his own limbs to move. Duncan held out the chalice and Arthur took it, staring at the black fluid within. It stank of rotted meat, soured milk and the overpowering stench of blood, warm, salty and sickening.

"You were called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good"

Arthur looked at the chalice in his hands, wondering what to do. If he refused flat-out, Duncan would kill him on the spot. Even if he managed to evade Duncan, he could see Alistair with a loaded crossbow in his hands, and he knew despite the young man's friendliness and warmth towards him, Alistair would cut him down without mercy if Duncan told him to; no doubt the Grey Wardens didn't want their secrets to get out. _'Maybe, if I can evade them, I can seek sanctuary with the king, ask for his help...'_ Arthur thought madly, but then knew it was pointless. Cailan's respect for the Wardens was too great; if Arthur told him that the Wardens had tried to kill him and he had forsworn his oath to join them, Calian probably wouldn't believe him, and would likely never view Arthur with the same respect he had before. '_Maker forbid, he might even withdraw his promise to help me; he might even let Howe keep Highever!_' Arthur thought. It was more chilling than the thought of what he had to do now.

And if he didn't go to the king, what could he do? Flee the camp? Become a landless wanderer with nothing? He would be dead within a month. Arthur sighed. He had three options. Two ended in almost certain death and ignominy. The third was dangerous, but held a greater chance of survival than the others, and would allow him to achieve all that he needed to: revenge, duty, honour, all the tasks he need to see done and completed. With a reluctant sigh, Arthur raised the chalice before Duncan in a toasting gesture, and then downed its contents in one gulp. The mix of darkspawn blood tasted as vile as it smelled, burning his stomach and throat as it went down.

"From this moment forth, _you_ are a Grey Warden".

And then the pain came...hot and fast, as if molten iron had been poured onto his brain and into his stomach. As Daveth had before him, Arthur bent double with the pain, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clawing at his forehead. His vision evaporated in a haze of pain like fire coursing through his veins instead of blood, fading away into blackness, that faded into white as he saw...

'_He saw himself in the dark ruins of a city made from black stone. Corpses lay everywhere and the stench of death and decay was overpowering. Overhead, he could hear the beating of leathery wings. He looked up and saw the sky was a foul, sickly green in colour and that looking down from on high, there was something above him; a gargantuan dragon, its scaly hide the reddish-black colour of a charred corpse. Its eyes were milky-white like the darkspawn's, seemingly blind but Arthur had no doubt the dragon could see him._

_Its reptilian head swayed snake-like from side to side as it regarded him quizzically, as though trying to make sense of what he was, and then its mouth opened wide, baring rows of dagger-sized teeth stained yellow with corruption and hissed a challenging snarl at him. As he watched, its white eyes narrowed malevolently, and he saw the edges of its jaws pull back from its teeth as if it were grinning. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that the monster was grinning demonically at him._

_He'd seen that grin before, on the face of Loghain. On the face of Howe. It was the satisfied smile of a being who had encountered someone it had felt uncertainty towards, and was relieved to conclude that what it had perceived as a threat was in truth no worry to it whatsoever. It was a look he hated, and Arthur bellowed back a challenge of his own to the dragon._

"Think again; I will be more of a threat than you think. Enjoy your moment of contentment; tonight we will crush your Blight underfoot, destroy you and mount your head from the walls of Denerim as proof we need not fear you and your ilk any longer, archdemon! Enjoy your moment in history; it will end soon enough!"


	13. Chapter 12: Preparing For Battle

"It is finished. Welcome"

Arthur felt a cold sensation pressing against his back. It was the cold stone floor of the chapel. Looking up, he saw Duncan and Alistair standing over him, their faces set in expressions of concern and worry. His eyes fluttered and he saw Alistair let out a breath of relief and grinned at the sight, while even Duncan's hard, stoic face had a gleam of satisfied relief about it. Duncan extended a hand to Arthur, who took it gratefully and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He clutched his head as he got up, the pain of what he'd just endured still fresh and shook his head. Duncan suddenly offered him the chalice; Arthur was somewhat reluctant to take it again, but when he saw this time it only contained fresh water, he took it eagerly and drank, eager to wash away the vile taste of darkspawn blood from his mouth and throat. He drank down a portion of the water and then used the remainder to wash out his mouth, spitting it out after swilling it between his teeth. As he put the chalice down, he saw with a pang of regret the corpses of Daveth and Jory, pulled to one side. Arthur sighed; he hadn't known them long, but they had seemed like decent, worthy fellows and he would at least remember their passing.

Alistair followed the line of his gaze and sighed "Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was horrible" he sighed regretfully at the memory, then put a comradely hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I'm glad at least one of you made it through". Arthur nodded in thanks, then turned back to Duncan, who was regarding him with a look of almost parental concern. "How do you feel?" he questioned.

Arthur spread his arms and replied "Honestly I must admit, nothing you said prepared me for that. The pain...by the Maker, that was unbelievable!". Duncan merely shrugged his shoulders unapologetically and replied flatly "Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden. And now you are"

Arthur nodded, somewhat relieved at the thought. He had passed the Joining. He was still alive. He would live to see the archdemon destroyed and the darkspawn defeated. He would be able to ensure Howe swung from the gallows and Highever was returned to the Couslands...and so much more...

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked. "I had such terrible dreams after my Joining..." Alistair trailed off, shuddering at the thought of some old nightmare. Arthur nodded briefly, wondering if he should tell them in detail the vision he'd just witnessed of what he was certain had been the archdemon, but before he could decide, Duncan cut across him and said "Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as do we all". His face became briefly sympathetic as he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder and said "Have no fear, that and many other things can be explained in the months to come. For now, we have others matters to attend to".

At this point, Alistair extended a hand and Arthur saw he was holding a leather cord upon which dangled a small sword, made from what appeared to be glass. Looking closely, Arthur saw that inside the glass, there were droplets of what looked to be black liquid staining it. Alistair explained "There is one last part to your Joining. We take some of the darkspawn blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us...of those who didn't make it this far" he concluded solemnly, nodding pointedly at the bodies of Jory and Daveth. Arthur nodded and took the pendant, gently placing the cord around his neck, where it jangled next to the pearl griffon medallion he already wore.

"Take some time" Duncan said firmly. "When you're ready, I'd like to accompany me to a meeting with the king". "What kind of meeting?" Arthur questioned.

"The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle. I am not sure _why_ he's requested your presence. The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able " the old Warden concluded, looking very uncertain. With that, Duncan departed the chapel, heading in the direction of the ruins of the fortress's great hall.

'_A council of war?_' Arthur wondered. '_What in the Maker's name does Cailan want me there for!'_

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Fifteen minutes later, Arthur was making his way to the great hall to attend the council of war. He'd discovered that after downing the darkspawn blood, he'd been unconscious for the better part of twenty minutes. He'd helped Alistair take the bodies of Daveth and Jory to the corpse collectors for burial, though he'd stripped them of their weapons and armour first, taking those to the quartermaster-as Arthur reasoned, better to have some soldier make use of them in the coming battle then leave them to rust in the cold earth with their deceased owners- then sat down in the chapel for ten minutes to take in some fresh air. He'd been joined by Edward, who according to Alistair had had to be chained outside the chapel, once he'd seen that his master was lying as good as dead on the floor. The moment the dog saw him alive and well, he'd bounded over and almost knocked Arthur off his feet, pinning his master back to the ground and gleefully licking him. After pushing the overenthusiastic dog off him and petting Edward to calm him down, Arthur had ordered Edward to go with Alistair and wait for him to return, then headed off in the direction of Ostagar's great hall, to attend on Duncan.

As he entered the hall, he saw a great wooden table before him, laid out with charts and maps sprawled in disorganised clumps across it. Aside from Duncan, who stood on the far side on the table, his face blank and calm, his arms folded across his chest, Arthur saw several captains of various regiments of the army dotted around the chamber, along with a shifty-looking fellow with dark eyes and weasel-like features, clad in maroon and green robes marked with the insignia of a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi, and a tall, elderly woman with a severe expression and grey hair tied back in a bun, clad in the opulent gold and scarlet robes of a Revered Mother of the Chantry. But the most notable figures were the ones closest to him as he entered the chamber, circling round them to stand beside Duncan on the far side of the table; Cailan, his golden hair and armour gleaming in the light of the moon and the torches, looking directly at Loghain, whose silver armour also sparkled in the firelight, though it was outshone by Cailan's opulent apparel. Both men were talking in raised voices, and Arthur could hear the frustration, strain and anger as neither refused to concede to the other's point.

"Loghain, my decision is _final_!" Cailan snapped. "I _will_ stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault!"

"You risk too much, Cailan!" Loghain protested, the exasperation in his voice clearly stating he'd used this argument more than once already. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be _playing hero_ on the front line!". At this, Cailan gave a cold snort and retorted "Well, if you're so uncertain of my leadership and your tactics, perhaps you would rather we didn't give battle! Perhaps, at long last, you think we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join and reinforce us after all!"

Loghain's face went white-though whether it was anger at Cailan challenging his bravery or horror at the thought of Orlesian soldiers marching across his homeland, Arthur couldn't tell- and growled through gritted teeth "I must repeat my protest to your _fool notion_ that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"

Now it was Cailan's turn to pale with anger. He coldly glowered at Loghain and curtly retorted, in a voice cracking with barely-suppressed anger, "It is _not_ a fool notion. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past...and you will _remember_ who is king!" Loghain whirled on his heel to face Cailan, glaring daggers at the younger man for a second, then plastered a sarcastic smile on his face and hissed back "How _fortunate_ Maric didn't live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!", his armoured hands closing into fists so hard, Arthur could hear the metal of Loghain's armour creaking as the old general finished.

Cailan gave an annoyed sigh and replied "Well then, our current forces will have to suffice, won't they!" Turning away from Loghain with a look of disgusted exasperation, Cailan turned to Duncan, his face cheering up slightly as he addressed the Warden Commander. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty!". Cailan nodded approvingly at Duncan's answer and then turned his gaze to Arthur for the first time that evening. "And this is of course the young lord from Highever I met earlier, isn't it? I understand congratulations are in order..."

"Thank you, your Majesty, but I must admit, I don't feel all that special..." Arthur murmured uncertainly. Loghain gave a derisive snort at this, accompanied by a smug smile which caused Arthur to glare coldly at him. Cailan looked a little surprised at the interaction between the two, then turned back to Arthur, a reassuring grin on his face. "Oh, but you are. Every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever".

Buoyed up by Cailan's easy confidence, and wanting to wipe the sneer off Loghain's face, Arthur bowed and replied "Thank you for your faith, your Majesty. Have no fear; I'll be ready to face down the darkspawn when the time comes!"

"Of that, I have no doubt. You should be honoured to join their ranks!". "I am, your Majesty!" Arthur replied with a grin of his own, and Cailan gave a charming smile of his own, flashing those perfect white teeth. However, Loghain didn't take kindly to the moment of levity between the two young men.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your _**undoing,**_ Cailan! We must attend now to _reality_!". Cailan gave an exasperated growl at being interrupted, then threw up his hands in annoyed defeat and snapped "Fine, speak your strategy!". Cailan gestured to the map directly in front of him; it was a map of the lands surrounding Ostagar. "The Grey Wardens and my army lure the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then...?"

At this, Loghain pulled out three wooden blocks and placed them on the table. The first wooden block, painted gold, the teyrn placed in the valley below Ostagar on the map to represent Cailan's army. The second block- painted black- Loghain then moved into contact with the gold block to represent the darkspawn horde attacking. The third block, Loghain placed on the map, positioned in a shallow valley not too far from Cailan's position, hidden by the forests of the Wilds.

"Once the darkspawn have engaged your forces, Cailan, you will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from ambush" Loghain said, demonstrating by moving the silver-painted wooden block representing his army into the side of the black block representing the darkspawn. Arthur had to agree; it was a sound strategy. Trapped in a narrow valley where their numbers would work against them to pin them in, and under attack from two sides, the horde would crumble, hopefully buying the Grey Wardens enough time to bring an end to the Blight.

Cailan, his earlier arguments forgotten, seemed to agree with his general's strategy. "Flanking the darkspawn. It's good, I like it. This is the Tower of Ishal we're talking about, in the ruins? Who will light this beacon?" the king enquired. Loghain waved a dismissive hand "I will have a few men stationed there. It won't be a dangerous task, but it is vital".

Cailan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then replied "Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden, young Cousland here, to make sure it's done!"

"What!" Arthur protested, astounded that after all the effort, all the rigmarole of becoming a Grey Warden, he would not get a chance to test his new ability against the darkspawn, the very foe he had been inducted to fight. "I won't be in the battle!".

"We need the beacon" Duncan interrupted Arthur before he could protest further. "Without it, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge". "You see! Glory for everyone!" Cailan glibly joked, grinning from ear to ear. Arthur wanted to snap there was little glory to be had in standing atop a stone spire holding a burning piece of wood, but reined his temper in. Cailan and Duncan were his superiors in both rank and station: he couldn't go against them. At least not yet.

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, Cailan" Loghain cut in, glowering at Arthur as though he didn't trust him as far as the Teyrn could throw him. "Is that truly wise?". At this, genuine anger flashed across Cailan's face and, much like Arthur remembered his father doing what seemed a lifetime ago, Cailan slammed an armoured fist down on the table, upsetting a number of maps and charts. "ENOUGH! Enough with your conspiracy theories, Loghain! Despite what you seem to think, the Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter _where_ they are from! Not everything in this world is connected to Orlesian politics, Maker dammit!" Cailan finished, glaring daggers at Loghain, who returned the king's gaze with equal frostiness. Arthur saw looks of unease on the faces of Duncan and all the others present at the briefing; it was an ill omen indeed to have the army's commanders at each other's throats before battle.

Duncan wisely chose to change the subject, stating in a solemn, commanding tone "Your Majesty, you _should _consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing..."

For the first time that night, Loghain's mouth expanded into a genuine smile. "There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds" he informed Cailan, who nodded and looked back to Duncan "Isn't that what your men are here for? In case the beast rears its ugly head?". Duncan, caught offguard, reluctantly bowed to the king's logic and nodded. At this point, the shifty-looking bald mage piped up, addressing Cailan "Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi can..."

Whatever offers the mage was about to make was never heard, as the Revered Mother got to her feet and angrily cut across him. "We will _not_ trust any lives to your spells, mage. Save them for the darkspawn!". Loghain took charge, cutting across yet another example of the age-old debate between the Circle and the Chantry, and reluctantly nodding, conceded to Cailan "Enough. This plan will suffice, Cailan. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon!" he finished, pointing to Arthur and Duncan.

Cailan nodded in thanks, a boyish grin of anticipation lighting up his handsome features. "Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that _glorious_ moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!"

Loghain, who had been making to leave the hall, turned and nodded, a wide smile on his mouth. Arthur, however, noticed the smile was as false as the cheery tone in which he replied "Yes, Cailan. A _glorious_ moment...for us all".

The smarmy, false cheery tone Loghain had used set Arthur's teeth on edge. It reminded him of being back in Castle Cousland, where Howe had assured Arthur and his father everything was fine, and then turned up with an army of soldiers to murder them in their beds. Loghain was just like Howe; the false enthusiasm desperately trying to hide the fact he was up to something. '_The question that remains is what is it that he's up to!'_

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With the council of war adjourned, Arthur and Duncan returned to the Grey Warden tent on the far side of the camp. As they moved through, they heard orders and commands being shouted to soldiers both there in the camp and in the valley below; to assemble into their regiments, to take their positions, to ready their weapons and so forth. Arthur silently wished them luck in the coming battle.

They found Alistair waiting with Edward beside the tent and quickly informed him what had transpired at the council. But when they informed him of the task he and Arthur had been assigned by Cailan, his reaction was much the same as Arthur's had been.

"WHAT!" he protested. "I won't be in the battle?"

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair." Duncan calmly replied. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge". Alistair gave a sarcastic snort and sullenly muttered "So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case, right?"

"I agree with Alistair: we should be in the battle" Arthur added. His own unease about Loghain had made him of the opinion they should be where they could see what the teyrn was doing and be in a position to influence or change it if something went awry. But Duncan adamantly refused. "That is not your choice. If the king wishes Grey Wardens to light the beacon, then Grey Wardens will be there. We _must_ do whatever it takes to defeat the darkspawn...exciting or no". Alistair sighed disappointedly. "I get it, I get it. But just so you know, if the king asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no"

Arthur sniggered raucously at this. "I think I might like to see that!". Alistair returned the grin and glibly replied "Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure! We can kill them while they roll about laughing!" Duncan gave an exasperated groan and interrupted the joking pair "The tower is on the far side of the gorge, back the way we came when we first entered the camp. You'll have to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From there, you'll overlook the entire valley"

"And where will you be?" Arthur asked. Duncan said in reply "I will be with the other Grey Wardens, fighting in the front lines beside the king...again at his personal request. We will signal you when the time is right to light the beacon; Alistair will know what to look for".

"Can we join the battle once our task is done?" Arthur questioned. Duncan shook his head "Stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word".

"How much time do we have to get into position?"

"The battle is about to begin. Once I leave, make your way to the tower as quickly as possible" was the answer.

"What...what if the archdemon appears?" Arthur enquired, the thought a real fear in his mind. "We soil our drawers, is what!" Alistair joked, but looking his comrade in the eyes, Arthur could see Alistair was just as terrified at the prospect of confronting such a foe by themselves as he was. Duncan's reply was short, blunt and to the point. "If it does, leave it to us. I want _no_ heroics...from either of you!"

"That aside, are we in any other danger?" Arthur asked. "Of course, even the best laid plans go awry, so do what you must. I trust you both". Duncan answered.

"Just not enough to fight with the rest of you" Alistair sniped coldly. Duncan let out a soft chuckle and replied "There will be plenty of battles to come, Alistair. Be patient".

"Then I know what we have to do". Duncan nodded and gave a whistle. An elven servant ran up, holding the reins of a large black destrier, which Duncan quickly pulled into the saddle mounted on the horse's back. Once he was astride the beast, he turned to face them and said "I must join the others. From here on, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to prove worthy of that title".

"Duncan" Alistair called out as the old Warden wheeled his horse to exit the camp "May the Maker watch over you".

"May he watch over us all" Duncan replied, then kicked his heels into the horse's flanks and rode out through the gate leading down to the valley floor, where the army was assembling for battle. Alistair and Arthur watched him go, then gathered their things and drew their weapons. Alistair sighed and said to Arthur "Let's get this over with. It may not be the most glamorous task, but someone's got to do it!"

Arthur nodded, and the two men, accompanied by the mabari hound, set off in the direction of the bridge that would take them to the tower. '_All I can hope is that all goes well, and I get a chance to wet my blade in darkspawn blood in a _proper_ battle before the night is done!_' he mused.


	14. Chapter 13: Battle and Betrayal

Well, here we have it: my telling of the Battle of Ostagar. Sorry it's taken so bloody longer, but I perpetually fight a war against procrastination and writer's block, and for the last few days, they've had the upper hand! Still, I've got my flair back now, so hopefully, I should have some more for you soon, I hope (unfortunately, real life is intruding on my time again!)

As always, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited or subscribed to my story, especially you, **roxfox 1962 (**your reviews and comments have been a great help and source of advice!). I hope you will all keep going and hopefully find it as enjoyable to read as I find it to write.

As always, all but my embellishments belong to Bioware! As always, enjoy!

'**Atrast nal tunsha- may you always find your way in the dark'.**

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As they began to cross the bridge leading across to the Tower of Ishal, Arthur chanced a look over the side of the bridge; Cailan had assembled his army with great haste, and his forces were assembled in the valley: infantry companies at the front, assembled in long lines that blocked the entrance of the pass, cavalry regiments on the flanks, with the archers and artillery units-catapults, ballista and other war engines- at the back, well protected. Even from the far distant army, many metres below him, he could hear the howls and barks of mabari warhounds at the front of the army, and portions of the Chant of Light being sung from numerous priests and priestesses wandering through the ranks, offering blessings and absolutions to the men about to enter battle.

Arthur extended the telescope of Orlesian make he'd been given by the quartermaster, so he and Alistair could keep watch for the signal to light the beacon atop the tower-a single flaming arrow shot from the west. Looking through the eyeglass, he could see at the front of the lines two instantly recognisable figures-Cailan in his golden armour and Duncan in silver plate. They were talking, and though he couldn't hear them, he could imagine Duncan's words of caution being brushed off by the eager young king.

And then a blood-curdling howl split the night as thunder cracked and it began to rain. The darkspawn had arrived. Hundreds of them stalked out of the forest, but Arthur suspected this was only a portion of the enemy's full number. He and Alistair watched uneasily, recognising hurlocks and genlocks wielding a vast array of weapons-bows, brutal looking swords, maces and axes, crude shields- and all looking at the enemy across the plain from them in the valley with those permanent death's-head grins. Using the telescope to look closely, Arthur could make out the crested, bandage-wrapped heads of emissaries and the heavily armoured, horn-helmed forms of the Alphas among the ranks. And then, at the centre of the horde's front line, he saw a massive hurlock, clad in fine, ornate plate armour that looked like it had once belonged to a Ferelden captain, now stained with dried blood and incised and engraved with obscene runes and sigils, push its way to the front ranks. Its bald skull was covered by a horned helm like the Alphas, though its helm was much more intricate, and in its hands, it held a vicious-looking greatsword. The way the other darkspawn shied away from it with looks of fear and almost deference on their faces made Arthur certain this creature was in control of the horde. _'Maybe it's some general of the archdemon, commanding the horde in the dragon's name. Do the darkspawn have such a thing as generals?'_

As Arthur watched, he saw the darkspawn were working themselves into a frenzy, slamming their weapons against their shields, upon the ground or even beating them on their own chests, but they made no move to attack. '_Do they suspect a trap_?' Arthur wondered uneasily. If the horde chose not to engage, or worse realised what was afoot, the results could disastrous. They might melt back into the Wilds, making them impossible to root out, or worse, they could find and fall upon Loghain's force, waiting for the signal to spring the trap. Though Loghain had a sufficient force, if the darkspawn took him by surprise, they would crush the old general through sheer weight of numbers, regardless of his tactics. The darkspawn had to be convinced to join battle with Cailan's forces long enough for Loghain to turn the tables on the monsters.

An uneasy silence fell as all in the valley watched, both willing the horde to charge them and dreading it. The seconds felt like hours as everyone waited to see if the horde would take the bait. And then, looking through the telescope, Arthur saw the hurlock general look up and down the length of the horde, as if inspecting its troops, then raised its sword above its head, and then let its arm fall. With a collective screech of delight, the darkspawn in the front line broke into a run, followed swiftly by the lines behind them, all racing straight for the valley.

They were charging. The Battle of Ostagar had begun.

The horde quickly began covering ground, crossing the plain at a sprint, all the while screaming battle cries and howling in bestial rage. A good number fell to the traps and snares Arthur had seen Cailan's men setting up in the valley, but these didn't slow the horde as a whole; the loss of a few hundred darkspawn to rope snares, stake-lined pits and bear traps likely mattered little to a general with tens of thousands of troops at its disposal. The darkspawn as a whole ignored the loss of their comrades to the pitfalls of the plains and kept running, eager to get into combat with the enemy.

"ARCHERS!" Arthur heard Cailan's bellowed order even from high above. Looking back, he saw the companies of archers at the back of the line quickly light and nock arrows to the strings of their bows. A second voice shouted out and the archers loosed. A volley of flaming arrows flew into the rain-soaked night sky, followed by a second, and a third. Hundreds more darkspawn fell to the shafts; some killed by the shafts raining down, others as they were slowed by a minor wound from an arrow, then knocked aside by their kin charging from behind and trampled underfoot. As with the traps, the arrows slowed the darkspawn onslaught, but didn't stop it, however.

When only twenty metres separated the charging darkspawn from his forces, Cailan shouted another command "HOUNDS!". At this, a chilling howl rang out from the front ranks, one Edward answered with a keening howl of his own as on the valley floor, dozens of his mabari kin ran from the front lines of the Ferelden army, hurtling like multi-coloured thunderbolts straight at the darkspawn, barking and snarling defiantly as they ran straight at the foe. The war hounds hit the frontrunners of the horde with a vengeance, bowling over full-grown darkspawn and savaging them with tooth and claw. The horde's momentum finally slowed as the darkspawn fought to contain the snapping, barking, furred threat in their midst. Blades clashed and mabaris whimpered and howled as the darkspawn set about the dogs with a vengeance, but the mabaris were doing their work well; the horde had stopped, distracted.

And that was the moment Cailan seized. As Arthur watched, he saw the young king draw his mighty sword from its scabbard on his back, raise it to the heavens and look back at the men and women of his army. And then Cailan roared his battle cry, bellowing it so loud even Arthur, Alistair and Edward heard it atop the bridge.

"FOR FERELDEN!"

His army answered with a deafening roar of pride and courage, and as one, they charged with Cailan, Duncan and the Grey Wardens at their head, shouting battle cries and cheering as they ran headlong at the darkspawn, all eager to get into combat with the monsters. The hurlock general saw the threat and began to direct the attention of the darkspawn horde towards the incoming charge, but even as the horde saw them, Cailan's charge hit them like a hammer blow. The loss of their momentum had cost them the advantage, and so the charge of the Ferelden army sent them reeling. The clash of blade on blade rang out into the night as men and monsters battled in the valley below Ostagar. Archers on both sides traded volleys of arrows and as Arthur watched, from within the forest, great boulders began to arc out from within the trees, causing Arthur to wonder if the darkspawn had siege engines of their own. As he watched, one such missile slammed into a ruined tower of Ostagar, damaging it even further, sending chunks of smouldering masonry falling into the valley.

"Let's get across the bridge, and get to the Tower of Ishal!" Alistair yelled over the din of battle. Arthur nodded and the pair, accompanied by the warhound, raced across the bridge, keeping their heads down and their shields raised, since arrows and even missiles from the darkspawn siege weapons were being hurled at the detachments of archers on the bridge. They managed to made it across the bridge, heading towards the gate they had entered the camp by, and made to turn left towards the Tower of Ishal, the entrance of which was in a small courtyard up a short flight of stairs, when he saw two figures running towards them. Arthur raised his blade, when he saw who was coming: a tall, dark-haired man with a short beard, clad in the yellow and black robes of a mage of the Circle, and an older fellow in chainmail with a crossbow on his back. Both men bore expressions of terror on their faces as they ran towards the two Wardens, occasionally casting fearful looks back at the tower. They came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and saw the new arrivals; the chainmail-clad guardsman looked at the griffon medallions they wore and realised who they were. "You! You're Grey Wardens! You must help...!" the man fearfully yelped. "The tower...it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man! Taken how!" Alistair snapped, astounded. The guardsman gestured at the tower, stammering wildly in his fear.

"The darkspawn...they came up through the lower levels...They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

Alistair nodded and turned to Arthur and bluntly said "Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!". Arthur nodded in agreement and then turned to the soldier and the mage. "What are your names?"

"Tobias, son of Hogarth, soldier of Denerim, at your command, my lord"

"Mathis, enchanter of the Circle of Magi, at your service, milord".

Arthur nodded and said "Come with us; we're gonna need all the help we can get! Stay back and attack from a distance; let us deal with the bulk of the darkspawn!" With that, the group raced up the stairs and into the courtyard leading to the Tower of Ishal, coming upon a vicious combat; about five armoured men were desperately holding their ground against a group of seven hurlocks wielding blades and shields and five genlocks loosing barbed arrows from black wood shortbows. led by an Alpha wielding a blade in both hands. The men were holding their own well, but the darkspawn had the weight of numbers of their side. As the group raced to their aid, Arthur watched as one hurlock leapt back from the swipe of a soldier with a battleaxe, then eviscerated him with its scimitar as the man's missed stroke left him open. A second man fell, pierced at the neck and chest by three arrows shot by genlock archers. The genlocks shrieked in delight at the kill, a cheer that turned into screams as Arthur and Tobias dropped two of them with well-placed shots of their own.

The Alpha looked up and saw them coming; it pointed at them and four of its hurlock kin broke off to intercept them. As they approached, Mathis lowered his staff and from its tip, a stream of magical flame blossomed, engulfing the charging darkspawn in a torrent of fire. The darkspawn fell to the floor, screaming and desperately trying to put out the flames devouring their flesh, too concerned with the fire to defend against the swords of Alistair and Arthur that opened necks and severed heads in sprays of dark blood. The Alpha roared in rage as its minions were hacked down, but before it could react, Edward charged with a loud bark and bit deep into the darkspawn's thigh. The hurlock shrieked and lashed out with its blade, and Arthur heard Edward whimper as one of the darkspawn's swords drew blood from the war hound's flank.

"NO! Face me, you tainted filth!" Arthur roared. The darkspawn looked up at the noise, but whether or not it could understand him, the creature chose to ignore him, preferring to finish off its wounded foe before turning its attention to another enemy. Arthur, enraged at the creature's cowardly choice, broke into a run, though part of him knew he wouldn't get there in time; the monster would kill Edward before he could get it within reach of his sword and nock an arrow. Suddenly, a thought came to him; it was risky and foolhardy...'_But I'm not about to lose something else I care about!'_

With a yell, Arthur hurled the Cousland sword at the Alpha; the blade flew end-over-end through the air and hit the hurlock Alpha clean in the centre of its chest as it drew its sword arm back to finish off the dog. The monster was smashed off its feet, screeching in pain, its clawed hands clasped around the blade of the sword embedded halfway up its length in its armoured chest. Its helm flew off its bald head and as Arthur ran over, he saw the darkspawn was screaming in pain, its dead white eyes wide with disbelief. Arthur seized the hilt of the sword and drove it deeper; the Alpha gave a howl of agony, and then fell back to the ground, a death rattle escaping its fanged maw. Arthur drew the Cousland sword free, ready to fight on, but with the death of their leader, the remaining darkspawn were falling back, retreating back inside the safety of the tower.

The group gave chase, roaring battle cries as they charged through the courtyard and up the stone ramp leading into the tower. Arthur slammed an armoured boot into the tower's door, which swung open, and the warriors charged in, ready to fight their way to the summit of the tower and light the beacon before all was lost.

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The group raced into the tower's entrance hall, coming under attack by a trio of hurlock archers and another emissary, this one a genlock. As they entered the hall, Arthur noticed the floor in front of the door was covered in a greasy slick. As they struggled in, Arthur saw flames forming in the emissary's hands; recognising the danger, Arthur charged forward at the emissary and bashed his shield into the genlock's face, knocking the darkspawn to the floor. As it tried to get back to its feet, Arthur spun on his heel with a high slash, severing the emissary's crested skull. Alistair and Tobias dropped two of the hurlock archers with crossbow bolts, while Edward charged the third darkspawn, knocked it to the floor and tore out its throat.

The warriors, mage and warhound raced through the first floor of the tower-the barracks- encountering a number of genlocks and hurlocks-members of the darkspawn force that had overrun the tower. Dozens of blood-stained bodies, hacked to pieces by blades and likely fanged teeth indicated what had happened to the garrison. The darkspawn hurled themselves at the interlopers, but they posed little challenge; Arthur, Alistair and Tobias first hit them with crossbow bolts and arrows, then drew blades and clashed with the monsters. Those that survived long enough to fight back were finished off by Edward's claws and fangs, or Mathis's magic.

Fighting their way through the barracks of the first floor, they reached the staircase to the second floor. As they began to climb up to the second floor, Alistair seized Arthur's wrist and pulled him aside. "Maker's Breath, what are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde! There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and glibly replied, jokingly grinning despite the seriousness of the situation "You could try to tell them they're in the wrong place". Alistair laughed at this and answered jokingly "Right, because clearly this is all just a _misunderstanding!_ We'll laugh about this later!" His face sobered then and he firmly answered "At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get up to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time: Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for the signal!"". Arthur nodded in agreement and the group continued up the stairs.

The second floor-the armoury-was as much a blood-soaked hell as the first had been; they were set upon by a pack of genlocks as they entered. After hacking their way through the diminutive darkspawn, the Wardens and their companions slammed through another door to find the tower's kennels, in which a number of mabari warhounds were trapped inside their cages while a number of genlocks, led by an Alpha of their number, taking pot shots at the helpless dogs. As the darkspawn saw the intruders, Arthur raced over to the cage release lever, freeing the dogs from their cages, and the mabaris fell upon their darkspawn tormentors with a vengeance. Leaving the darkspawn to the mercy of the warhounds, the group raced to the staircase to the third floor, facing more genlocks and a number of hurlock fighters, but the creatures were dispatched as easily as those before them. The group reached the staircase to the fourth floor, at which point Mathis used his abilities to summon magical flames that enshrouded their weapons. Alistair turned to the group and warningly said "Be wary; the beacon is up here, and no doubt the darkspawn will be waiting for us!"

Arthur nodded and raised the Cousland sword. The warriors charged up the stairs and onto the fourth and top floor of the tower. It was a small circular chamber, the only notable object within it a pile of oil-soaked wood in a corner leading up a chimney to the roof of the chamber. To Arthur's amazement, there were no darkspawn inside the chamber, and he dared to believe their task might be over. But then he heard a deep, rumbling roar to his right, and realised they were not alone.

Hunched over in a corner of the chamber, sat on its haunches was a gargantuan creature, unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked like an ape of the jungles of Par Vollen, but it was much, much larger; had it stood upright, it would have towered over them, at least ten feet tall. Its scarred, leathery skin was a dull blue-grey in colour, with crude leather pauldrons, bracers and greaves either tied to its muscular frame and limbs with lengths of rope and chain, or simply fused directly to the beast's flesh. The monster's head perked up at the sound of their approach, and it swung round to face them. Its ugly, ape-like face, crested with an impressive bone crown of curling stag-like horns that rose from its brow, contorted into a snarl of rage, its wide mouth baring fangs yellow with decay and corruption, its gaping maw dripping blood from the remains of what Arthur thought was one of the tower's guards, which the monster had been feeding off. As Arthur watched, the beast raised a boulder-sized fist to its mouth to wipe the blood aside, its small, beady eyes narrowed in feral hate as it glowered at them and Arthur saw they were milky-white in colour; whatever this thing was, it was undoubtedly a darkspawn.

"By the Maker!" Arthur heard Alistair fearfully murmur. "An ogre..!" Arthur felt his blood run cold. He'd heard stories of the ferocious ogres that prowled the wild, desolate places of Ferelden, killing and feeding on anything unlucky enough to cross their path, but he'd never realised they were darkspawn. The ogre rose to its full height, beating its immense fists on its broad, muscular and scarred chest as it roared a challenge. The group began to fan out, moving wide to encircle the beast and attack it from all directions. "Use caution here!" Arthur heard Alistair warn "This thing's going to take a lot of work to put down..."

His warning was interrupted as the ogre roared, lowered its head and charged like a bull straight at Edward. The warhound saw the danger and leapt away, the ogre's charge causing it to miss the dog and slam into the chamber's wall. Tobias put a crossbow bolt in its right shoulder and Mathis lashed it with a stream of magical fire, dousing its back in fire, but such attacks did little more than enrage the darkspawn. It turned towards the mage, swinging out with a massive fist, and Mathis went flying through the air. Arthur took advantage to attack the ogre from behind, stabbing the Cousland sword into the back of the monster's right leg, hoping to sever its hamstrings and cripple it. The Cousland blade bit deep into the flesh of the ogre's flesh, but not deep enough. As Arthur pulled his sword free to attack again, the ogre bellowed in pained fury and kicked out backwards, its clawed foot catching Arthur in the chest and sending him flying. Arthur gave a winded gasp, but to his relief, nothing seemed to be broken.

Tobias, however, realised what he'd been trying to do and put down his crossbow, drawing a mace from his belt and attacking the beast from behind. The ogre saw him coming and lashed out at him with its fist, but as it swung, Edward leapt into the air and sank his fangs into the ogre's wrist, biting deep and holding on. The ogre howled in furious pain as it shook its right arm, desperately trying to shake the warhound off, but Edward held on for dear life. The others took advantage of the darkspawn's distraction; Alistair and Tobias hacked and chopped at the beast's chest, drawing blood and pulverising flesh, cracking ribs and fingers if the loud cracks and pained roars the ogre let out as they struck it over and over were anything to go on. Mathis lashed it with bolts of magic fired from his staff, while Arthur, recovering from its kick, leapt back to his feet and charged the ogre once more, continuing to hack at the monster's maimed leg.

The monster kicked out at him again, but Arthur dodged aside and kept hacking; three heavy slashes brought the beast down to one knee in a spray of tainted blood as its tendons were severed, but it continued to fight on, trying to throw off the dog. As it finally managed to force Edward to release his grip on its arm, the ogre seized the dog in its meaty right fist, drawing back its left to pummel the dog into a pulp, when Alistair slashed his sword down heavily, then striking upwards with it, slashing his blade twice through the ogre's face, splitting its snout and brow in a spray of dark blood. The ogre staggered back and lost its balance on its injured leg up, throwing out its arms in a desperate attempt to regain its balance, and Alistair seized his chance; springing into the air, Alistair leapt and, stabbing his sword into the ogre's shoulder to secure himself, slammed the full weight of his body into the ogre's chest, sending it toppling like a felled tree as the sudden impact threw it even further off balance. The ogre screamed as Alistair wrenched his sword free from its shoulder; it reached out in a final gesture with a clawed fist, trying to seize and crush the Grey Warden, but before it could, Alistair reversed his sword and used his full weight to drive the sword down into the ogre's brow. The darkspawn shrieked in pain as the sharp iron blade punched through the bones of its skull and Alistair forced his sword down, burying it almost to the hilt into the ogre's brain. The monster's screams petered out into a rasping death rattle as a final breath escaped its fanged mouth, its white eyes widening and going blank as life fled its tainted corpse. The ogre's outstretched claws limply fell back and it slumped to the floor, dead at last.

Arthur gave a relieved sigh, wiping sweat from his brow as he realised the battle was won. Alistair pulled his sword free from the ogre's skull and gestured to the pile of firewood, and Arthur realised that while their fight was over, the battle below wasn't, and unless they accomplished their task, it would end, and not in a good way. "Light the beacon! We've surely missed the signal, so let's light it quickly before it's too late!"

Arthur nodded and ran over to the pile of firewood, burying the Cousland sword, still wreathed in magical fire, into the pile. The oil-soaked wood quickly caught light and the fire spread, igniting the beacon. Arthur grinned; within a matter of minutes, Loghain and his men would see the signal and come charging to Cailan's aid, hitting the darkspawn's flank and sending them into disarray. With a triumphant smile at their successful completion of their task, Arthur and Alistair pulled out the telescopes they'd been given and headed to one of the chamber's windows to watch the victory.

What followed was nothing short of carnage. But it was not the carnage any of them had expected to see.

#######################################

Loghain looked up at the beacon, hearing a rousing cheer coming from Cailan's army fighting in the valley, no doubt eagerly awaiting the reinforcements to come crashing into the darkspawn's flank. The Teyrn of Gwaren, the Hero of Ferelden, hissed in contempt at the foolhardy arrogance of his countrymen. '_Fools_' he hatefully thought to himself '_So eager to throw their lives away fighting for those Orlesian bootlicks and scaremongers! They deserve all that comes to them!'_

Turning to the dark haired warrior-woman at his right-Ser Cauthrien, his loyal second in command, her dark hair pulled back from her rain-soaked face, clad in heavy chainmail with her gleaming silver blade, the Summer Sword, sheathed on her back- he could see an eager anticipation in her eyes; no doubt she was eager to get her sword wet with darkspawn blood. Sadly, she was going to be disappointed. Loghain opened his mouth to give orders, but not the one any of his men either expected, or wanted to hear.

"Sound...the retreat"

Cauthrien's dark eyes widened in confusion and shock, as though she hadn't heard, or she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But what about the king?" she protested. "Should we not...?"

"DO-AS-I-COMMAND!" Loghain tersely snapped, seizing Cauthrien's forearm. The woman stared at him in amazement, as though she were looking at a stranger, not the man she knew, served, _respected._ For a moment, Loghain felt trepidation; the shock in her eyes was giving way to anger, anger at the impossible position he'd put her in; did she abandon her king to certain death, or disobey the man who'd taken her in, who'd made her into one of the best warriors in Ferelden, who'd given her _everything_?

Cauthrien angrily pulled her arm free of Loghain's grasp and glowered at him, but Loghain returned her glare, daring her to challenge him. To both his relief and slight disdain at the depths of her allegiance, she didn't. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she turned away. Loghain allowed himself a smug smile as he watched her approach the troops and reiterate his command.

"Pull out!" he heard his lieutenant shriek. "All of you, let's move!" There were mutterings of discontent, uncertainty and even anger from among the ranks, but to Loghain's great satisfaction, no one openly moved against him. None turned upon him. None made towards the valley, either to fight or to alert the king what was happening. As one, they turned and began to march away. '_Good, they may not like what I do, but they respect the wisdom of my actions. A pity Cailan didn't think to do the same!'_

As he too turned to join them, Loghain spared one last look at the Tower of Ishal. To his surprise and annoyance, he felt a pang of regret at what he was doing; abandoning the king, a man who'd been like his own son, the child of his greatest friends, along with so many brave sons and daughters of Ferelden, valiantly fighting for their homes. But he quickly shook it off; though the decision was hard, it was right. '_We're at war. Maric and Rowan knew full well that sometimes hard, terrible sacrifices must be made for the greater good; I made sure they understood that. They would approve this, as they always did of my work. So too will all others. I take no pleasure from this, but I do what has to be done to protect my beloved homeland. His foolishness would destroy us all. What this land needs is someone who will do all that must be done to protect it.'_

His last act before joining his men in retreat was to sneer at the thought of the Warden fool and the Cousland whelp trapped atop the tower, and likely to soon be slaughtered by the darkspawn along with their fellows. That would tidy up two loose ends that could threaten his plans. '_Doubtless, those two would challenge me, accusing me of treachery, cowardice. They would never understand what I do here had to be done'._

'_I swore to defend Ferelden, and so I shall...by any means necessary'._

Sparing no more thought to his actions, Loghain fell in with his men, and joined them as they began to retreat north.

###################################

Duncan slashed his sword through the neck of another hurlock, the darkspawn vainly trying to staunch the blood flow from its maimed neck as it toppled. The Warden Commander was fighting back to back with King Cailan, and both men knew their situation was dire. Their charge had caught the darkspawn offguard, but the horde had retaliated; a second wave of the monsters charged from the trees and hit the king's men hard, and slowly but surely, the darkspawn had driven the army back into the valley. The cavalry and archers had slowed the darkspawn's onslaught, allowing the infantry companies to battle a disciplined fighting retreat back to the valley, but now any semblance of order was gone; the battle had devolved into a frenzied melee as men and women desperately fought for their lives against the never-ending tide of monsters. Sporadic volleys of arrows were loosed by a few ragged units of archers who'd managed to retreat back to the camp, where they could fire down on the darkspawn from above, but for the most part, the battle was now savage blade-on-blade combat; no finesse, no glory, just desperate fighting for life.

Duncan parried the blade of another hurlock and delivered a vicious kick to the darkspawn's chest, sending it staggering back. He chanced a look upwards: at the top of the Tower of Ishal, a great fire was burning and Duncan allowed himself a thin smile; Alistair and Arthur had succeeded. His smile vanished as he realised the darkspawn were still driving on into the valley, and there was no sign of a second force hitting them in the flank: Loghain's men weren't coming. '_Where are you!_' he cursed. _'Damn you, old fool, we need help!'_

Behind him, King Cailan slashed the sword of his father across the midsection of a hurlock, all but cutting it in half, before knocking the scimitar from the hand of a second. Before it could recover, Cailan seized the darkspawn by its sword arm, ran it through and then kicked the hurlock off his blade with a booted foot. All around them, men and women were fighting bravely to the last against their monstrous foes; a female knight of Denerim hacked off a hurlock's head with her axe and smashed the jaw of a genlock with her shield before another drove a spear into her chest. A battle-axe wielding guardsman smashed a genlock off its feet with his axe, but a hurlock knocked his weapon aside, slashed him across the chest, and then ran him through with its notched sword. Duncan himself desperately parried another attack from the hurlock he'd booted in the chest, then shouldered it to the floor, desperately trying to fight down a rising tide of an emotion he hadn't felt in years.

Panic.

It didn't matter how bravely they fought or how many they killed; in a battle of attrition, the darkspawn simply had more numbers than they did. Duncan desperately scanned the skies, looking for what seemed now like the only way to end the battle, but to his despair, there was no sign of the archdemon-no draconic roar, no beating of leathery wings. Clearly the dragon was content to let its minions do its bidding without committing itself to the field.

Suddenly, Duncan felt a surge in the burning sensation he'd felt coursing through his veins ever since the battle began; the presence of so many darkspawn was sending the taint in him wild, his veins itching as the taint recognised its own. Through this dark sense, Duncan could feel something _immense_ approaching; it was large, powerful and burning like a pyre with the taint.

Duncan whirled round, but to his disappointment, the approaching danger was regrettably not the archdemon, but the hulking blue form of an ogre. Duncan desperately tried to stab at the ogre's chest, to drive his sword into its heart before it tore its way through the already crumbling army, but to his surprise, the ogre got him first, slamming a fist like a boulder into his side. Duncan felt ribs break as his plate armour crumpled under the blow, the ogre's punch sending him flying through the air to land badly on the wet, blood-soaked ground. Looking up, winded by the blow, Duncan could only watch in horror as the ogre advanced on Cailan. The king of Ferelden stabbed out, catching the monster a glancing blow on its arm, but the beast retaliated by seizing Cailan in its right claw, lifting him up to its face, growling at him with unthinking feral rage. Cailan showed no fear as the ogre held him up and roared angrily in his face. The young, brave king of Ferelden gasped only once as the ogre cruelly tightened the grip of its meaty fist. Duncan tried to push himself up to help the young monarch, but still winded and injured, there was nothing he could do but watch as the ogre's fist closed. The metal of the king's armour cracked loudly as it snapped...along with his spine.

King Cailan died instantly. The ogre toyed with his corpse briefly, as though considering feeding, then seemed to lose interest and tossed the broken body aside, the armoured corpse flattening two soldiers as it hit the ground less than a metre from Duncan. The old Warden could only stare disbelievingly at the broken form of the brave young king, who had trusted him, aided him..._believed _in him. '_And I failed him. Maker forgive me, I've failed all Ferelden!'_

The ogre's roar brought Duncan out of his self-pity. The monster's roar sounded almost triumphant, as if it gloried in its act of killing. The sound caused Duncan's grief to melt into fury; leaping to his feet, ignoring the pain screaming through his body as his broken ribs sliced his own body, Duncan hurled himself at the ogre. His sword and dagger were gone from his hands, but he had another weapon: the antique silverite daggers of Antivan make Genevieve had given him so long ago. He'd recovered them after her death at the hands of that emissary all those years ago, and now he intended to make use of them one last time.

With a roar of mad rage, grief and hate, Duncan sprinted straight at his enemy. The large darkspawn saw him coming and bellowed a challenge, but Duncan was already in midair by then, his knifes stabbing for the ogre's chest. The daggers bit deep and the ogre howled in pain as Duncan's weight drove them deeper into the monster's sternum. _'I hope it hurts, you ugly, tainted bastard!'_

Duncan drew the left blade free and stabbed it back in, then stabbed with the right, drawing blood from deep wounds each time he struck. Finally, with a hateful scream, Duncan drove both blades to the hilt in the ogre's heart. With a plaintive howl of pain, the ogre toppled backwards, Duncan riding its corpse to the ground as it fell slain. He allowed himself a moment of victory, then gasped in pain, doubling over as his heavily injured body made him pay for that moment. Slowly forcing himself off the ogre's gigantic corpse, Duncan all but crawled over to Cailan's body, the king of Ferelden lying in a sprawled, mangled heap inches away. His eyes were wide with pain and his face contorted into a grimace of agony. Duncan didn't bother to check for a pulse; no one could have survived with their spine so bent, but Duncan still placed his hands on Cailan, as if just by holding the king's body, he could somehow force life back into the man. As he looked up, and saw men and women panicking at the sight of their king's death, running for their lives from the darkspawn, searching for a means of escape that didn't exist, the monsters chasing and hacking them down without mercy, Duncan felt despair for the first time in so long. They had failed.

And soon, what was happening here would be replayed across Ferelden; the darkspawn butchering their way north, destroying all in their path until nothing was left but a tainted, infected wasteland roamed by twisted, corrupted men and beasts bound to the will of the archdemon. Duncan silently cursed Loghain; for whatever insane reason, he had abandoned them, and now, he had condemned the land he claimed to love to the mercy of an enemy far more terrible than the Orlesians he so dreaded, left Ferelden to the mercy of an enemy who would show none.

As he watched the final slaughter unfold, he heard a terrible, wailing shriek split the night, and he knew what it was. A cheer. The darkspawn were celebrating their victory. Lost in defeated despair, Duncan turned away from the final massacre of the remnants of Cailan's army, instead looking up at the tower, where no doubt Alistair and Arthur could see everything that was transpiring, helpless to do anything but watch. He felt deep regret as he knew that soon, the two young men would not only see the army's death, they would see their own approaching. Once the darkspawn had destroyed everything in the valley, they would destroy everything in the fortress. No one would survive this night, and Duncan felt nothing but shame and self hate. He had taken those two men, who'd had such potential, such chance for greatness and led them instead to their deaths.

"I'm sorry"

Duncan never knew who he was apologising to; maybe to Cailan, for failing to save him, or lead him to victory. Maybe to the Grey Wardens, for leading them all to their deaths and failing their Order. Maybe to the Couslands, for not saving their son but signing his death warrant. Maybe to Alistair and his kin, for the same. Or maybe he was asking for forgiveness for Ferelden, for failing to save them from the evil that would now devour them all.

He heard running feet coming towards him; looking up, he saw thousands of darkspawn charging out of the Wilds, with the hurlock general who'd led the horde at their head, a bloodstained battleaxe in its hands, the despicable cacophony of foul cheering that the darkspawn, sensing their victory, were making. Duncan knew what was happening: the horde was coming to finish the job, to claim its prize. Duncan vainly reached for a sword, wanting to go down fighting, but he knew what would come: there were far too many for him to fight, and even if there weren't, his wounds were so severe it was doubtful he would survive long anyway.

As the hurlock general charged him, its axe raised high to deal a final blow, Duncan stayed where he was. He felt no fear as he watched death approach him in the form of this monster; he'd evaded death so many times, both before and after his recruitment as a Grey Warden. 'Death is the last great adventure...and one I've put off far too long'.

The axe fell, and so did Duncan. One brief moment of pain, that washed away the regret, the failure, the loss.

Duncan felt no fear as death claimed him. His duty was done. He could finally know peace.

#################################

Arthur and Alistair could only watch as the horrific spectacle unfolded below them. They watched in outraged disbelief as Loghain's forces fell back, retreating north as the teyrn inexplicably abandoned his king, his own family, along with so many other brave sons and daughters of Ferelden to their deaths.

They watched in horror as Cailan's army was finally overwhelmed by the darkspawn. Without Loghain's reinforcements, there was no chance so small a force could endure against the sheer weight of numbers the darkspawn commanded.

He barely heard Alistair yell in pained grief as Duncan fell. Arthur simply felt numb: another person that he knew torn away by a cruel, compassionless enemy of everything he held dear. '_And soon enough, it will be our turn to_ die' Arthur instinctively knew. The darkspawn's victory in the valley was complete; now they were climbing up the valley sides, racing up the paths to the king's camp, looking to root out and crush the last pockets of Ferelden resistance...including those in the tower.

Soon enough, Arthur could hear the howling shrieks and bellows of the darkspawn, accompanied by the footfalls of feet running upstairs. Arthur raised his sword, waiting for the end to come. Soon enough, he heard the sound of bodies slamming into the door up to their floor. They'd barricaded it, but the darkspawn began to hack their way in, axe and sword blades smashing through the wood of the door. It took them only a few moments to hack down the door and force their way in.

"TAKE AS MANY OF THESE TAINTED BASTARDS AS YOU CAN! WE'LL GO TO THE MAKER WITH OUR HEADS HELD HIGH, KNOWING WE TOOK ENOUGH OF THEM WITH US!"

With a bellowed war cry, Arthur broke into a run at the door, hoping to cut down as many darkspawn as possible before he inevitably fell, but he never got the chance. He heard the dull twang of bowstrings being loosed, and then felt incredible pain as a volley of arrows fired almost point-blank smashed him from his feet. Pierced in the chest, shoulders and torso, Arthur fell to the floor, his life's blood leaking from arrow wounds that would certainly prove fatal. He tried to force himself back to his feet to fight on, but his body no longer answered his will. He heard the clang of metal on metal as Alistair and the others desperately made their own last stands, along with muted screams of pain and yells of triumph from both men and darkspawn, but his hearing began to fade away, his vision began to blacken, and surely the arms that closed around him were those of Death itself...

His last thought before what was surely death claimed him was regret that once again, he had failed. His family would never be avenged. Howe would never be held to account for his crimes. And now, Ferelden was surely lost to the darkspawn.

Darkness enveloped him, and Arthur Cousland knew no more.


	15. Chapter14: Setting Out to Save the World

The first sensation Arthur felt was a soft pain in his lower back. He was lying down on a flat, but comfortable surface and though his vision was blurred, he could see vague shapes moving in front of him, hear indistinct voices talking softly to each other all around him. All he could decipher was that whoever was talking, they weren't darkspawn.

'_Maybe I am dead'_ he mused. '_Maybe what I hear are spirits and demons chittering among themselves, wondering what to make of me'_. He tried to get up, but felt too weak, and so he stopped. Pain throbbed through his aching body as he lay limply, hearing footsteps approach. Looking round, he saw a slight, feminine figure approach. _'Am I dead? Is this one of the Maker's angels, come to take me away to my rest?'_

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased"

Arthur's eyes snapped open and his dreamy state of mind vanished. Of all the things he expected one of the Maker's agents to say when leading a spirit of the departed to paradise, _that_ certainly wasn't on the list. He sat up, and saw his surroundings for the first time; he was sat on a pallet bed, inside a small room. A large fire roared in a corner and he saw a small bookcase and wooden chest in another, but that was all of note in the room.

'_Actually, not quite'._

Looking down at him was a vivacious young woman, dark black hair tied up behind her head contrasting perfectly with her alabaster skin, her lithe form clad in a torn and ragged purple vest that seemed to be for the purpose of exposing her ample bosom rather than covering it, along with a pair of black leggings that clung to her long legs. In her right hand, she carried a long wooden staff, and she looked down at him with yellow, hawk-like eyes that looked at him with scrutiny, uncertainty and...interest?

It was that look that dredged up a memory from the back of his mind: a sharp-tongued young woman stood in the ruins of a tower in the depths of the swamps...

"I remember you...the girl from the Wilds" he murmured. The girl nodded and answered "I am Morrigan, and we are in the Wilds, where I have been bandaging your wounds. You're welcome, by the way!" she added curtly as Arthur looked at his body and saw she was right; his shoulders, torso and arms were swathed in bandages at various points, covering a varied range of wounds inflicted in battle. He also noticed that save the thin blankets covering him, his scarred, weary flesh was naked, and wondered if the look of interest in the girl's eyes was because she'd seen him unclothed while she'd tended to his battle scars.

'_Battle...! The battle! We were at Ostagar! How in the Maker's name did we get here!' _

Morrigan seemed to interpret what he was thinking as she asked her next question "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?". Arthur clutched his throbbing head, trying to remember anything... _'The mad old biddy rescued us! HOW! Surely the darkspawn would have torn her apart!'. _The thought of the darkspawn brought back the only thing he could remember of Ostagar; the darkspawn breaking into the upper chamber of the Tower of Ishal, and feeling indescribable pain as darkspawn crossbows riddled him with bolts...

"All I remember...is being overwhelmed by darkspawn. I remember their archers felling me...I was so certain I was about to die" Arthur replied.

"Mother managed to save you and your friend, though it was a close call. What is _important_ is that you both live. The man meant to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won the battle." Morrigan replied, a solemn expression on her pretty face. Arthur nodded, taking this in, then looked up at her and asked "What about the king? And the Grey Wardens?". He already suspected the answer he would get, but he hoped all might not be lost, that some might have survived...because if Cailan and the Grey Wardens were all dead...then he would have truly lost everything. His chances of recovering his home would be lost, and he would be the last of an ancient order whose nemesis had annihilated.

But any hope he might have clung to evaporated at the serious expression of Morrigan's face and her curt tone. "All dead. Your friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him". Her mention of a friend piqued Arthur's curiosity. '_They managed to save someone other than me?'_

"Who?"

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before" Morrigan replied, and Arthur nodded, allowing himself a soft smile. 'Alistair'. He was relieved to know that at least he was not the last Grey Warden, though he briefly wished for the Maker to take Tobias and Mathis into his arms. '_I hope they died well. They deserved that, at least'._

"Your friend is outside by the fire. Mother asked to speak with you when you awoke" Morrigan informed him. Arthur was surprised, to say the least. 'What could she possibly want to see me about?' Arthur wondered. He asked, but Morrigan shrugged her shoulders and answered "I do not know; she rarely tells me her plans".

"I have some questions, if you don't mind?" Arthur politely asked. Morrigan shook her head and curtly replied "I do not mind. Take your time".

"Are we safe here? Where are the darkspawn?" That was his immediate concern; if they were in the Korcari Wilds, then surely they were surrounded by the foul creatures. Morrigan, however, gave a sly smile and replied "We're safe, for now. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn at bay. Once you leave, however, t'is uncertain what will happen. The horde has moved on; you _might_ avoid it".

Arthur nodded, taking this in. Satisfied that they had at least a brief respite, he gestured to his own, bandage-wrapped body and asked "What about my injuries? As I recall, I had nearly half a dozen crossbow bolts in me; very severe..."

"Oh, they were" Morrigan replied, another sly smile on her lips as her gold eyes gleamed with amusement, and Arthur knew she had seen a great deal of his body while tending his injuries "but I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal"

"Why did your mother save us? This is twice she's aided us for no apparent reason..." Arthur questioned, curious as to why this strange old woman would go to so much effort to intervene. Morrigan shrugged her shoulders, seeming confused for the first time "I wonder at that myself, but she tells me nothing. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach. Had it been _I_, I would have rescued your king. A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you!" she answered, an avaricious gleam in her eyes.

"Thanks a lot!" Arthur muttered sullenly. The girl shrugged her shoulders, unabashed. "I am simply being practical".

"Coin is important to you? Out _here!_" Arthur enquired. Morrigan snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Who said anything about ransoming for coin! Gold has its uses but power has much more value..." Morrigan answered, and Arthur couldn't feel to hear a greedy tone in her voice._ 'If there is one thing this girl values, it's clearly power. I think I'd best change the subject before she discovers I'm a noble and decides to take me hostage...not that I'd mind being held prisoner by a beautiful woman..._' he jokingly mused.

"I know why, but _how_ did she rescue us! There were darkspawn everywhere; surely she couldn't have gotten up to the top of the tower the same way we did without being torn about!"

"She turned into a giant bird and plucked you from atop the tower, one in each talon". Arthur gave a sarcastic laugh. '_Surely, she's got to be joking! No mage I've ever heard of has that power!_'. But judging by the severe expression on Morrigan's face, she was telling the truth...or what she claimed was the truth. "If you do not believe that tale" she waspishly snapped "I suggest you ask Mother. She may even tell you herself!"

The thought of the tower brought the memory of Mathis and Tobias to his mind, and Arthur's voice quavered a little as he asked "Are there any survivors, besides us?"

Morrigan nodded, but her expression was still severe: clearly, even if the news was good, it was going to be of no use to him. "Only stragglers who are long gone. You would not want to see what is happening in that valley now..."

"Why, what's happening!"

"Are you _sure_ you want me to describe it?" Morrigan questioned, her expression pensive, as though uncertain and unwilling to test how he would react when he heard. But Arthur was determined; he wanted to know. _'I have to know what's going on...what we might well face. I don't wish to be unprepared'._

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't".

Morrigan nodded at his logic and spoke, in a solemn voice "I had a good view of the battlefield. T'is a..._grisly_ scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them, feeding I think. They also look for survivors and drag them back down below the ground..." her voice trailed off, as if she was unwilling to think more of it. Arthur couldn't blame her: the stories of what the darkspawn did to those they took alive were many, but they were all horrific. '_The ones the monsters killed in battle were the lucky ones. Maker have mercy on the poor wretches taken alive by those fiends...may they find the mercy of death before the creatures get to them!'_

Arthur buried his head in his hands, trying to understand why Loghain, the man they had all trusted to gain them victory, had betrayed them so deeply, had abandoned so many brave sons and daughters of the kingdom he professed to love to die, or to fates worse than death. "Why would Loghain abandon the king? _Why_!" he asked, more to himself than anyone in particular. Morrigan, however, assumed that he was asking more from her and answered, uncertain "I don't even know who this Loghain is. Perhaps ask Mother of it"

Arthur barely heard her. He made to get up, looking at Morrigan archly. "A little privacy?" he asked. The girl gave him a look of surprise and replied "You do realise I've seen everything to see already? You've no need to be self-conscious with me!" she honestly replied. But Arthur's eyebrows only rose, and with a sigh of exasperation, Morrigan turned away and put a hand over her eyes. Arthur made sure her eyes were firmly covered before pulling on his underclothes, tattered shirt and britches, then slowly placed his suit of damaged, but still serviceable scale armour on. He belted the Cousland sword at his waist and fastened the Shield of Highever to a strap over his back, then made for the door out of the room. "I think I've asked enough questions. I should be going"

Morrigan nodded and answered "I agree; t'is time you spoke with Mother, then be on your way. You have an army of darkspawn to evade, and it would be best to get an early start". Arthur nodded in agreement with her logic and made to exit the room. As he placed a hand on the doorknob, he turned back to Morrigan and gave her a smile and a respectful nod. "Thank you for all your help, Morrigan".

Morrigan's eyes widened in surprise, but the corners of her mouth crinkled slightly into what might possibly have been a smile at the compliment. "You...are welcome, though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer".

Arthur took this in and turned away to leave, seeing Morrigan turn away to place a cauldron full of water over the fire. Arthur left her to her task and exited the room.

#########################

As he suspected, the old woman had brought them back to her derelict cottage in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. Outside, he could see Edward curled up on the floor; the dog bolted to his feet as he saw his master was alive and well, barking joyfully. The sound caused the other two figures present to look round; the old woman fixed Arthur with a satisfied look in those unnerving eyes and turned to the tall fellow beside her, who had been looking out fixatedly across the swamps surrounding them.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man".

Alistair turned round to look at Arthur, and an expression of joyful relief spread across his haggard, tired face as he saw his companion, though looking a little worse for wear, was still with him. "You...you're alive!". To Arthur's surprise, the other Warden seized him in a surprisingly strong bear hug, laughing with joy; 'Clearly, he thought he too was going to be left with nothing!' Arthur thought. Alistair finally released Arthur and let him catch his breath. "I was certain you were dead!"

"Afraid you were going to be left alone?" Arthur joked, but the levity vanished instantly as Alistair's face grew sombre and severe as he choked in a voice that sounded close to tears "Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king, they're all...dead". Alistair took a shuddering breath, as if trying to regain control of his tangled emotions and continued "This doesn't seem possible. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, _we_'d be dead on top of that tower!"

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad" the old woman coldly opined, her tone bristling with annoyance. Alistair turned to her, his expression contrite and his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to offend...but what do we call you? You never told us your name"

The old woman ran a hand through her matted grey hair and shrugged disinterestedly. "Names are pretty, but useless. Still, I can't have you constantly thinking of me as merely 'Old Woman'". She paused thoughtfully, as though considering something, and then continued in a distasteful tone of voice, as if she disapproved of herself giving such information "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will _do_".

Alistair's eyes went wide in shock and awe, and his voice shook with an edge of amazement and fear. Arthur was quite sure he would look much the same, for the name of Flemeth was one that was reviled in Ferelden legend, especially in Highever where the tale was said to have begun; a tale that spoke of how Flemeth, the young wife of Conobar, one of the tribal lords of Highever long before the House of Cousland even came to be, eloped with the bard Osen, fleeing into the Korcari Wilds to escape the wrath of her cuckolded husband. Of how she and her lover were tricked into returning to Highever when news came her dying husband wished to see her one last time. Of how Osen was slain on the spot and Flemeth imprisoned to await a similar fate. Of how Flemeth turned to demonic powers to exact her retribution for Conobar's deceit, only to be turned into something far more terrifying and monstrous than a demon.

'Surely this mad old woman can't be her? She looks about as dangerous as a lump of wood!' Arthur thought. But as the old woman turned her baleful gaze on him, Arthur remembered the sensation that there was more to this frail being that met the eye, remembered seeing the strange gleam in her eyes that spoke of things best left undisturbed, and thought maybe there is _some_ truth to what she's saying. _'Not that I'm in a hurry to test that theory...!'_

"_The_ Flemeth!" Alistair questioned her. "From the legends? Daveth was right...you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?".

Flemeth bristled at the question, as though she found the accusation of being an apostate offensive...which she probably did. "And what does that mean!" she snapped curtly. "I know some magic, and it has served you well, has it not?"

Arthur cut in at this point "While I thank you for that, I can't help but feel your efforts may end up being wasted, which bring me to the question: what is going on! We're in the middle of the Wilds; we should be up to our necks in the taint, yet we're passing the time with idle conversation! We can't be safe here; where are all the darkspawn!"

Flemeth gave a wide, cat-like smile, those gleaming eyes brimming with satisfaction. "Have no fear. The greater bulk of the horde has moved on. We are safe enough for now; old Flemeth knows a thing or two about hiding" she said, tapping her nose with a wry wink, before continuing more seriously "The longer you are here, however, the less that is true. Those things will notice you eventually"

Arthur took this in, wondering on how much power it must have taken for this old mage to hide this place from the notice of the darkspawn. "If you _are_ Flemeth, then you must be very old and powerful..." he asked.

"Must I?" Flemeth curtly answered, sounding as though she were reluctant to go into more detail. "Age and power are relative; it depends on who is asking. Compared to you, yes, on both counts" she concluded with a malicious smirk at the thought.

"Then why didn't you save Duncan?" Alistair questioned in a quavering voice, and Arthur was not surprised to see tears in his comrade's eyes: clearly the loss of his leader, friend and, Arthur suspected, father figure had been a severe blow to him. At this, the old woman's face softened a little for the first time, and there appeared to be genuine regret as she replied in a soft voice. "I am sorry for your Duncan, but" at this, her tone became more imperious and businesslike "your grief must come later, 'in the dark shadows before you take vengeance', as my mother used to say. Duty _must _come now".

"And what is your duty?" Arthur questioned. "Not that I wish to seem ungrateful, but you had no reason to come to Ostagar, no reason to put your own life at risk for ours. So why did you save us?"

"Well, we can't have all you Grey Wardens dying here, now can we?" Flemeth chuckled. "_Someone _has to deal with these darkspawn. As I said, duty must come now, and it has always been the duty of the Grey Wardens to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?" she questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"Of course it hasn't!" Arthur angrily snapped. "But the land is hardly united now, thanks to Loghain!". At this, Alistair gave a snarl of exasperated raged at the memory of the teyrn's betrayal. "This doesn't make any sense! _Why _would he do it!"

"Now _that_ is a good question" Flemeth opined. "The hearts of men hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps the old general believes the Blight is an army he can outmanoeuvre. Perhaps his paranoia blinds him to the fact that not every threat to this land is connected to the enemy he has fought for so long, he can think of no other. Or perhaps he is too ignorant to see that the evil behind the Blight is the true threat it poses".

"The archdemon" Alistair nodded. Arthur could only agree: the archdemon was the true threat, in spite of Loghain's stubborn insistence the Orlesians were the eternal enemy. So long as the dragon existed, the darkspawn would continue to lay waste to Ferelden, and until it was slain, the Blight would only worsen. "Then we need to find this archdemon…and stop it" was Arthur's blunt reply.

"By ourselves!" Alistair incredulously asked. "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the armies of a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention…I don't know _how_" he concluded, an edge of uncertain fear in his voice.

"How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army?" Flemeth enquired. "It seems to me these are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

"I, I don't know. Duncan said the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called had been called. And Arl Eamon wouldn't stand for this, surely!"

'_Arl Eamon! The Arl of Redcliffe? How does Alistair know him?'._ Arthur remembered his father talking of Eamon: they had known each other, not well, but well enough for Bryce to speak of the man with respect. Eamon was one of Ferelden's most powerful nobles, commanding the loyalty of a great many of the kingdom's nobility.

"Do you think the Arl will believe us over the teyrn?"

Alistair shrugged his shoulders and replied "I suppose so…Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men with him. And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him; he's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course, we can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

"But surely, when the horde begins marching north, everyone will realise the threat the Blight poses, surely?" Arthur protested. Flemeth gave an amused snort and casually replied "You could wait for the archdemon to make its appearance. I imagine that would be _quite_ convincing!" she finished, cackling malevolently.

Alistair shook his head sadly. "It's been centuries since the last Blight. No one will take it seriously until it's _far_ too late". The Warden sighed and continued "I still don't think Arl Eamon will be able to help us defeat the Blight on his own…"

"You have more at your disposal than you think" Flemeth intoned with a sly smirk. At this, Alistair smacked himself on the forehead as if unable to believe his stupidity. "OF COURSE! The treaties! The Grey Wardens can demand aid from elves, dwarves, mages and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

Flemeth raised an eyebrow. "I may be old, but elves, dwarves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me!"

Alistair nodded and then turned to Arthur. "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?".

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, a little overwhelmed at the magnitude of the task before them. "I doubt very much it will be as simple as that!". His pronouncement drew an amused chortle from Flemeth. "And when is it ever!" the old witch laughed.

"It's always been the duty of the Grey Wardens to stand against the Blight. And right now, _we're_ the Grey Wardens!" Alistair replied confidently, gesturing to himself and Arthur. Flemeth nodded approvingly and looked at them appraisingly. "So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Arthur nodded, then turned to the old woman. "I don't suppose there's any more help you can give us?". It seemed unfair to ask more of her when she'd already given so much to aid them, but considering the task before them, they were going to need all the help they could get. Flemeth seemed to grasp his wagon train of thought and smiled indulgently. "Now that you mention it, I do have one more thing to offer…"

The door to the cottage swung open at this, and Morrigan stepped out of the house, dusting her hands from the remnants of whatever task she'd been doing inside the cottage. "The stew is bubbling on the fire, mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the evening, or none?" she asked, gesturing at the two men.

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl…and you will be joining them".

"Such a shame…" Morrigan began, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm, until her mother's words permeated into her brain. Her eyes went wide with shock and she whirled on her mother, looking outraged. "WHAT!"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" Flemeth laughed, unabashed at her daughter's annoyance. Arthur decided to be diplomatic: he had no wish to offend Flemeth by turning aside her offer, but Morrigan clearly wasn't too enthusiastic about it. "Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to accompany us…" he began, but Flemeth cut across his polite attempt to smooth things.

"Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds, and how to get past the horde" the old woman replied. Morrigan puffed out her breast angrily and snapped at Flemeth. "Have _I_ no say in this!"

Flemeth looked round, an eyebrow raised as though she didn't understand what her daughter was protesting about. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. _Here_ is your chance. As for you, Grey Wardens" she continued, turning to fix Arthur and Alistair with her baleful stare "consider this repayment for your lives"

"She'd better be as useful as you say" Arthur muttered. Flemeth gave him a sly smile and replied "Oh, she is. You could do with some magic, and my Morrigan's as cunning as a root lizard".

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but…won't this_ add_ to our problems?" Alistair added, looking uncertain at the offer. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate". Flemeth fixed the former Templar with a beady eye. "If you do not wish help from us _illegal_ mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you atop that tower!" she curtly opined.

"Point taken" Alistair conceded, chastised. Morrigan, meanwhile, turned to her mother and Arthur was surprised to hear an almost pleading tone in her voice, something he would never have expected the girl, so confident and sharp-tongued, to use. "Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I'm _not_ ready…!"

Flemeth's answer was sympathetic but firm. "You _must_ be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They _need_ you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight…even I".

Morrigan made to protest further, then gave a resigned sigh and murmured in a defeated whisper. "I…I understand". Flemeth nodded approvingly, and then turned to the others. "And you, Wardens? Do _you _understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this becauseyou _must _succeed!"

"I understand" Arthur bluntly replied.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please" Morrigan curtly said. She returned into the house briefly, re-emerging with her wooden staff in hand, a leather backpack at her feet and a long, thick travelling cloak made of what looked to be wolf fur wrapped around her slender frame. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village just north of the Wilds as our first destination. T'is not far and you will find much you need there…or if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours"

"No, I prefer you speak your mind" Arthur replied: there was no point making an enemy of a potential ally. Morrigan smiled slightly at this, only for it to become a scowl when Flemeth laughed and cut in mockingly "You _will_ regret saying that!"

Morrigan whirled on Flemeth, her pretty face a mask of anger, her hawk-like eyes glaring at her mother as she snarled in a waspish voice overflowing with furious sarcasm "_Dear sweet mother, _ you are so kind to cast me out like so! How _fondly _I shall remember this moment!"

Flemeth shrugged her shoulder, unconcerned and unabashed at her daughter's anger. "Well, I always say if you want something done, do it yourself…or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards!" she finished with a low chuckle.

At this point, Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked round to see Alistair looking at him uncertainly, as though unsure whether what they were doing was a good thought. "Do you _really_ want to take her along because her mother says so?"

Arthur simply replied "We need all the help we can get". Alistair nodded acceptingly at this logic and answered "I suppose you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies wherever they could find them". At this, Morrigan let out a derisive snort and made a mocking bow in Alistair's direction. "I am so _pleased_ to have your approval" she sarcastically smiled.

"I have some questions, before we set off" Arthur put forward. Morrigan nodded and replied "I may have answers. Ask"

"What can you tell us about this village to the north?"

"T'is a small place of little consequence called Lothering. Just a stop along your Imperial Highway, where travellers purchase goods from local farms and smiths. I would go more often were it not for the town's Chantry: it makes the village particularly intolerant and unpleasant for a stranger like me"

"A Chantry?" Alistair asked. "And they never, in all this time, thought that _maybe_ you were a witch!"

Morrigan shrugged, clearly unfazed by the thought. "Of course they have. They even called out their Templars once. They found nothing"

"Is there any reason for us to go to Lothering then?" Arthur asked.

"I mention it for its tavern, where travellers gather with news. Beyond that, t'is close and I know the way".

"What skills do you have?"

"I know a few spells, though I am nowhere near as powerful as Mother. I have also studied history, and your Grey Warden treaties" Morrigan answered.

"Can you cook?" Alistair questioned with a glib smile. Morrigan scowled and raised an eyebrow. "I…can cook, yes"

Arthur sighed, shaking his head at Alistair and turned back to Morrigan "Ignore him: you don't have to cook!" trying to be diplomatic. Alistair shrugged his shoulders and answered "Well, you missed your chance. It's charred rabbit from now own".

"I also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow right here in this swamp. Not that I would suggest it is in any way related to cooking!" Morrigan added, finishing with a mockingly innocent smile. Arthur looked at her and then asked "And how are your skills going to help us evade the darkspawn?"

At this, Morrigan gave an enigmatic smile and nodded in the direction of Alistair. "I think the _real_ question is how we're going to get your friend past the darkspawn, is it not?". Arthur looked round and saw Alistair looking rather uneasy at this. Arthur gave his fellow a questioning look and Alistair nodded pensively "She has the right of it. We can sense the darkspawn, but conversely…they can sense us"

"I don't feel any darkspawn" Arthur replied. Alistair shook his head and answered "You won't, not right away. It takes times"

"This is hardly reassuring…." Arthur muttered sullenly.

"We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones or particularly intelligent darkspawn will always detect us" Alistair answered in a placating tone. At this, Morrigan added "Mother has given me something else for them to 'smell' as we pass by. However" she became much more serious in tone at this "it is important we head out of the Wilds, not further in!"

"The darkspawn are camped further in the forest?"

Morrigan shook her head. "They come from underground, like an eruption. They broke through deep within the forest, and that is where they will be most concentrated".

Arthur nodded at this and said "Very well, if that's the case, we'll want to get under way as soon as possible". Morrigan nodded in agreement and turned to face Flemeth. "Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire: I would hate to return to a burned down hut!"

Flemeth snorted at this "Bah! T'is far more likely you will return to see this entire area, _along_ with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight!" At this, Morrigan looked horrified at what she'd said for the first time, as if she felt she'd caused great offence. "I…all I meant was…" she stammered.

Flemeth nodded understandingly. "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear!" she finished with a soft smile. At this, Arthur turned to look at Flemeth and said "You could come with us, you know". Though the old woman made him uneasy, the thought of leaving her behind in the middle of a dangerous wilderness overrun by bloodthirsty monsters sat ill with him, but Flemeth shook her head. He heard Morrigan say from behind him "Mother was here long before I came, and will be here long after I am dead. Such is her choice, though she would say the choice was made for her"/

Flemeth nodded in agreement with her daughter's words and answered "Thank you, but I will remain. Considering what the world has done to me, I have already done more than it deserves".

"And what has the world done to you?" Arthur questioned. Flemeth turned her gaze upon him and Arthur felt a shudder go through him as he looked into those reptilian orbs and saw the scars of loss, heartbreak and hatred behind those eyes that transcended the ages. Her eyes grew colder, but her voice was even as she replied "That is between the world and me: your business is elsewhere"

"Considering your reluctance to leave, how long have you been in the Wilds?" At this, Flemeth gave a husky laugh of genuine amusement and answered "Oh, since before I was old and wrinkled! You may not believe it, but I was once as fair and beautiful as Morrigan is now" Her voice suddenly became bitter and hard as she continued, her eyes distant, as though remembering or looking at something only she could see. "Yes, men desired Flemeth then, and some even killed for her…"

"You're sure they didn't just die of horror?" Arthur smirked, a wry grin on his lips. Flemeth scowled at him and her baleful eyes only narrowed. "You will need that smart mouth for more than asking me silly questions!"

Arthur chuckled softly, and then sobered. "You speak as if you are not happy about that…"

"I am not, nor was I then. It dictated everything that followed" Flemeth answered in a cold, cruel voice, and Arthur was forced to nod in agreement; considering what he knew of the legend of Flemeth, the lusts and desires of men had played a great deal in her tale. But the old woman shrugged her shoulders and replied "But that is no concern of yours".

"I have to ask, if you're staying behind, what will you do when we're gone?" Arthur asked, still uneasy with leaving a seemingly frail old women in the midst of the darkspawn, but Flemeth merely gave an amused chortle. "Have a moment's peace, for one"

"I hear the peace of the grave is eternal…" Morrigan said in a sweet, sing-song voice. Flemeth's face paled in annoyance as she hissed like an angry viper at her daughter. "_This_ is the thanks I get for feeding you, and putting up with you for this long! BAH! May your own child one day treat you the same!"

Morrigan gave a derisive snort at this and coldly replied to her male companions "Feed me, she says! Without me, I swear she shall be caked in dirt and eating tree bark inside of a month!"

Arthur chuckled at the notion, and then picked up his pack, as did the others. As they made to leave, a final thought came to him, and he looked back at Flemeth. "I don't suppose you have any advice to give? Isn't that what the wise old woman in the swamps always does in the tales, gives the heroes a few words of wisdom?"

Morrigan sniggered at Arthur's choice of the word 'wise' to describe her mother, but Flemeth ignored her. "About the darkspawn?" Flemeth asked.

Arthur nodded and she replied "Only that they are more cunning than they appear. More important, _by far_, is the archdemon. It is the core, the beating heart of this taint, and so long as it exists, so does the Blight". Arthur noticed an edge in Flemeth's voice; one that sounded like fear, tinged with respect, as if she were recognising the archdemon as a power greater than her own, acknowledging it as a worthy enemy…or something more. Her tone became serious again as she continued "This Teyrn Loghain is different. You must deal with the repercussions of his treachery _before_you can deal with the archdemon…unless of course, it finds you first".

Arthur nodded, and Flemeth curtly bowed. "Then we are done. Now if you will excuse me, I have some dinner to eat". With that, Flemeth turned on her heel, stalked over to the door of her cottage, slipped inside and closed the door behind her. The group watched her go back into her home, and then Arthur took charge.

"Morrigan, you know where you're going; lead the way. Edward, go with her; bark if you scent anything unusual. Alistair, you're with me, we'll go at the back; you sense any darkspawn, you let me know immediately!"

His companions acknowledged his commands, and together, they took their first steps towards the edge of the Korcari Wilds, back into the civilised regions of Ferelden and the first steps on the monumental task fate had dumped in their laps.


	16. Chapter 15: Lothering

'_**It can never be called prowess to kill fellow citizens, to betray friends, to be treacherous, pitiless, irreligious. These ways can bring a prince power, but never glory'- **__Niccolô Machiavelli. _

Denerim, two weeks after the Battle of Ostagar

In the meeting chamber of the Royal Palace in Denerim, Queen Anora stood beside her father, listening to him explain the disaster that had unfurled at Ostagar. She ruefully shook her head as Loghain explained that the Grey Wardens had convinced her husband, King Cailan to launch a foolhardy attack on the darkspawn horde, despite Loghain's urgings to wait for the horde to show itself and engage it at a more tactically advantageous position.

'_Cailan, you fool...I knew that your love of glory would one day be the death of you!'_ she mused to herself, listening as her father concluded that the Grey Wardens' manipulation and coercion had goaded Cailan into charging to his death, and taking the better part of Ferelden's armies with him. The nobility had been quite accepting of Loghain's explanation: Anora knew most of them had been dismissive of the Wardens' claims they were dealing with a true Blight, and the long-held view of the Grey Wardens as an unnecessary relic of a past best forgotten caused few to raise any argument when Loghain announced that Maric's decree repealing the Wardens' exile was to be rescinded; the Grey Wardens were to be exiled from Ferelden once more and any members of the Order that survived the Battle of Ostagar were to be declared traitors to Ferelden.

But her father's next statement caused much more consternation, not least to Anora herself: Loghain declared that in the wake of Cailan's demise, his daughter would retain the throne, with himself serving as her regent. This drew cries of uncertainty, and even outrage from a few; Anora knew that for all her father and she had done for Ferelden, many of the nobility looked down on them still owing to the fact Loghain was a commoner by birth. '_Not to mention many will look on this so soon after Cailan's death as greedy and opportunistic...what are you playing at, Father?_'

Still, bringing up her concerns at her father's intentions could hardly be done in such a public place, so she stayed silent as her father issued his demands that the arls and banns began mustering soldiers in their lands to assemble a force sufficient to stymie the darkspawn before the horde capitalized on its victory at Ostagar.

"And I expect each of you to supply these men; we must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar, and quickly!" Loghain cried to the assembled listeners. "There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them; we must defeat this darkspawn incursion, but we must do so _sensibly_ and without hesitation!"

Suddenly, a rich, firm voice called out from the crowd below. "Your Lordship, if I might speak?"

Anora looked down at the speaker simultaneously with her father; it was a man in his early thirties, with shoulder-length ginger hair, a long braid of which curled around his left brow and rested behind his ear, with a short beard and piercing brown eyes. Unlike the other men and women in the hall, who were dressed in robes, tunics and dresses of finely cut silks in a variety of colours, this lord was clad in functional heavy chainmail forged of red steel, with a longsword of the same metal sheathed at his waist. Anora recognised him: Bann Teagan Guerrin, the Bann of Rainsefere and one of Cailan's uncles on his mother's side. Anora couldn't see Teagan's older brother, Eamon, present here, a fact that unsettled her. '_Surely Eamon would be present to decide what happens to Ferelden in the wake of his nephew's death!'_. She noticed several of the lords present were also scanning the crowd, looking for Eamon in the wake of his brother's call; Eamon surely would have been the first to question her father's intentions.

Eamon was not the only noticeable absentee from the meeting; the loss of Bryce Cousland still sat ill with many. Before Loghain had made his report about Ostagar, Rendon Howe had been called to account for the attack his forces had led on Highever. Howe had said he and Loghain had found irrefutable proof that Bryce had intended to betray Ferelden to Orlais, and Howe had assaulted Highever to bring the traitor to justice. Howe also claimed that he had only intended to arrest Bryce, but the teyrn of Highever had refused to come quietly and been killed in the attack. Many had refused to believe the initial evidence, owing mainly to the great dislike felt for Howe at court and the great respect Bryce had held, but Loghain had announced that further actions of the Couslands-namely that of their younger son, Arthur, who had been involved with the perfidy of the Wardens- had shown the truth of the accusations.

In any case, with Bryce and Eleanor dead at Highever, and both their sons believed to have perished at Ostagar, there was no one present to challenge the accusations. Even so, many had muttered discontently, and a few had even booed when her father named Howe new teyrn of Highever, as well as the new arl of Denerim, replacing Arl Urien, who'd tragically gone to meet the Maker at Ostagar also. Even so, the loss of two prominent nobles, both of whom would have challenged what her father was doing, and would have a large following in doing so, sat ill with Anora. She couldn't help but wonder '_Did you have a hand in this, Father?'_

Her discontent was pushed to the back of her mind as her father motioned for Teagan to speak, and the Arl replied "You have declared yourself Queen Anora's regent, and claim we must unite under your banner for our own good..." Anora saw her father smile at this, believing Teagan was going to speak in favour of it, before Teagan's face hardened, and the tone of his voice became harsh and cold "but what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal was most..._fortuitous_"

There was a collective gasp of shock and outrage at this from the surrounding nobles, and Anora saw Loghain stiffen, his face turning white and contorting into a grimace of outrage as he took in the not-so thinly veiled accusation. _'He shouldn't be surprised'_ Anora mused; everyone had heard the dark rumours surrounding Ostagar- that the Wardens and Cailan had gone down fighting, and that Loghain had deserted, abandoning Cailan and his army to their deaths and made his claims to cover his own treason. Most had initially dismissed it as scaremongering by malcontents, but the rumour was becoming more and more widespread, especially from among her father's soldiers. It didn't surprise her that Teagan would bring this up; the Bann had never liked Loghain and had been very close with his nephew, but to make so blatant an accusation...still, her father's curt, imperious tone as he snapped back at Loghain did not allay her fears.

"_Everything_ I have done has been to secure Ferelden's independence. I have not shirked my duty to the throne, and _NEITHER_ will any of you!"

Teagan's face contorted into a sneer as he yelled back "The Bannorn will not bow to you, _simply_ because you demand it!"

Loghain's face went beetroot red, and for a moment, Anora feared he might have Teagan killed on the spot, but instead, the old teyrn simply glowered at his rival and snarled in a deadly tone of voice "Understand this; I will brook no threat to this nation, from you or _ANYONE_!". With that, her father turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber. Anora looked down at the departing crowd as the meeting adjourned, and she could hear the whispers as they left; none of them were satisfied.

"Demanding our allegiance! Outrageous!" Anora heard one noblewoman complain. One of her companions nodded and disgustedly added "Who does he think he is, _Meghren_? This behaviour is an affront to _everything _we fought the Orlesians for!"

"I'm starting to think there's more than a little truth to the rumours about Ostagar..." another bann muttered, and Anora knew she had to end this, before real damage was done. Looking round, she saw her target, walking towards the exit, surrounded by a crowd of noblemen and women all talking to him and nodding in agreement with his words, and cried out "Bann Teagan, please!"

Teagan turned back to face her, but there was no willingness to listen on his face, merely exasperation and...disgust? '_Disgust at my father for what he's doing, or disgust at me because I didn't try to stop him?' _she wondered.

"Your Majesty, your father risks civil war. If Eamon were here..."

"Bann Teagan, my father is simply doing what is best" Anora pleaded in an aggrieved tone of voice, urging him to see sense. '_Does he think me a fool? I don't like the sound of what my father intends anymore than they do, but..._surely _the darkspawn should be the priority!'_

Bann Teagan, however, clearly didn't share her sentiments, merely shaking his head in exasperation and turning away to rejoin the crowd of the supporters of his words. As he approached the great iron-bound doors leading out of the chamber, he called back without looking at her, a sneer in the tone of his voice "Did he also do _what was best_ for your husband, your Majesty?"

Anora felt something in her give, and she almost collapsed, reaching out to grab a railing to stop her from falling, her mind reeling at how deep Teagan's barb had cut.

'_Cailan...'_

'_Father...what have you done?'_

##########################################

Lothering, the next day

Arthur Cousland was in a foul mood. It had taken them over two weeks to get to Lothering, and their journey had been horrifically slow and difficult every step of the way. In spite of Flemeth's claims the bulk of the horde was gone, they had narrowly avoided being ambushed by roving packs of darkspawn, alerted to the danger only at the last minute by Alistair's senses. They'd been forced to dive into ditches or quickly climb trees, watching as a pack of genlocks stalked past them, or a small band of hurlocks walked the path inches above their heads. "Outriders" Alistair had called them "scouting the lay of the land for when the horde moves on". It wasn't just Alistair who could sense the presence of the beasts: Arthur was beginning to feel them as well. Every time they managed to evade the creatures, he could feel it, like an itch under his skin that flared up when they were close and still throbbed dully long after they were gone.

They hadn't been able to evade every wandering patrol, however, and they'd been forced to fight at least half a dozen times against darkspawn parties of varying size and type. As well as the genlocks and hurlocks, they also had to deal with tainted animals-blight wolves, warped bears and gargantuan spiders eager for their flesh- that they'd been forced to repel. On more than one night, they'd been forced to go without sleep because their camp site had attracted unwanted attention.

The hardships of the road were not just confined to the threats facing them. Lack of sleep, good food and swiftly thinning supplies made them all short-tempered and waspish towards each other, but on more than one occasion Arthur had to refrain from drawing his sword and having to hold Alistair and Morrigan at blade point to get them to stop their constant bickering. Even so, despite his warnings that the racket they made between them was going to bring the whole horde down on them, they never stopped; Morrigan tormenting Alistair about her views of him as an incompetent halfwit-'_a view she seems to hold on all Templars'_- while Alistair retorted by taunting Morrigan about how she looked just like her mother, something the young witch took great offence at. More than once, when they made camp after a long day listening to the pair continually hurling unsubtle digs at each other, Arthur had been tempted to wait until they were both asleep and then continue alone with Edward, though he'd never gone through with it.

Finally, after on the fifth day of the second week after they'd left Flemeth's hut, they came out of the forested wilderness to a large, stone-paved road leading north. Arthur had recognised the Imperial Highway when he saw it; a network of roads built when the Tevinter Imperium had ruled the nation and still maintained and used by travellers across Ferelden to quickly traverse the length and breadth of the kingdom. As they began to cover more ground, Morrigan told them that Lothering was less than a day's journey, and that they would be there by early afternoon.

"About time!" Arthur remarked, rubbing his chin, which had acquired a moderate layer of stubble, along with his cheeks and neck. "At this moment, I'd sell the entire kingdom to Orlais for a hot bath and a shave!" Alistair, who looked very much the same, laughed and nodded in agreement. Edward looked tired and was panting heavily, and Morrigan, though looking better than her male companions, was far from immaculate; her clothing was a little dirty, her hair a little unkempt and her eyes blinking constantly, as though trying to keep herself from falling asleep.

About an hour later, they crested the brow of a hill and saw, directly below them, a small cluster of buildings encircled by a crude palisade, and a veritable shanty town of tents and crude huts sprawled about outside the village. '_This must be Lothering' _Arthur thought as they quickly walked downhill, heading straight for the village gate. But as they approached, they found their path blocked.

A group of rough-looking men clad in serviceable, but heavily worn leather armour were blocking the road. The men were as scarred as their armour, bearing rusted and notched weapons and grinning malevolently at them as they approached. A tall, thin man with dark skin and short, spiky black hair pushed his way to the front, wearing leather armour with a mace strapped at his waist, a smarmy grin plastered on his face, bearing a foul grin of yellow, broken teeth as he remarked to his compatriots "Wake up, gentlemen, more travellers to attend to. I'd say this fellow is the leader!" he said, pointing at Arthur.

One of the men beside him, a balding fat fellow who looked only slightly more intelligent than a turnip, looked at the group uneasily, scrutinising their fine weapons, armour and demeanour and muttered to the tall man "Err, they don't look much like them others, you know. Uh...maybe we should let these ones pass" but the thin man brushed aside his underling's concerns. "Nonsense. Greetings, travellers!" he replied, turning the oily smile back to the group.

Arthur felt a great surge of dislike towards these fellows, and it seemed he wasn't the only one. From behind him, Arthur heard a low growl from Edward and the sound of someone spitting disgustedly; he looked round, to see Alistair fingering the hilt of his sword, a look of contempt and anger on his face. "Highwaymen, preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose!" Alistair spat in a voice thick with disgust.

Morrigan hissed like an angry cat, her long –fingered hands balling into fists as she stared at the would-be bandits with a look of utter disdain. "They are fools to get in our way. I say teach them a lesson" she snapped, nodding at the Cousland sword. The bandit leader shook his head with a soft smile and said in a disappointed tone "Tsk, tsk, tsk! Now is that any way to greet someone? A simple ten silvers and you're free to move to move on!" he finished, holding out a gloved hand expectantly.

Arthur barely managed to keep his anger in check as he nodded at the bald fellow and snapped back "You should listen to your friend. We're not refugees" in a low, deadly tone of voice. The bandits flinched a little at this and the burly, bald man uneasily turned to their leader "What did I tell you? No wagons, and this one looks armed!"

But the bandits' leader again brushed off his underling's concern. '_I imagine they've been having good business since Ostagar, and they clearly don't want to let some youth cheat them out of it! Well, I'll make sure to disappoint them!'_ Arthur thought as the bandit leader extended his hand expectantly again and said "The toll applies to everyone, Hanric. That's _why_ it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax!" He was still smiling, but Arthur could see a nasty gleam in the fellow's eyes, and he was quick to see the man was fingering the haft of his mace. The bald fellow's idiotic face contorted into an expression of vague understanding, and he added "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay!"

"Forget it. I'm not paying!" was Arthur's blunt reply. The tall, smarmy fellow sighed in mock regret and his fellows began to draw their weapons. "Well, I can't say I'm pleased to hear that. We have rules, you know".

"Right, we get to ransack your corpse! Those are the rules!" Hanric added, a moronic grin on his face.

Arthur felt his already frayed temper rapidly coming undone at what they were implying. 'The lives of these despicable piles of offal are worthless than the darkspawn! I should kill them here...but they aren't worthy of my time!'. Struggling to keep his temper in check, Arthur pulled the Cousland sword partway free from its scabbard so the bandits could see the silver blade, and hissed in a voice devoid of patience or mercy "I will give one last chance to walk away with your lives, fools! Think very carefully; do you really want to fight a Grey Warden?"

At this, he saw looks of fear and shock cross the faces of the bandits, especially Hanric, who whimpered to his boss "Did he say he's a Grey Warden? Them ones killed the king!". The bandit leader nodded, his face marked with an expression of greedy avarice as he replied with a foul grin "Traitors to Ferelden, I hear. Teyrn Loghain put quite a bounty on any who are found, so I hear..."

Arthur felt something inside him explode with fury at what he'd just heard. His ears were ringing with a buzzing so loud he could barely hear what Hanric was mewling frightfully to his boss. _'Loghain, you bastard! You murdered the King and so many others, and then you _dare_ to use the Wardens, the only ones brave enough to try and win the fight you fled, as a scapegoat to cover your own treason? I swear, when I get a hold of you, I'll make you suffer so you'll wish the darkspawn had killed _YOU_ at Ostagar, not Cailan!'_

Something the bandit leader said made Arthur turn his furious gaze back to the bandit leader. Perhaps the fellow saw the murder in his eyes, the snarl of rage that twisted his lips or the hand closed into a fist around the hilt of his sword, because the bandit's bravado evaporated like mist and he remarked in a quavering voice "On second thoughts, maybe we'll leave you to your darkspawn-fighting, king-killing ways..."

"Actually" Arthur gave the man a smile that would not have looked out of place on a rage demon "Let's add bandit-slaying to that list...". His anger needed venting, and in the absence of any darkspawn, these pitiful excuses for the filth of humanity would do just fine. With a roar of bestial fury that would have made an ogre cringe, Arthur ripped the Cousland sword free of its scabbard and slashed out high with it. Hanric fell back, his hands futilely trying to staunch the bloody fountain that spewed from the furrow the blade had torn through his neck.

The other bandits howled in outrage at this and tried to attack, but the others never gave them a chance. One maul-wielding bandit fell in mid-swing at Arthur's head, Alistair having put a crossbow bolt through the meagre leavings called brains in his skull. Two archers at the rear of the bandit group nocked arrows to their bows, but before they could loose their shafts, Morrigan's fists exploded with power and she let fly from her fingertips bolts of lightning that blasted and cooked the men inside their own armour. The last bandit fell to Edward, who sank his fangs deep into the man's sword arm; as the fellow pounded the dog's head with his free hand, screaming like a wounded genlock, Alistair seized the man by his shoulder and ran him through from behind.

Seeing all five of his men dead in as many heartbeats, and still not having drawn his own weapon, the bandit leader threw his mace to the floor and put up his hands, his face fearful. Arthur put a hand over his nose as a foul odour hit him and he realised the wretch had soiled himself in terror. With a bellow, Arthur seized the bandit by his throat and pinned him to a tree, the Cousland sword centimetres from opening his neck.

"Alright, I surrender!" the wretch whimpered, all trace of his earlier bravado gone. "We were just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us!"

"You picked the wrong target!" Arthur hissed in his ear. The bandit nodded sycophantically and rapidly babbled "Yes, yes we did! I apologise!"

"I need information. Start talking and I may let you live!"

"What could I tell you? I'm not even from these parts!" the bandit whimpered.

"What's going on in Lothering?" Arthur questioned, wondering what sort of welcome they'd receive. The bandit shrugged and replied "It's packed full. The local bann took his men north with Teyrn Loghain when he marched by, so there's no one looking out for it except a few templars at the Chantry..."

"And what other news have you heard?" Arthur questioned.

"Everyone's saying how the Grey Wardens betrayed the king during the darkspawn fight; got him and themselves killed. Teyrn Loghain pulled out just in time" the bandit continued with a smug smile "First thing he's doing is putting a bounty on Grey Ward-!" the remainder of the bandit's words vanished in a choked gasp as Arthur's grip around his throat tightened.

"I'm done asking questions!" Arthur snarled. The bandit let out a whimper of fear as he pleaded "Let me go!" but Arthur was in no mood to be merciful. Pinning the bandit up against the tree with his left arm, he seized the wretch's head with his right hand and fluidly twisted. There was a loud crack as the bastard's neck snapped. The bandit's body fell to the floor, but Arthur felt no remorse. '_How many travellers did he and these scum show mercy to, the ones they robbed and murdered?'_.

Arthur spat in disgust, and then wiped his sword clean on the bandit's corpse. The four of them quickly stripped the bandits of any coin and other valuables, along with finding the corpse of a man in the armour of a templar-his only possessions being a simple gold locket and a note- then continued on the path to Lothering, paying the bodies no more heed than they would a pile of leaves, leaving the bodies for the crows to pick over. Arthur felt no remorse for the deed, and Alistair and Morrigan made no comment; indeed, he thought he saw a soft smile at the corner of her lips, as though she approved of such.

As they approached the ramshackle gates that had been swiftly erected around the town, he heard Alistair mutter "Well, here we are. Lothering...pretty as a painting"

Arthur suppressed a groan as Morrigan leapt on the bait and said with mock sweetness "Ah, finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble?"

Alistair, unfortunately, didn't choose to ignore her barb, instead almost shouting back at her "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost anyone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan's reaction was not what they expected: she gave an amused snort and replied with a smile "_Before_ or _after_ I stopped laughing?". Alistair shook his head in exasperation and replied "Right, very creepy. Forget I ask".

"She does have a point; you have been very quiet" Arthur replied fairly. Alistair nodded in agreement and said "Yes, I know. I've been thinking". At this, Morrigan gave a cruel snigger and sniped "No wonder it took so long!"

Alistair sighed and retorted "I get it; this is where we're shocked to discover you've never had a friend your entire life!". Morrigan gave an unconcerned shrug and replied innocently "I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so". Alistair threw Morrigan a look of disgusted exasperation then turned to face Arthur. "Anyway...I thought we should talk about where we intend to go first"

"I need to find Fergus. He may still be alive" Arthur snapped. He had toyed with the notion in the Wilds, but there had been no time to stop. But now they were able to recover themselves, he wished to try and at least ascertain what had happened to his older brother, the only family he had left. Alistair gave him a chagrined expression and said "He was out scouting in the Wilds, wasn't he? That's what the king said"

Morrigan's curt voice cut like a blade as she bluntly said "Then attempting to look for him there would be foolish. He has either already managed to make it to the north...or not"

"Very sensitive" Alistair sniped. Morrigan gave him a withering look and then turned back to Arthur, her gaze sympathetic, but her tone firm and hard. "I am simply saying that it is foolish to look for this man when you have no notion where he is and the Wilds are overrun with darkspawn. You will either find him with other survivors...or not at all". She finished solemnly.

Arthur cursed the witch; she was about as subtle as a blade in the back. Her tone rankled him, as did the bluntness of her words and the emotionless manner she had spoken them. But what made him the most angry was that deep down, he knew that Morrigan was right. Considering the effort they had gone to getting out of the Wilds, going back in would be the height of stupidity. They had all seen the might of the horde when it descended like a black wave on Ostagar, and though Arthur hated himself for thinking it, the odds of Fergus having escaped that were slim...if non-existent. But even though he knew she was right, it didn't assuage the thought that once again, he had abandoned someone he cared about. _'I have so much blood of loved ones on my hands...could even the Waking Sea wash them clean?'_

This time, it was Alistair's turn to be the diplomat, as he said quickly "Moving on, I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea; using the treaties. Have you looked at them?". Arthur nodded curtly; he'd leafed through the scrolls of parchment on one of the few peaceful nights they'd had fleeing from the Wilds. Alistair gave him an approving look and continued "As you'll have seen, there are three main groups we have treaties with: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar and the Circle of Magi. I also still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help; we might even want to go to him first".

"Why are you leaving it up to me? You're the senior Warden of us two..." Arthur began, but Alistair put his hands up defensively and protested "Well I don't know where we should go!". Morrigan gave a derisive snort and sneered "Now that is hardly surprising!"

"Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure he's where we should go. I'm not going to fight over it" Alistair protested. Arthur accepted this and remarked "What about the Grey Wardens? We'll need all the help we can get against the archdemon!". Alistair, however, shrugged his shoulders resignedly and answered "Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that's thousands of miles away". Arthur sighed reluctantly; it looked like in terms of Grey Wardens, they were going to have to make do with what they had.

"Then we'd best find the people we can contact" Arthur replied. Alistair nodded in agreement and replied "I can give you directions if you like".

"Where can we find Arl Eamon?"

"He'll be at Castle Redcliffe, in the far western part of Ferelden, next to the mountain passes. If he isn't there, someone will be able to tell us where he is".

"Where will we find the Circle of Magi?" Arthur asked.

"That would be at their tower on Lake Calenhad. We'll be looking to speak to the First Enchanter, whoever that is"

"What about the Dalish elves?"

"If we head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, we should hear word of one of the clans that wanders that area. _Hopefully,_ they will still be there" was Alistair's reply.

"And the dwarves?"

"We would need to speak to their king in Orzammar. That would mean heading west into the Frostback Mountains, which won't be easy"

"And what about Loghain? I've got an overpowering urge to put something long and sharp through his head..." Arthur snarled. Alistair grinned a little, but it was with a serious tone he answered "If he isn't out in the field with his army, he's probably going to be at the palace in Denerim. We can go to Denerim, but somehow I suspect they aren't going to let us just walk around. Just a suspicion of course"

"Do you have anything to contribute to this, Morrigan? What would you suggest?" Arthur questioned.

"Go after your enemy directly" she replied with a bloodthirsty grin. "Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety". Alistair gave a loud snort at this and snapped back "Yes, he certainly won't see that coming! And it's not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and-!"

"I was asked for my opinion and I gave it!" Morrigan waspishly snarled back. "If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!". Arthur gave an exasperated groan and snapped "Enough! I want to hear more news of what's happening elsewhere in Ferelden before we head off. Once we have a clearer picture, I'll decide!"

"Fair enough" Alistair replied with a shrug of the shoulders. "Let's head into the village whenever you're ready".

With that, they walked into the village of Lothering through the crude wooden gate. The first thing that struck Arthur as they entered was an acute air of misery and despair: all the signs of life were absent-children playing in the streets, people talking and trading- and the few who were present were either fearfully casting looks over their shoulders towards the south, or hastily gathering up what belongings they had, placing them in packs or throwing them on wagons, getting ready to leave. "Just a guess" he heard Alistair muse "but I'm guessing everyone here knows about the approaching darkspawn horde".

A templar watchman at the gate, when asked, advised them to speak to either Elder Miriam, the village elder, or Ser Bryant, commander of the contingent of templars at Lothering's Chantry. The group decided to split up; since Morrigan flatly refused to, and as it would be a bad idea to take an apostate into a Chantry anyway, Alistair and Arthur decided to head for the Chantry and speak to the templar leader, while Morrigan headed off to replenish their supplies.

The Chantry had much the same sense as the village: a crushing sense of despair and fear at the oncoming. The Chantry was the largest building in Lothering by far, but its grand hall, usually occupied by pews and stands for prayer books, was now occupied by mattresses and pallet beds occupied by the huge number of refugees that had streamed into the village. There were priests and priestesses of the Chantry present, but most were tending to the injured, or gathering books, relics and other objects of significance into packs and chests for when they evacuated.

Looking around, the two men soon saw who they were looking for; a tired-looking man in his late forties, with dark brown skin and hair, suggesting Rivain blood, clad in the heavy plate armour of a Chantry templar. He looked up at their approach and Arthur saw the man was more than tired; he was exhausted. His eyes were ringed underneath with dark circles, a thick coat of stubble clung to his jaw and from the slow movements he made, the old templar had been on his feet for several days without rest. Still, he looked up and bowed respectfully as they approached.

"Greetings. Who might you be?"

"You may call me Arthur"

"I am Ser Bryant, commander of the templars of the Lothering Chantry. Are you one of Arl Eamon's knights?"

At this, Arthur looked round to ensure no one was looking and whispered conspiratorially "I need help, good templar. I am, in truth, a Grey Warden". Arthur saw Ser Bryant's eyes go wide with shock and for a moment, wondered if he'd done the right thing. "I...I see. Teyrn Loghain has declared the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. You are aware of this, I hope?

"I've heard the lies Loghain is pedalling to the people, but the Wardens did no such thing" Arthur replied curtly. Ser Bryant smiled softly and put up his hands in a gesture of peace "I don't believe the Wardens would be as careless or malicious as the teyrn claims, but either way, there it is. It is best you not linger however, just in case"

"Is there no other help you can give me?" Arthur asked. By way of an answer, the templar extended a gauntleted hand clutching a large brass key and said "I cannot openly help you I fear, but take this key. It opens the large cabinet on the far wall: there is more than we can carry in there when we evacuate, so take what you need".

"I was hoping you could provide me also with some information"

"If the matter is important, certainly" was Ser Bryant's calm reply.

"Have you heard any recent news?"

"Other than the darkspawn horde bearing down on us?" the templar glibly remarked. His levity evaporated into a grimace as he sighed "None of it is good. Teyrn Loghain is set to declare himself king, I hear. Disaster piled upon disaster" Ser Bryant finished sadly.

'_Maker's Blood, is that what this was all about? The desertion of Cailan, the murder and outlawing of the Wardens, maybe even that of my family and so many others...It was all so Loghain could get his misbegotten arse on the throne? That greedy, treacherous bastard! If this was all in the name of his ambition, I'll see to it he's fed to the archdemon still alive!'_

Ser Bryant must have caught his thoughts, because the old templar nodded in agreement and continued "Teyrn Loghain has no legitimate claim to the throne. He may be a hero, and his daughter may be the Queen, but he's a commoner and the King's corpse is barely cold. Perhaps if Arl Eamon were able to intervene, perhaps this might not have gone so far. Bah!" the templar cursed. "I do not care who takes the throne: only fools fight over who owns a cottage while it burns down around them!"

"What is this you said about Arl Eamon?" Alistair blurted out. Ser Bryant looked at him askance and then continued "Arl Eamon has fallen ill, and his knights are on a search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He _must _ be ill if they chase miracles as the only cure. One of the Arl's men, Ser Donall is here searching for fantasies while..." Ser Bryant gave a sigh and shook his head exasperatedly "Ah, ask him if you care of this foolishness!"

"Maybe I should go...you must have a lot to do before the darkspawn arrive" Arthur said. Ser Bryant nodded, crossed his arms across his armoured chest and gave a respectful bow. "Travel safely, and may the Maker watch over you".

Briefly, Arthur and Alistair decided to speak to this Ser Donall before heading back to meet Morrigan; Arthur assumed the tall fellow clad in red steel chainmail, bearing a shield with the emblem of Redcliffe, stood beside one of the Chantry's bookshelves, leafing through a large tome on Chantry history, had to be the fellow. He looked up as he heard them approach and said "Forgive me; I did not see you approach".

"Ser Donall? Is that you?" Alistair asked, and Arthur heard a note of recognition in his voice. The knight's face also lit up as he saw who had addressed him and replied "Alistair? By the Maker! How are you? I was certain you were dead!"

"Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain!" Alistair replied with a scowl at the thought of the traitor. Ser Donall nodded and replied "If Arl Eamon were well, he'd set Loghain straight soon enough!"

"So, you're here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes?"

"Yes, I'd hoped to take advantage of the Chantry's library. Andraste's Ashes are said to cure any malady, but I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims" Ser Donall replied solemnly.

"Redcliffe is a fair distance from Lothering, and with the danger approaching, surely the Arl will need all the men he can get. Shouldn't you be fleeing the darkspawn horde?" Arthur asked.

"My mission takes priority, but I fear I shall be returning to Redcliffe with nothing to show for my efforts"

"So you came here in search of the ashes?" Arthur asked. Ser Donall nodded and answered "I hoped to take advantage of the Chantry's library, but my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales" the knight concluded sadly.

"What have you found?" the youth asked. The knight looked surprised as he replied "Supposedly, the Urn contains the remains of the Prophetess Andraste. You know this, surely?". Arthur nodded: like any Chantry goer, he knew the tale of Andraste- of how the Prophetess had freed the elven slaves and united the barbarian tribes into an army capable of bringing the Tevinter Imperium to its knees. How blessed with the power of the Maker, who had chosen Andraste as his own, they came so close to victory, until her earthly husband betrayed her out of jealousy and she was burnt at the stake on the order of Tevinter's Archons. How her followers had gathered her ashes from the place of her execution and taken them to a tomb whose location had been lost to history.

Arthur replied "I know the tale, but I'm curious; I wish to know what you've uncovered". Ser Donall looked surprised at his curiosity, but gestured to the tomes around him "If you're truly interested, there are books here containing a great deal of lore. Nothing I have found leads me to believe this was anything but a quest of desperation. I intend to return to Redcliffe and tell the arlessa exactly that, once Ser Henric arrives"

"Ser Henric?" Arthur asked, the name ringing a bell. "My fellow knight and travelling companion. He is delayed, however". That made Arthur realise: the locket they had retrieved from the body of the templar killed by the bandits had been marked with the name Henric. Arthur pulled the locket and the note of parchment that had come with it and handed to Ser Donall "I'm sorry, but your friend is dead. I have something of his"

"What? And you have his locket? And a note?" Ser Donall disbelievingly asked as he accepted what Arthur handed to him. He cursed at his comrade's fate and sadly sighed "Maker's Mercy! Thank you for giving me these. I might never have known otherwise"

"I killed the bandits who slew him"

"Thank you. I wonder how many of us have met similar fates on this mad quest. With Henric gone, I should return to Redcliffe; perhaps later I will seek out the scholar his note mentions. Thank you, my lord. You have been most helpful" Ser Donall finished with a solemn bow, putting the book he'd been researching from back on the shelf and departed. Sensing there was no more to be gained from the Chantry, Alistair and Arthur also departed. They exited the Chantry and crossed over a stone bridge spanning a small river to where Morrigan stood with Edward; clearly she managed to refill their supplies during their time in the Chantry. She and the mabari were standing beside a large stone building which Arthur assumed was Lothering's tavern. He and Alistair headed in the direction of the tavern: considering what Morrigan had said that the tavern would be a good place to hear rumours, Arthur thought that it would be a good place to gather information about where would be the best place to start looking for help.

As he approached the door of the tavern, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking round, he saw a bearded man who looked to be a local farmer, who looked at him uneasily. "You might not want to go in there, friend. Tavern's full, and those soldiers are being a nuisance"

"Tell me about these soldiers" Arthur asked. The farmer spat disgustedly at the thought of them and said angrily "They're not here to protect us. They said they're looking for someone...or at least they were before they started drinking. I heard they almost killed a man because they didn't like his face! I wonder if they're deserters from the king's army..."

At this, Arthur felt his anger building. Life was hard enough for these people, and would no doubt become harder as they tried to find safety and shelter in the face of the darkspawn onslaught, without ingrates who were supposed to help them making their lives harder. Fingering the hilt of his sword, Arthur stormed into the tavern, which he briefly noted bore the name '_Dane's Refuge'_.

"I think I'm gonna have a word with these soldiers..."


	17. Chapter 16: The Sister & the Sten

And so now, we come to our first meeting with our redhead, slightly crazy and cute bard and the no-nonsense qunari...

First of all, as always, thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited or subscribed to my humble story, so thank you to, as always, **roxfox 1962 **for your truly great reviews, **ethan** for your entertaining reviews (I'm looking forward to seeing how the Arthur/Leliana chemistry turns out too, believe me!), and to **sova** and **cody ** for your reviews too. Also, thank you to **spectre4hire, Zephyr of the Shadows, latra, sester, Golem28 **and **Ch10 **for favouriting and subscribing, and to **Erynnar** for the message of support. It's truly a great privilege as a writer to know your work is so greatly appreciated, so thank you all so much!

Not sure when I'll have more for you (lousy real life and work are intruding upon my writing time!), but I'll try to keep up the good work whenever I can, I promise you!

Enjoy, and **'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**

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The Chantry sister sipped the glass of Orlesian white wine she'd purchased and been nursing for half an hour, running a finger through her braided red hair and trying once more to keep her anger in check at the obnoxious crowd of soldiers, all dressed in fine armour marked with the symbol of the teyrn of Gwaren, Teyrn Loghain himself. Loghain had marched through Lothering on his return from the massacre at Ostagar and left these men behind to look for someone. For the most part, however, they'd seemed to be using their authority to simply drain the '_Dane's Refuge'_ dry of its supplies of alcohol. Even now, they were badgering the barkeep, Danal to refill their steins and inappropriately groping any barmaid unlucky enough to get too close.

In what seemed like another lifetime, she would have leapt across the tavern's main room and silenced the drunken wretches permanently with the insertion of a sword into their gullets, but that had been a different woman. She had learned since then to control the blind rage and the anticipation that had made her take such pleasure from killing long ago. But she had worked long and hard to cast off that darker side of her character to let it slip now, and even if she hadn't, she couldn't afford to be driven out of Lothering yet, not until she found the person she needed to.

The person He had commanded her to find.

She thought back to the dream she'd had two nights previous: watching from atop a peak as an overwhelming tide of darkness swept over the land, devouring everything in its path. As she watched helpless, weeping as she saw the land perish under the foul taint seeping into it, she heard above her head the beating of leathery wings and a terrible noise that reverberated all around her; a blood-curdling screech of rage, pain and hatred older than mankind itself, hatred for all life, hatred that would see everything die...

She remembered waking from that nightmare, weeping at the horrors she'd witnessed, and slipping into the Chantry's gardens to recover herself. She remembered looking at an old, withered rose bush and to her surprise, seeing a single blossom on the bush. And then she'd heard a voice, but when she looked round, there was no one there. A voice of peace, compassion and mercy, that whispered to her in a comforting tone "Even in the darkness, there is hope, and beauty. Have faith".

She must have fallen asleep because she remembered dreaming again, but this time it was different: the darkness was still trying to swallow the land, but this time something stood in its path; something gleaming in the dark like a single, brilliant candle in the night. She looked closely, and saw the form of a man in the light. He was clad in gleaming silver plate armour and wore no helm, his long reddish-brown hair gleaming like burnished copper in the light. In his right hand, he wielded a sword made of no metal she had ever seen, its blade pulsing with brilliant blue energy, and he carried a shield marked with the symbol of a rampant white griffon. Wherever his sword fell, the darkness receded, like flame before water.

And she had heard the voice, speaking to her imploringly "Find the young Warden, child. One of the false gods has arisen from the prison where I placed him. Even now, he calls the children birthed from the sin he and his ilk goaded them to commit against me. He calls the tainted ones to his side, seeking to lead them from the black depths to devour my creation. Only the young Warden can turn aside this evil before it consumes all. But his task is arduous and many perils lie in his path. You must find him and you must help him. Help the young Warden save my creation from the Blight, and your trust and your faith will be rewarded; you will find absolution, trust and love. Find him, child. Help him".

When she awoke the following morning, she'd raced to complete her duties to the Chantry and proceeded to prowl about the village, looking for any sign of the person she was meant to find, but seeing nothing. But as she had been about to give up hope, the door to the tavern opened, and four strange figures stepped inside. A large mabari warhound, its pale brown fur streaked with dirt and blood. A tall young man, clad in heavily damaged splintmail armour, carrying a shield similar to those she'd seen the templars bear, and a fine longsword. His tired-looking face still had a mischievous look to it, added to by the wild mop of spiky, honey-blonde hair that crowned his head.

Behind him, a tall, thin woman strode in, her face taking in her surroundings with a look of haughty disdain. She was pretty, with alabaster-pale skin and long jet-black hair tied back from her striking face, though her choice of attire-a purple vest that barely covered her ample bosom, and a pair of black leggings that clung to her lithe limbs- was interesting to say the least. In her right hand, she carried a long wooden staff, and the Chantry sister wondered if this woman were a mage. '_Strange to see one so far from the tower' _she thought '_unless she's not with the Circle..._'

And then the fourth figures stepped forward, and the sister felt her heart skip a beat. It was _him_, the man from her dreams. He was quite different-he was clad in heavily worn scale armour, not gleaming plate. His sword, while of fine make, didn't gleam with eldritch blue fire and his shield was marked with the laurel emblem of Highever, not a rampant white griffon, but his handsome face, despite the markings of tiredness and hardship upon it, was the same, and the mane of red-brown hair that fell to the base of his neck gleamed in the light of the sun behind him, and she knew this was the fellow she was looking for.

She got to her feet, but out of the corner of her eye, the sister saw the soldiers get to their feet to intercept the newcomers. '_I shouldn't be surprised. If Loghain set them here, then doubtless he's who they're after as well!' _she thought. Without thinking, she idly fingered the handle of the knife she'd hidden in her robes. She didn't want to use it, but if these thugs turned violent, she wouldn't hesitate to. Above all else, she knew the man she'd been shown couldn't come to harm.

The Maker had commanded her. And she had no intention of failing him.

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"Well, look here men! I think we've just been blessed!" a cruel voice sneered as Arthur and his companions entered the tavern. Arthur looked around and saw half a dozen men, clad in fine armour and an assortment of weapons. The fellow who'd spoken- a tall man with short, dark hair and a scraggly beard the same colour, clad in silver scale armour with a greatsword on his back- grinned malevolently at them as they entered. Based on the looks of deference the others were giving him, Arthur assumed this man was the leader. Looking at the other soldiers closely, Arthur could see from their flushed faces and slightly dull eyes they were quite drunk, and looking for an excuse to be violent. Arthur was also quick to notice the wyvern emblem of Gwaren the soldiers bore upon their breast.

"Uh-oh" he heard Alistair mutter behind him; clearly he'd seen it too. "Loghain's men. This _can't_ be good".

One of the soldiers-a bearded man in splintmail armour and a steel helm- turned to the sergeant and asked "Didn't we spend all morning looking about a fellow by this very description? And didn't everyone say they hadn't seen him?". The sergeant nodded and glared hatefully at the rest of the tavern's patrons, as though they were all his mortal enemies. "It seems we were lied to" he snarled.

At this point, Arthur saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his left eye. Looking towards it, he saw a young woman clad in the red robes of a Chantry priestess walking towards the scuffle. She looked to be in her early twenties-twenty three, twenty four at the oldest- and despite his foul mood, Arthur had to concede she was very pretty. Her short, braided red hair gleamed like molten metal in the light of the roaring fire in the centre of the tavern, accentuated by bright green eyes, a striking face with high cheekbones and an elegant chin, and a willowy, slender figure visible even under the lengthy robe she wore. She raised a placating hand to the soldiers, and when she spoke in a slow, peaceful tone, Arthur felt a pleasurable appeal in the sultry purr of her voice, made all the more exotic by the rich Orlesian accent she spoke with.

"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge" she said, smiling at Arthur and his companions. The sergeant scowled at her and snapped "They're more than that! Now stay out of our way, sister! You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them!"

Arthur began to draw the Cousland sword from its scabbard, glaring at the sergeant. '_I'm getting sick and tired of being called a traitor when the true betrayer is made king and lauded a hero for running away while we and our brothers fought and died to protect this miserable country_!'. He was more than willing to kill these lapdogs of the deserter, but after what had happened at Highever and Ostagar, he had no wish to get anyone else killed. '_There's enough blood on my hands already; I won't add that of an innocent to it!'_ he thought as he tried to gently chivvy the sister back. "I don't need your help, miss. Please stand back, for your own safety..."

To his surprise, the Orlesian sister gave a very unfeminine snort and laughed "You don't need my protection, but these men will blindly follow their master's commands, even unto death". The sergeant's face went red with outraged fury as he bellowed in the woman's face "I AM NOT THE BLIND ONE! I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens' treachery! I serve him gladly...but enough talk!" The sergeant turned to his men and snapped orders "Take the Warden into custody. Kill the sister, and anyone else who gets in your way!"

The first soldier who'd spoken nodded and advanced on Arthur with a pair of manacles "Right, let's make this quick. Surrender, Warden; come quietly and the regent may show merc-!" At this, the soldier let out an agonised scream and then toppled forward; looking down, Arthur saw the man had been slain by a deep wound to the back of his neck, made at the gap between the base of the man's helmet and the gorget of his armour. Arthur, Alistair, Morrigan and the soldiers looked away from the corpse, to see the sister standing behind him, a cold snarl on her face and a short-bladed knife in her right hand, its iron blade dripping blood.

The sergeant gave a furious roar and drew his greatsword, pulling the blade back to swing as though he intended to hack the sister in two, but before he could, Arthur charged forward and slammed the Shield of Highever into the man's chest, smashing him off his feet. The girl nodded in thanks, then flipped the knife in her hand and threw it, the blade embedding itself in the eye of another soldier. Two more soldiers took aim with crossbows, but Morrigan acted before they could shoot; tendrils of ice leapt from her hands to their weapons, turning them into useless blocks of ice that shattered in their grasp. Tossing aside their useless crossbows, the men drew swords and charged; Edward and Alistair leapt to the attack, Alistair blocking the sword of one soldier with his shield before slashing his own sword across the man's abdomen, while Edward sank his teeth into the hip of a second, raking the man's side with his claws. As the fight escalated, a sudden shout made them all cease the battle. "THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!"

The combatants all looked round, to see Arthur holding the sergeant on the floor by his hair, the Cousland sword held less than an inch from the man's throat. "Drop your weapons, dogs, or this place will be redecorated in an interesting new colour called 'Hint of Scum'!" Arthur yelled. The soldiers looked at him uncertainly, as though contemplating trying to charge him and rescue their leader. In answer, Arthur pressed his sword to the man's neck, the sergeant gasping as the razor-sharp blade drew a thin line of blood. "Throw down your weapons, or we all get to see the colour of his innards!" Arthur roared.

"Alright, you win!" the sergeant yelped, writhing in his grasp. "We surrender!" he finished, nodding to his men who reluctantly put up their weapons. The Orlesian sister smiled and retrieved her knife, looking at Arthur "Good. They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now" she concluded. Arthur, however, gave a loud snort: his idea of teaching these worms a lesson was far from over. "You are scum and filth in service to an oath-breaking, kin-slaying, cowardly dog!" he shouted at the soldiers. "Teyrn Loghain, the so-called 'Hero of Ferelden' is the traitor who betrayed good King Cailan at Ostagar!"

There was a collective gasp of shock and some outrage at this; no doubt many of the people had swallowed the lies fed to them about what had happened at Ostagar. He felt the sergeant in his grasp struggle and saw the man was glaring at him with a look of unbridled hate; 'Clearly his loyalty to his master is stronger than his self-preservation instinct' Arthur coldly thought as the man roared "I was there! The teyrn pulled us out of a trap!"

Arthur's grip around the man's throat tightened as he snarled "Be silent, wretch! It is not your place to interrupt your betters! I am the second son of House Cousland, and I fought at Ostagar! I saw what happened from the top of the Tower of Ishal! Loghain deserted, he left Cailan to die!"

"You expect us to believe the word of a stripling son of a noble house that the teyrn and his adjutant Arl Howe have condemned as traitors? And a Warden at that?" the sergeant sneered, before turning to the crowd at large "The Wardens led the King to his death! The Teyrn could do nothing, good folk!"

The man's words were drowned by a roar of rage from Arthur as he all but throttled the soldier. "My family were NOT traitors! Rendon Howe murdered them to satisfy his own ambition, just as Loghain murdered Cailan to satisfy his own! But I don't have time to tell you the full story; I have to save this kingdom from itself! Ask the Maker to tell it to you when you see Him!" Arthur snarled, pulling back his arm to slash the Cousland sword across the man's throat.

"PLEASE, WAIT!" the man pleaded, but Arthur was in no mood to show mercy to this piece of filth. But before he could slit the man's throat, a hand seized his wrist to stop him. He looked up, and saw the Chantry sister staring him in the face with a solemn, pleading expression. He tried to pull his hand free, but her grip was surprisingly strong. "They have surrendered, they were no match for you. Let them be" she earnestly pleaded.

Arthur glared at her in anger, gesturing to the wretched man squirming in his grip "They were going to murder us, Sister, and you too, in case you've forgotten!" he snapped. The young woman raised a placating hand and replied "But they failed. And I do not wish death on anyone".

"Much as I'm loath to say it, I say we kill them" Alistair uneasily said behind him "Let them go and they'll run straight back to Loghain. And we may not be able to deal with what he sends after us next time".

"And much as _I_ am loath to say it, Alistair is right" Morrigan added. "Better to ensure that your enemy doesn't know you're alive until you're behind him, about to put a sword through his heart!". Arthur nodded in agreement and made to kill the man, but the sister tightened her grip on his wrist.

"Please, friend. You are _better_ than this. You are a Grey Warden, a hero among men, despite what these fools and their master think. Too many here know now what you are; would you kill them all to keep your secret safe? You kill for a reason in battle; to push back the darkspawn horde and to cast down the archdemon. But if you kill this man here and now, it will be for no reason but your own gratification. I know what happens to those who kill for no greater cause than their own pleasure; I have been one of them. It is a dark path, an _evil_ path, and few come back once they've started down it"

Arthur gave a moan of indecision; he wanted nothing more than to open the neck of this wretch who'd dared to make such accusations, but part of him knew the girl was speaking sense. He'd already killed for no real reason once; if he did it again, if he killed simply to satisfy his own rage and desires, he would have become no better than a hurlock. No better than Loghain.

No better than _Howe_.

Roaring in fury, Arthur pulled the sergeant to his feet and snarled at him "Well, if I'm going to let you live, you are going to do something. You are going to find your cur of a master, and you are going to send him a message from me!"

"What do you want to tell him?" the sergeant whimpered, clearly not wanting to antagonise him.

"Tell that backstabbing deserter Loghain the Grey Wardens know everything he's done, and we intend to make sure he pays for his treason. Tell that scowling whoreson we will come for him, and we will take everything from him. Tell him-and that traitorous snake Rendon Howe as well- I will destroy their worlds! I will kill their families and erase their names from history! I will see that they lose everything they hold dear and ensure the world hates and reviles them before they die. I will make them suffer in ways that would make an archdemon beg for mercy...and _then_ I will kill them with my own hands! Tell them if they are smart, they will pray to the Maker that the darkspawn get to them before me; they'll get mercy from the archdemon sooner than they will from me! Now GET OUT! I will not sully my blade with filth like you!" Arthur Cousland bellowed in the commanding roar of a nobleman who expected his words obeyed.

The sergeant jumped like a whipped dog, then nodded and yelped "I'll tell him, right away! Thank you!" With that, he and his men ran out of the tavern, chased out the door by Edward, snapping at their heels and barking angrily after them. Arthur gave a howl of frustration and stabbed his sword into the top of a table to alleviate his anger, wishing it to be Loghain's face. Exhaustion and pain finally caught up with him and he sank down into a wooden chair at a table, ignoring the uneasy glances of the tavern's other patrons. Alistair and Morrigan also fell into chairs beside him, Alistair signalling to the barman to bring them something. A few moments later, the barkeep, a weary-looking man with thinning dark hair brought them over two tankards of ale and what looked to be red wine, he assumed, for Morrigan.

"Sorry about the mess" Arthur muttered to the man. The tavern keeper shrugged his shoulders and replied "They had it coming. And they were trouble themselves. So long as you don't make any more trouble, I'll say nothing. I have no qualm with you Wardens, despite what the teyrn says. My grandfather served in the Order, so your secret's safe with me" he replied. Arthur tossed the man a gold sovereign by way of thanks and picked up the tankard and gratefully drank, even as Morrigan coldly remarked "Letting those trash was a mistake. It will come back to haunt us"

Alistair answered for him, saying "I think the sister made a fair point. Too many people here knew; word of this would've gotten back to Loghain sooner or later".

"The sister is right here, you know" the sultry Orlesian voice remarked. Arthur and the others looked round to see the young woman sitting down in another chair beside Arthur. Alistair looked at her with affable curiosity, while Morrigan settled simply for glaring at her, those hawk-like eyes brimming with contempt. Arthur was unsure of what to make of her, even more so when Edward walked over to the young woman, deposited his head in her lap and drooled over her robes, wagging his tail as he did so. The girl didn't seem to mind, scratching the mabari behind his ears, gaining a satisfied grunt from Edward.

"He likes you. Strange, I've never seen him take so well to a stranger, but I think I can trust a mabari as a judge of character"

The Orlesian sister smiled at the thought and said "I apologise for interfering, but I couldn't sit by and not help". Arthur smiled and took her hand, replying "It's alright; I appreciate what you did. Thank you for helping us against those wretches and...and for saving me from myself. You're right; to kill for one's own pleasure is a dangerous path to walk"

"I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy" the woman replied approvingly. She gestured to herself with a long fingered hand and continued "Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering...or I was". Arthur raised her hand to his lips, gently kissed the back of it and replied "_Enchanté_, Leliana. I am Arthur Cousland. I consider it a pleasure to meet you"

Leliana smiled at being complimented in her native tongue and said "You are a Grey Warden, then? You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?" At this, her tone became much more blunt and businesslike. "I know after what happened, you will need all the help you can get. That is why I'm coming along with you".

The group looked somewhat surprised at her forthrightness. Morrigan scoffed at the sister, the haughty sneer on her lips making it clear how useful she thought the girl would be. Alistair seemed surprised that someone would actually volunteer to go with them, considering the Wardens' name was mud now. Arthur gave her a scrutinising look, trying to catch her lying. Her tone seemed honest, and he did owe her for helping them, but why would she wish to accompany them?

"I do need help, this is true, but why are you so eager to come with me?"

"The Maker told me to" was her immediate reply.

Arthur felt a great sense of unease at Leliana's pronouncement. '_The girl thinks the Maker talks to her? She's got to be crazy_!'. He looked at Alistair and Morrigan: Alistair was also looking warily at her, while Morrigan's thin eyebrows rose in disbelief. Arthur looked at Leliana closely, looking to see anything on her face that would suggest her to be lying or a lunatic, but her pretty face was blank, her only expression a bemused smile, as though she were uncertain why they were all looking at her so. '_She's telling the truth, or at least what_ she _thinks is the truth_...'

"Could you elaborate on this?" he asked.

Leliana's smile faltered a little, as though she realised just how what she had said sounded and started to explain in a faltering tone "I, I know that sounds absolutely crazy...but it's true! I had a dream, a vision!"

"More crazy? I thought we were all full up!" Alistair glibly quipped. Leliana scowled at him, and then turned back to Arthur, taking his hand as she pleadingly looked into his eyes "Look around; the people here are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread! What you do, what you are meant to do is the Maker's work! Let me help!" she pleaded.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and replied with a nod to Alistair "The Grey Wardens have always taken allies wherever they could find them. I will not turn away help when it is offered". Morrigan snorted derisively at this.

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother feared" she opined, but Leliana ignored her, vigorously shaking his hand as she said joyfully "Thank you, thank you! I appreciate you giving me this chance! I will _not_ let you down!"

"Well" Arthur replied as they got to their feet to leave "You've proven yourself useful, and I never could resist the request of a beautiful woman", feeling a little glee in this dark time at the smile that briefly crossed Leliana's lips at the compliment.

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They remained in Lothering for a day, since although their supplies were replenished, they had very little coin. At Leliana's advice, they did a few jobs posted on the local Chanter's board; dealing with other bandits lurking in the countryside near Lothering, putting down packs of blight wolves and tainted bears, helping locals prepare traps and defences to slow the darkspawn down when they came and supplying the local elder with poultices to treat the injured. As a result, the coin pouch at Arthur's belt quickly refilled with gold, silver and copper. During this period, Arthur and the others saw a great deal more of their new companion's skills; in addition to being skilled with a blade, Leliana showed herself to be a masterful archer, dropping a Blight-tainted bear with an arrow through the eye at thirty yards, and adept at lock-picking and 'acquiring' items from unwary locals. Such skills only made Arthur wonder what such a woman was doing singing the Chant in a Maker-forsaken backwater.

Eventually, by early evening Arthur felt they had done all they could and that they needed to move on if they were going to put any distance between themselves and the darkspawn. Arthur had already told them his plan; to head east, towards the Brecilian Forest. Alistair had protested, but Arthur had explained that Loghain had likely dug up whatever information he could on all the Wardens; once he knew Alistair was one of the survivors of Ostagar, likely Loghain would make the connection between Alistair and Redcliffe and sent more men after them in that direction. Arthur explained his belief that any pursuers would be unlikely to follow them east for fear of the dangers in the Brecilian Forest, which would work to their advantage while searching for a Dalish clan or two in that area to help them. With that, the group had gathered their things and prepared to leave Lothering.

But as they left the village, Arthur heard something to his left; strange chanting in a language he didn't recognise. He followed the words to their source, the others trailing behind him, and came upon a very strange sight; hunched down in a small iron cage was a very unusual creature. It looked like a man, but far taller and broader; had it not been hunched over in the cramped cage, it would have stood at least seven feet tall, maybe more. It was clad in a dirty shirt and britches that barely seemed to cover its broad, muscular body; its broad chest looked like it had been carved from stone and its powerful arms looked strong enough to uproot an oak tree. Its tanned, olive-coloured skin suggested that this being was from a land far warmer than Ferelden, and as it raised its head at their approach, he saw its face resembled a man, with short white hair cut close to its skull, with a number of long braids at the back of its head, a strong chin, thick cheeks and a large neck, and large, violet eyes that looked at him appraisingly as he approached.

"You aren't one of my captors" it said as Arthur approached its cage. The being's gaze grew cold and it turned away from him "I will not amuse you anymore than the other humans. Leave me in peace"

"What are you?" Arthur asked. The creature pointed to the cage in which it sat and sullenly replied, as though it were obvious "A prisoner. I'm in a cage, am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry"

At this, Leliana spoke up from behind Arthur, a fearful edge in her voice "The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family...even the children". The tanned being nodded at Leliana and replied solemnly "It is as she says". The creature gestured to itself and said "I am Sten of the Beresaad-the vanguard, if you will- of the Qunari people".

'_A qunari!'_ Arthur thought, amazed. He'd heard tales of the Qunari, the mysterious warrior race hailing from the jungle island of Par Vollen, barbarian conquerors that had fallen upon Thedas with a vengeance, seeking to conquer the nations of the world and indoctrinate them to their unnatural creed. If Arthur remembered the history Aldous had taught him, it had taken the full military might of three nations, combined with the power of the Chantry to drive them back; the war had ended in an uneasy peace treaty, and many still feared the qunari were building up their might for a return to hostilities. Many in Thedas still considered the qunari a more terrible threat than the darkspawn.

'Still, whatever his beliefs or his actions, I can still be respectful' Arthur thought as he bowed and replied "I am Arthur. It is a pleasure to meet you". The qunari's eyebrows rose in surprise, cocking its head as it answered "You mock me...or perhaps you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands. Though it matters little now. I will die soon enough" he finished, his face becoming melancholy. At this, Edward ran forward, whining slightly. He rooted around in Arthur's pack, pulled out a cake in his teeth and pressed his head against the cage door, offering it to the qunari. Sten smiled at the gesture and patted the dog on the snout. "Tempting, my friend but I must decline. Would you prolong your own suffering in my position?". He gently pushed Edward and looked back at Arthur "I suggest you leave me to my fate".

At this, Morrigan piped up, looking at the Qunari with a respectful, appraising eye "This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped here as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot think of a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone!"

"Mercy?" Alistair asked, the surprise in his voice clear. "I wouldn't have expected that from you!". Morrigan gave a snort and added "I would suggest Alistair take his place in the cage!". Alistair nodded sagely and replied "Yeah, _that's_ what I would've expected". Arthur ignored them; in truth, he'd been thinking along the same lines as Morrigan. As with Leliana, they needed all the help they could get, and for all that people claimed the qunari were unnatural and evil, they were renowned for being formidable warriors...

"You say you committed murder. Aren't you interested in atoning for your crimes?"

"Death will be my atonement" was the qunari's blunt reply. "There are other ways to atone" Arthur answered back. Sten looked up at Arthur, an eyebrow raised in surprise, as though he hadn't expected such an answer from him. "Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"You could help me defend the land against the Blight" Arthur solemnly intoned. Sten looked up at this, and Arthur saw a look of genuine interest in the qunari's eyes. "The Blight! Are you...a Grey Warden?" in a tone Arthur immediately approved of; one of respect. Unlike the people of Ferelden, who seemed to have forgotten all the Wardens had done and needed to do for them, this lone qunari knew and understood the necessity for the Order, and respected them.

"Yes, I am" he immediately replied.

"Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill...though I suppose not every legend is true. Still, perhaps if you were to tell the Revered Mother who ordered me imprisoned that the Grey Wardens require my assistance, she might let me free. It seems as likely to bring about my death as waiting here".

Arthur nodded and replied "I shall go and speak to her. Leliana, come with me; you know the Revered Mother, she'll be more than likely to listen to you. Alistair, you wait here with the others, we'll be back soon".

As they walked away from the cage, Leliana mused "His crimes are terrible, but...to be left there to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn? _ No one_ deserves that, not even a murderer"

The pair quickly raced back to Lothering's Chantry, where with Leliana's help, they were able to secure an audience with the Revered Mother. After giving the Revered Mother a donation of ten silvers for taking the time to speak with them, Arthur put forward his request for Sten's release. The Revered Mother's tone made it clear she disapproved, fearing the qunari might lapse and go on another bloodletting rampage the second he was let out, with Arthur's insistence and Leliana's reassurance that in his company, Sten might actually do some good, the old priestess relented and gave them a simple brass key to unlock Sten's cage.

With that, Arthur and Leliana made to leave the Chantry: as they exited, Arthur noticed something in a nearby bush that caught his eye; he quickly plucked it and hurried after Leliana back to where the others were gathered by the cage. Quickly moving, Arthur pulled out the key and placed it in the cage's lock. "I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it" Sten mused as the youth set him free. As the cage door swung open, Sten stepped out, stretching to his full height and rubbing life back into his cramped muscles.

"And so it is done. I will follow you into battle against the Blight. In doing so, I will find my atonement" Sten pronounced solemnly.

"And if I do not lead you to your atonement?"

"Then I shall find it myself...may we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere".

With that, the companions gathered their belongings and made to depart. After equipping Sten with a fine suit of heavy chainmail forged from steel and a greatsword of the same metal, Arthur and Alistair, with their new and old companions in tow, marched out of Lothering for the last time. There was a brief altercation on their way out with a band of farmers who foolishly attacked, hoping to claim the bounty Loghain put on their heads, but after Sten cut two of the men in half with his blade and Leliana put an arrow through the head of the ringleader, they decided better of it. They also on their way out rescued a dwarf merchant from a band of darkspawn outriders, who fought fiercely but fled in disarray after Arthur beheaded the Alpha leading them. The dwarf-a stout, brown-bearded merchant by the name of Bodahn Feddic, accompanied by a dwarven boy of about fifteen called Sandal- thanked them for their aid, and began to gather up the goods the darkspawn had scattered in their attack. With that, Arthur and his companions stepped back onto the Imperial Highway and began to march eastward, taking the first tentative steps on their epic endeavour to save Ferelden.


	18. Chapter 17: In Camp

_And now we have a brief interlude in camp. There will be a few of these, but since most of you are probably familiar with the conversations between party members, I'm probably just gonna keep it to important ones and those that set you off on companion quests._

_Sorry it's taken me so long to get this done, but with the crushing burdens of real life and work really encroaching on my time, it's getting hard to find time to work on this (not to mention, my old nemesis writer's block really has the upper hand these days). Not sure when I'll have more, but rest assured, I will keep at it when I can._

_As always, thanks again to all of you who've reviewed, added my story to your favourites or subscribed to my tale: it's always satisfying to know your work is appreciated by so many, so thank you as always to_ **ethan**, **roxfox 1962, Spartan 8389, sova **and **ffdrake** _for your enthusiastic and supportive reviews, and thank you also to _**Calan** and **Blacther **_for adding: it is greatly appreciated._

_In answer to a trend I've begun to notice in some comments, don't worry: Arthur isn't going to be a raging berserker for ever (I thought it was a good start, considering all that's happened to him; I mean, if I went through all that he endured, I know it wouldn't take much to piss me off!) but as I say in the description, he becomes a better person out of it: coming events, and people will make him realise there's too much at stake to be consumed by anger. All will be revealed in good time._

_Since I haven't said it recently, everything but my embellishments belong to David Gaider and Bioware. _

_And as always_, '**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_#######################################_

By early evening, they were in sight of the furthest eaves of the Brecilian Forest. Lothering was far behind them, little more than a speck on the horizon to their backs, and much to Arthur's relief, there had been no pursuers following behind them; clearly the pack of Loghain's ingrates they'd sent running with their tails between their legs had been the only ones he'd left there. '_Doubtless he'll send more, but for now, we're safe'._

As they approached the forest, the group left the road and decided to pitch camp for the night in a small clearing, surrounded by trees in a horseshoe shape around them, with a clear, calm pool of still water to their rear. They quickly pitched their tents; Alistair, Arthur and Leliana pitched three tents in the centre of the clearing, close to a depression in the earth where they'd chosen to build a fire. Morrigan had moved over to a far side of the camp, pitched a small tent of her own away from the rest of the group, collected a small amount of dead wood from the forest floor, which she ignited with a spark of magic from her finger. With that, Morrigan turned away to tend to her own affairs, and said no more.

Sten had refused a tent, stating simply that he would endure whatever the elements chose to give them, then quietly picked up a heavy, broad-bladed axe and headed a short way into the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest to gather firewood. Leliana, hefting the elm longbow she'd obtained before they left Lothering, accompanied the silent qunari, though she was after a different resource; rabbit, wild birds and any other form of fauna or flora that might serve for an evening meal. She followed Sten into the woods, and a few moments later, Arthur heard a strangled squawk that told him she'd bagged at least something.

Arthur retreated into his tent and collapsed on a blanket inside; the exhaustion of the events of the weeks since Ostagar was finally catching up with him. And for once, there was no immediate danger; no legion of darkspawn or slavering pack of blight wolves on their heels to force them to keep running all night, nothing but the feel of the cool night breeze on his skin, the sounds of owls and crickets hooting and chirping among the trees, and the almost ethereal illumination provided by the dappled light of the full moon seen through the leaves of the trees around them. It was quite peaceful and as Arthur felt his eyelids begin to droop, he conceded _'I am a bit drowsy...maybe a little rest and I'll feel better...'_

'_Green mist encircled him and then parted, and looking down, he saw a ruined city buried deep beneath the earth, a city no living soul had set eyes upon for centuries. A great bridge spanned a crevasse in the earth that burned with fire, as though rivers of lava ran through it, but as Arthur looked closer, he saw the light emanating from the great canyon over which the bridge spanned was not made by streams of molten rock; it was made by hundreds-no!-thousands of burning wooden torches held in the malformed claws of thousands of darkspawn. Arthur could make out the short, stocky shapes of genlocks, the tall, broad hurlocks, the horned helms of alphas, the crested, bandage-wrapped skulls of emissaries, even the hulking forms of ogres were visible. All of the darkspawn in the canyon were staring up, their hideous, permanently grinning faces foully illuminated by the light, all looking at one thing above them..._

_Sat atop the bridge high above the canyon, Arthur saw what he had expected to see; the dragon he had witnessed just after the Joining. _No_, he realised, _not a dragon, the archdemon_. The archdemon threw back its head, like a snake swaying before its charmer and let loose an echoing roar that reverberated around the cavern, a deafening bellow of rage and hate against all life. The darkspawn howled and gibbered in answer to the monster's shrieks, like a crowd of devotees chanting in answer to a priest's sermon. The archdemon opened its fanged jaws and a pillar of fire erupted from its maw, reaching to the ceiling of the cavern. And as Arthur watched, he could hear one word resounding in his mind, one word repeated over and over from the legions below..._

"Urthemiel! _Urthemiel!_ _**URTHEMIEL**_!"

Arthur bolted awake with a strangled yell; he hadn't even remembered falling asleep. He pressed a bare hand to his forehead and was not surprised to feel beads of sweat trickling down his skin, which felt as cold as ice. He got to his feet and staggered out of the tent, his legs weak and unsteady under him as he took in their surroundings; in the time since he'd dozed off, Leliana and Sten had returned with substantial wood to create a roaring fire, over which what looked to be a large plover was roasting on a spit, tended to by Alistair. His fellow Warden looked up as he approached, a look of sympathetic understanding on his face as Arthur approached.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

"I don't know what happened...it seemed so real...!" Arthur murmured uncertainly. Alistair nodded understandingly and replied "Well, it _is_ real. Sort of. You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was: _hearing_ them. The archdemon, it 'talks' to the horde and we feel it as they do. That's how we know this _is_ a Blight" he finished seriously. "It takes a while, but eventually, you _can_ block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure as hell can't". Arthur briefly wondered for a moment if the word he'd heard repeated in chant had been just what Alistair described.

He was distracted as he heard Alistair continue "Anyway, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary for me too, at first". For a moment, Arthur wanted to make a waspish retort about any more surprises to being a Grey Warden that were going to be sprung on him, but decided to hold his tongue. '_He's trying to be supportive, and he doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger. We're both in the same boat now, and the last thing I need is to make an enemy of someone who I'll likely need before the end!'_

So he gave a grateful nod and replied in a fair tone "Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate your concern". Alistair gave a soft smile and glibly replied "That's what I'm here for, to deliver bad news and witty one-liners. Anyway, you're up now and I imagine you must be starving. Tuck in..."

Despite Alistair's claims about his cooking, the roasted bird tasted quite good to Arthur, washed down with the last contents of their wineskins; it made a fine change to the meagre rations they'd been forced to make do with as they journeyed out of the Korcari Wilds. Their meal was briefly interrupted by the sound of wheels creaking and horses whinnying; looking round, the group had all leapt to their feet, drawing their weapons, but to their relief, the intrusion was merely the sound of a large wagon, pulled by two snorting ponies. Sat on the buckboard was the stout dwarf merchant they'd managed to save from marauding darkspawn outside of Lothering-Bodahn Feddic, and the boy, Sandal. The two dwarves offered their wares at a sizeable discount in exchange for the protection and warmth of their camp, and Arthur had been more than willing to offer it, since they were in need of resupplying.

Arthur quickly purchased fresh food, water, medical supplies, as well as trading in his battered suit of scale armour for a fresh, more durable suit of chainmail. He also purchased a suit of studded leather armour which he handed over to Leliana-his reasoning was simple; the little he knew of the Dalish elves included the fact they were still likely to resent the Chantry's role in the loss of their homeland, so he didn't want one of their number openly broadcasting the fact they'd been a part of the Chantry, in case the elves took offence and responded to it with a volley of arrows. She took the proffered armour without question and slipped back into her tent. Feeling a slight longing at the sight, but restraining it, Arthur decided to take the time to proceed around the camp and get to better know his comrades. '_After all, the day may come when my life may hinge upon them, so I'd best make sure I can trust them, and they can trust me'._

#####################################

Alistair was sunk on his haunches beside the fire, holding out his hands in an effort to keep warm, but Arthur could see his mind was elsewhere. He sank down beside the former templar and asked "You alright?"

"Of course I am" Alistair replied in a jovial voice, but Arthur could see from the guarded look in his eyes that this wasn't the case. "What could possibly be bothering me?"

"Duncan"

The look that crossed Alistair's face told Arthur he'd hit a sore spot. Arthur had seen the banter that passed between Alistair and his elder Warden, heard in his voice when the young man talked of Duncan the respect and emotion that Alistair conveyed for his superior that Alistair had viewed his old mentor as more than such; '_Perhaps he even viewed Duncan as a paternal figure, considering it doesn't sound like he had much of that before'_ Arthur mused. '_I've been so wrapped up in my own anger, my own pain, I never considered his. I'm not the only one to have lost family to this conflict'._

"He meant a great deal to you, didn't he?"

Alistair nodded, a regretful expression on his face, but he tried to disguise it "You don't have to talk about it, you know. You didn't know him that long, after all..."

Arthur brushed the comment aside "It's alright; I respected him, and in all honesty, I owed him for getting us out of Highever alive. Of course, I never told him that; I was too busy hating myself for being forced to leave my family behind, and too wrapped up thinking on the best way to make Howe suffer before killing him, but there were moments when...I did feel some gratitude to him for giving me a chance to...to set things right. And no matter what I thought of him, no one deserved to be left to that end..."

Alistair nodded in agreement, but his voice still shook as he replied "I shouldn't have lost it, still, not with the Blight, not with all that's riding on us...I'm sorry" he finished solemnly. Arthur put a comradely hand on his fellow Warden's shoulder. "Your grief is nothing to be ashamed of, so no harm done, Alistair"

Alistair nodded gratefully and asked "Maker, look at me complaining! If anyone's got a right to complain, surely it's you! I mean...I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, it's just I overheard a little of what happened to you from Duncan and...well, I thought if anyone's got a right to their grief, it's you..." Alistair uneasily trailed off, clearly uncertain whether or not he was going to end up offending his companion.

Arthur put a comradely hand on Alistair's shoulders and said, in a flat, even voice and replied "All it means is I know what you're going through. And though all we can do is grieve for now, rest assured, we'll make sure he, and all who've been lost to this are remembered. They will be remembered when we call Loghain and Howe to account for their crimes. They will be remembered when the archdemon falls and the Blight ends, and we can make sure they're remembered by carrying on, by making sure this sacrifice was not one made in vain..."

A strangled yell came from the other side of the camp, and the tension was lost as the two men laughed at the sight of Edward barking happily as the mabari sprinted away from Morrigan, who was shrieking in fury, wielding her staff like a club in her right hand and holding what looked like several pairs of blood-spattered lingerie, shouting something indistinct about not wanting to find a half-eaten hare in her 'unmentionables'. The two men laughed uproariously as the 'delicate' young woman, swearing like a sailor, missed the dog's hindquarters with her staff, but managed to get a good kick with her left foot. Arthur sighed and said "I'd best go and stop this before two of our companions kill each other!"

"I'm rooting for the dog!" Alistair chuckled as Arthur got to his feet "And thank you, really. It was good to talk about it, even for a little while". Arthur patted him on the shoulder "We're in this mess together, my friend. If we don't look out for each other, we may as well save Loghain and the archdemon the bother of killing us and do it ourselves"

Alistair chuckled at the notion "Right. I have your back, you know that? Just not right now!" he added as Arthur hastened over to rescue Edward from the irate witch, who'd just dealt the poor mutt a hefty clout round the head with her staff.

##########################################

Sten was sat atop a rock, sharpening the greatsword he'd acquired with a whetstone as Arthur approached. The qunari looked up as the youth approached him, and then returned to his work.

"You cut two men in half with that thing in a single blow; I'd say it's sharp enough" Arthur remarked. The qunari merely shrugged his shoulders and continued running the whetstone along the edge of the blade.

"A blade should always be sharp, just as any tool should be ready for its task, and regardless, it appoints me an action, something to make this needless delay worthwhile"

"This 'delay', as you put it, is not needless; we are all in need of rest and recovery. I'd have thought you of all people would be most grateful for a chance to move and stretch your limbs; after all, you were in that cage for what, two weeks?"

"Actually, it was closer to three" Sten replied emotionlessly.

"And you're alright? I'd have gone mad after three days in a confined space like that, seeing the world around me but kept from it..."

The qunari looked up at him, an eyebrow raised and its gaze marked with what looked like surprise. "You are concerned? No need, I am fit enough to fight" he replied flatly, though there was a note of something in his voice Arthur couldn't quite place...perhaps surprise, or maybe gratitude that a mere human would show concern for his wellbeing.

"I have a question, if I may...?"

"I am hardly surprised" the qunari said, a crease at the corner of his mouth that may have been amusement.

"What are you doing here? Par Vollen is a long way from Ferelden, so why would a qunari cross such a great distance?"

"The arishok asked me 'What is the Blight?" and it is by his curiosity I am here" the qunari answered. _'So that explains why he was so willing to come with us when I mentioned the Blight; it's his reason for being here' _Arthur mused.

"So why would the arishok care about the Blight?"

"Why do you?" Sten asked bluntly. Arthur was taken aback by the question-in all honesty, he hadn't considered it in any great detail, he'd merely gone along with the quest because there had been nothing else- but he knew that there were plenty of good reasons to see the Blight brought to an end.

"Because I am a Grey Warden; it is my duty. And on top of that, because the Blight could destroy the world" was Arthur's immediate reply. The qunari nodded approvingly and said in answer "Exactly. You don't ask; you just go. And do you think the qunari live on some other world besides this? The Blight will not stop at Ferelden; if the archdemon can, it will devour the world. All is threatened, so all must fight".

Arthur nodded in understanding at Sten's logic; after all, had not the rumours of Cailan seeking the military assistance of Orlais not been that? If history had taught one lesson about the Blights, it was that nations trying to look to their own interests in the face of the darkspawn onslaught always ended in disaster; only when the nations of Thedas put aside their differences and united against the common enemy had they been able to attempt to attain victory. At this realisation, Arthur took a moment to rue Loghain's decision; his obstinate belief in Fereldan independence would likely see them all dead.

Pushing the thought aside, he turned back to look at Sten and asked "I take it you found the answer to the question?"

"Were you not at Ostagar when the army was overwhelmed? _That _is your answer".

"You have the answer, so are you not required to tell it to this 'arishok'?"

The qunari nodded but refused to say more on the matter, but Arthur pressed on, determined to acquire what knowledge he could about his comrade. When pressed for an answer about when the qunari intended to answer his master-for that was all Arthur could assume the term 'arishok' referred to-, Arthur saw a burst of what looked like anger enter the qunari's violet eyes, but when he looked again, he thought he must have imagined it, because it was in a flat, emotionless voice that Sten replied "Never. I cannot go home". The finality of his tone made it clear the matter was no longer up for further discussion.

Arthur nodded and turned away, looking back briefly to add "For what it's worth, you have my sympathies. I know what it is like to lose your home, with no chance of ever returning". As he walked away, he could swear he'd seen a look of utter surprise on Sten's face, as though the qunari had once again been caught off-guard at the thought of such concern being shown for him.

################################

Leliana stepped out of her tent, now freshly clad in the suit of studded leather armour that had been given to her. She flexed her limbs in a series of athletic stretches that she'd long honed in her many years of work, and was pleased to see, despite two years of austere, inactive living in Lothering, she was still flexible and supple as ever. _'I suppose that fight earlier helped to loosen things up'_ she mused briefly, trying not to think on the exhilaration she'd felt in combat. '_That was the very reason I went into the_ Chantry' she chided herself.

Idly fingering the handles of the daggers at her waist and ensuring the longbow and quiver on her back was secure, she slunk over to the fire, opposite the blonde Warden, who despite being the elder of the pair, seemed more subordinate; he gave her a soft smile as she approached. The younger, more severe Warden was on the far side of the camp, speaking in a hushed tone to the dark-haired sorceress. He'd been idly passing through the camp, conversing with the members of the party

"So, Alistair, isn't it?" she asked. The young man nodded and she asked "So, what's your story? How'd you end up in the Grey Wardens? I saw your style of fighting: puts me in mind of the templars training back at the Chantry"

"Hardly surprising, since I was one, or at least, was meant to be one" he replied with a shrug. "Fortunately, Duncan, our old leader, recruited me before I got too far in with the Chantry. He saved me from a life that I had resigned myself to, gave me a chance to make my own way in the world, or as much as one can, considering one's become an outlaw and a wanted criminal".

"This Duncan, I'm guessing that's who you two were talking about earlier? He didn't survive, I take it?"

Alistair nodded and Leliana felt herself soften "I'm sorry". The young Warden nodded in thanks and replied "Thank you, but in all honesty, now I think on it, my loss is pretty slim compared to his" Alistair finished with a nod at the other Warden-'_Arthur, if I remember rightly'_ she thought.

"What do you mean?"

Alistair took in a sharp breath "I lost my mentor and my friends, but him...he lost _everything_; his home, his family- it's not a small stretch to say he lost his life"

"He said he was a Cousland; how could that have happened? Highever's a long way from Ostagar..."

"Everyone had their eyes on the south, which meant no one was paying attention to the north. His family was betrayed; Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, showed himself for the power-hungry, untrustworthy snake he is and attacked them in the dead of night. Most of Highever's troops had already set off for Ostagar when it happened...they never stood a chance. His entire family were murdered in their own home: poor Arthur survived only because Duncan all but dragged him from his home and made him a Grey Warden in the process. And now, he's lost that too..."

Leliana nodded understandingly "Well, that explains why he tried to open the neck of that soldier at his accusations of treachery. Poor fellow; to go from one betrayal to another..." she trailed off, musing on how hard it must have been for him to lose first his home and his family, and then his new calling, to men who he should have been able to trust. And judging from what that soldier had said, it was doubtful young Arthur would see justice done by the true authorities. _'In that, he and I are alike, both betrayed by people we believed we could trust...'_ she thought, trying to suppress the thoughts of that bitter memory.

"If I were you, I'd be careful about mentioning it round him. You saw what he's like when his blood's up; it impresses me, but it also scares me. There were times, back at Ostagar and in the Wilds, when I feared he might just throw himself at the largest, most dangerous thing he could find in the hope it would put him out of his misery, and I don't know what I'm going to do if he gets himself killed..."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, in spite of everything, he knows his business. When he's not frothing at the mouth and howling like an Ash Warrior, he's a good head about him; knows how to use a sword, and he knows his way around tactics. He's got courage too, and he's determined, stubborn as his dog. I think Duncan would have wanted him for the Order even if the issue hadn't been forced. Besides, when it comes to gathering the army we need to, I'm more than willing to let him do the talking".

"Hardly surprising, since you have all the subtly and grace of a mallet" a haughty voice called out. Alistair gave an exasperated sigh and replied "Said the pot to the kettle" at the sorceress and then turned back to Leliana "I don't think you've been introduced to the _lovely_ Morrigan?" he asked, a twinge of sarcasm in his jovial tone.

"And how did she get thrown into this mess?" Leliana questioned, the part of her that loved telling tales more than a little intrigued. '_I can see it now; the vengeful young nobleman seeking justice for his wronged family, the uncertain but valiant knight sworn to help him and their enigmatic sorceress companion, all battling to save the world from the tide of evil against impossible odds! This would make a fine ballad...where's a quill when I need one?'_

"Quite literally" Alistair answered "Her mother more or less forced us into taking her along as payment for saving our lives. One of Arthur's few diplomatic moments..."

"She saved you? From a horde of darkspawn? By _herself_?" Leliana asked, the scepticism in her voice clear. Alistair merely shrugged and replied "Well, he and I couldn't say; we were both unconscious at the time, but we woke up in her house instead of in a cave in the Deep Roads, so I'm quite willing to take her word for it. Still, we could hardly turn down her offer, though I'm starting to wish we had, and so that's how we came to have a barb-tongued apostate in our midst. Which just leaves you" he finished, eyeing her in a hawk-like manner.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hearing the note of curiosity and more in his voice, and wondering just what she should tell. 'I shouldn't be surprised: after all, I'm a foreigner, I've come out of nowhere, offering them help as opposed to resentment and suspicion; he's bound to be a little wary'. Leliana considered what she would say if he pressed the issue; she didn't like lying to people, not anymore, but she would use that particular skill if needs be: she couldn't allow suspicion of her to force them to drive her away, not when she still had much to do.

"Well, I grew up in the Chantry, and I've never seen any sister who could fight half as well as you. And you're a long way from home, if your accent's anything to go on. So what's someone like you doing in a secluded Chantry in a rural backwater like Lothering?"

"And what is meant by 'someone like me'?" Leliana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think what my companion meant to say is something along the lines of 'A beautiful, charming woman like yourself'. Isn't that right, Alistair?". Both of them looked up to see Arthur standing beside them, and there was a soft smile on his face, one Leliana returned; she couldn't say why, but it stirred something in her, a sense of pleasure she thought she'd lost in that old betrayal. '_Besides, it's good to see what he's been through hasn't soured him completely'_ she mused.

"Something like that, yes" Alistair replied, with a jovial grin on his face. At that point, Arthur nodded to the edge of the camp and said "You're on first watch tonight; you might want to get started". Alistair gave a soft sigh and groused "Same old, same old: I'm finally getting somewhere and then someone else comes along and steals my place" shaking his head as he headed away. Leliana got to her feet and stood beside Arthur "Was that meant to be a compliment?"

"I merely speak the truth as I see it" he replied innocently.

"And you think it also true that there were no other beautiful, charming women in the cloisters?" Leliana asked with a husky laugh. "Ah, my friend, you are very wrong. There were many lovely young initiates in Lothering, all of them chaste and virtuous" she smiled, giving a wistful smile, having spent many long nights appreciating such virtues in said initiates "Ah, it added to their mystique, because then, they are forbidden, and forbidden fruit is the sweeter"

At this point, Arthur moved behind her and whispered in her ear, in a soft, husky voice "And what of _your_ fruit? Is it forbidden?"

Whatever she'd expected him to say, _that_ hadn't been it. '_Cheeky son of a...!'_ she thought; part of her wanted to laugh at the comment, a small part wanted to slap him for it and a little was surprised at the flattery. She looked him in the face and saw merely a droll smile, no real lechery, but he did look a little uncertain, as though worried his comment might have offended her. "Well, it's not technically forbidden...but it's not freely given, either! Not everyone gets a bite!" she quickly retorted, and then sighed half in amusement, half in exasperation "I can't believe I'm having this conversation..." she mused.

"If I offend, I apologise" he replied. "I assure you, when a woman asks it of me, I am a veritable paragon of chivalry...except for the _moments_ when she wants something else..."

"I might like to see that" Leliana replied in a sultry purr "but in answer to your question, I did not take vows. The Chantry provides succour and safe harbour to all who seek it. I chose to stay and become affirmed"

"So those skills you displayed were learned before your time in the Chantry, I take it?" he asked. Leliana nodded in reply and continued "I was a travelling minstrel in Orlais. Tales and songs were my life: I travelled the length and breadth of the Empire, performing to crowds eager for stories and music, and in return, they rewarded me with applause and coin. As for my skill in battle...the Orlesian Empire is a large realm, fraught with peril...so you pick up skills as you travel, don't you? Skills that you use whenever the moment arises?"

"I suppose so, but that still doesn't explain how you came to be eking out a quiet life in a rural cloister" Arthur continued. Leliana sighed; he was going to press her for an answer._ 'How much should I tell him?_' she fretted. She wanted to be truthful-'_Maker knows, I've told my fair share of secrets and lies in my time'_ she mused- but she feared telling him would turn him against her, a notion that mortified her. She sighed and reluctantly answered "I...found myself in Ferelden and 'sheltered from bad weather' in the Chantry. And when the storm passed...I simply did not want to leave" she concluded. The explanation had satisfied her: it was not a lie, and yet not the whole truth, either. She saw a suspicious look creep into his eyes, as though he suspected there was more to her than what she was saying, but for whatever reason, he chose not to pursue it.

"Fair enough. I will leave you be for now, but rest assured, I'll tease more out of you before long" he remarked.

"And how do you plan to 'tease' more information out of me?" Leliana answered, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Oh, I have my ways, I assure you..." Arthur replied, a sly smile crossing his lips

"Promises, promises..." Leliana whispered sultrily back as the Warden walked away to join his comrade, chuckling to himself. As she returned to her tent, Leliana smiled to herself. In spite of all that had happened to him, under the pain and the anger, a good man was still in there, one who could still be reached. She felt a slight pang for deceiving him, and a desire to help him in a way that didn't relate to his quest to stop the Blight. _'Maybe in time, he will trust me enough to allow that; for now, I must ensure that no one discovers the truth of me and do what is required of me'._

As she pulled shut the fold, she took one last look back at Arthur, smiling at the thought that she'd managed to coax a better piece of the man out. _'Perhaps, there is hope for us all yet...'_

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They packed up camp and started heading deeper into the forest the next day, their eyes constantly darting from tree to tree for any sign of movement. To Arthur's unease, the forest was deathly silent: no sounds of birds in the trees, insects buzzing about or other animals grazing or hunting; the only noise the sound of the leaf litter crunching under their boots. It unsettled Arthur: the forest should have been teeming with the sounds of life, and yet it was as silent as a graveyard. It led him to only one conclusion: something was very wrong in the forest.

"I am reminded of a similar expedition into the jungles, and the sensation I had then is the same here. I feel eyes upon us, Warden" Sten intoned from behind him.

"I know, but we have a task to be done here. We need to find the Dalish and ensure we have their support against the darkspawn, since our duty demands it. And I'm not trekking through all this mud and dirt for nothing. Still, be careful; the Dalish are notorious for ambushing travellers from out of nowhere..." he remarked as he turned away, abruptly stopping as he noticed that directly in front of him, an arrowhead was being held so close to his face it was practically touching the bridge of his nose.

Looking closely, he could see the arrow was drawn on the string of an impressive longbow held in the hand of a tall male elf clad in practical leather armour, who was staring at him with a look of cold hostility. Looking round, he could see they were surrounded by at least two dozen similar clad elves. The elves were a mixture of male and female, some stood beside trees, others perched in the branches, but they were united by two things: each held a weapon ready in their hands, either a drawn bow or strange, curve-bladed swords, and the elves were all staring at them with looks of naked hostility at the intrusion. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Alistair's hand moving to the hilt of his sword, Sten dropping into a combat-ready stance, and he could sense Morrigan drawing power to her, ready for a spell. A single misplaced word or gesture from anyone of them could easily trigger a massacre.

"No! Don't draw your weapons!" he ordered.

"A wise decision, shemlen" a haughty female voice remarked. Looking ahead, Arthur saw a tall elf woman with short blonde hair tied back from her striking face, made all the more imposing by the elaborate, spiralling tattoo penned in green ink that spanned across her forehead and cheeks. In her right hand, she held one of the curved swords her kinfolk wielded, and she pointed the weapon at Arthur's chest as she coldly added "My scouts would kill you all before you had time to draw those crude pieces of iron at your hips. But enough of such; I suggest you turn around and go elsewhere...quickly. Our clan is camped near here, and we do not take kindly to trespassers".

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Arthur replied "I assure you, I mean you and your people no harm, but I'm afraid I cannot leave. I have reason to speak with your clan". The Dalish elves exchanged looks of surprise at this, muttering amongst themselves, but the elf woman in command scoffed disbelievingly, raising an eyebrow and continuing sceptically "I find that hard to believe. What business could we Dalish have with one such as you?"

"The Dalish have an obligation to the Grey Wardens. With a Blight upon us, I have come to call upon it" he answered bluntly. This drew even more surprised murmurs from the gathered elves, but the female elf in charge still seemed sceptical. "A Grey Warden? _You_?"

"I have documents in my pack to prove it, if I may" Arthur began, starting to slip his pack off his shoulders, but before he could, the elf woman's sword was at his throat. "And why should I trust you?" she snapped. "For all I know, you could be drawing some weapon from your pack. Why should I trust what you say?"

"Because I have an honest face?" Arthur joked. The elf woman's expression became much more severe, and Arthur continued in a serious tone "Tell me, my dear elf, do you often come across travellers claiming to be Grey Wardens?"

The elf considered his words for a moment, and then finally put up her sword. "No, you would be the first" she replied, her expression softening. "And I suppose a lie would not gain you anything in your position. Very well, I will leave it to the Keeper to decide the truth of the matter, but I warn you, outsider" and at this point, her voice became as cold and hard as the blade in her hand "In the camp, bear in mind that our arrows are still trained on you. If I were you, I'd keep my hands to myself, and mind your manners". With that, the elf woman beckoned them to follow and turned away.

As Arthur and the group followed alongside the elves, he could not fail to notice that many were shooting wary glances at the forest around them, their hands straying constantly to their weapons and as they moved in utter silence towards the Dalish camp, Arthur realised where he'd seen similar reactions among people: amidst the defenders of Ostagar, dreading the darkspawn onslaught. Something had happened to these elves, something that had made them terrified of their own home.

'_What has happened to them?'_ he wondered. '_And why do I suspect we've bought into more than we bargained for?'_


	19. Chapter 18: The Curse of the Forest

As always, I must thank those of you who show faith and interest in my story to keep going with it: thank you as always to **ethan**_**, **_**roxfox 1962 **and** spectre4hire** for your entertaining and supportive reviews, as well as to you, **cakeisalie and ** for your supportive review. Thanks as well to those of you who added my story to your favourites or your alerts in this time; **Kazic**, **cseeker**, **eyes101**, **Melfice-sama**, **Rakoui** and **grim reaper 15**: as I've said before, it's always a pleasure to know your work

And as for you,** smashbrawlguy**, in answer to your two points, 1). Considering that the Dalish expected the intruders to be of the furred, fanged variety, I think assembling an overwhelming force to meet them is perfectly reasonable, and 2). In regards to what kind of weapon Mithra might expect Arthur to draw from his pack, do the words 'Fire Bomb' or 'Acid Flask' ring a bell?

I can only apologise for how long it's taken to get this chapter done, as well as for the fact I'm not sure when I'll have more for you (real life and my work are becoming a _real_ bitch at the moment!) but since ideas for how this tale will progress are going off in my head like popcorn, I can promise you I will keep at it whenever I can get a spare moment.

Since I haven't said it for some time, everything but Arthur and my own embellishments belong to Bioware and David Gaider.

'**Atrast nal tunsha-may you always find your way in the dark'**

And as always, above all else...enjoy!

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The female elf scout guided them through the trees into a large clearing which, judging from the crumbled stone ruins dotted at points around the clearing, had been a Tevinter outpost in ages past. The clearing was bustling with activity as they entered; at least fifteen large wooden caravans had been arranged in a rough semi-circle in the centre of the clearing, and as the elf woman led the group into the circle, Arthur could see the forms of elven warriors pacing back and forth at the perimeter of the circle. Their faces were wary, staring out into the surrounding forest as though expecting trouble to emerge at any second, and Arthur was quick to notice the hands of the elven guards never strayed too far from their weapons. He was also quick to notice that save for the occasional noise, the encampment was deathly quiet. Always it was one of either two sounds, and each time it drew the same reaction from the watching elves: when it was the chorus of anguished screams of pain and fear, it drew shudders and winces of discomfort from the elves, and when it was the periodic howl of a wolf, the elves would start in shock and make to draw their weapons, as though they were about to be attacked, before recovering themselves and returning to their patrols, but each time the wolves howled, the wary, fearful expressions on the faces of the elves grew longer, as though the howls were only the prelude to something worse.

The elf woman led them to the centre of the wagon circle, where a significant crowd of elf women, children and several male elves of a variety of ages who looked more to be healers or craftsmen than warriors, were stood or sat around a large bonfire, either keeping warm or simply trying to find some distraction from the tension of their present situation. Arthur could clearly see the fear on the faces of these civilians, as they warily looked through the gaps between the wagons for any sign of trouble. As the wolves in the forest howled, the elf children whimpered and wailed with fright, running to their mothers, who embraced their frightened offspring with words of comfort and placation, trying to calm them down even though, judging from their expressions, the elven mothers were just as terrified as their children. He also noticed that none of the elves wished to look at the northern portion of their camp, from where the cries of pain and anguish seemed to be emanating from.

As he and his companions passed them, Arthur noticed several elves looked at them with cold hostility, particularly an old male elf with grey-streaked brown hair sat beside the fire, but most seemed to regard the party with curiosity, particularly the children, who watched them approach with much interest, talking amongst themselves in Elvish, curiously pointing and whispering to each other about these strangers in their midst. While Sten and Morrigan paid the infant elves no heed, Alistair looked quietly amused by all the attention, as did Leliana and Edward seemed delighted at being a focus of interest, gleefully barking and running around the children, almost herding them around the camp. Arthur allowed himself a small smile as the infant elves laughed at the mabari's barks as he ran rings around them and barked at a number of birds in the trees. Arthur also saw that many of the Dalish women looked relieved that their children had found something to distract themselves from their tense surroundings, but despite that small distraction, his curiosity about what had happened to these people only grew stronger. '_I thought the Dalish were meant to have a great affinity with the forest, and yet this clan act as if the woods around them contain their worst nightmares. What has happened here to make them so terrified_?' he wondered.

The elf scout led them to one of the wagons, where two figures stood, clad in impressive robes and bearing wooden staffs that suggested they possessed some magic. The first was an old male elf, his bald head ornately tattooed across the brow with a leaf-like design in reddish-brown ink. He was clad in a lengthy set of black and green-coloured robes, with one long fingered hand holding open a leather-bound tome while the other idly flexed and closed around the shaft of the wooden staff that he held. Beside him, an elven girl of about sixteen years, clad in gold and black robes that were less ornate than her elder's but still fine nonetheless, her blonde hair pulled back into two buns and her pretty face tattooed with a thorn-like pattern across her brow and down her cheeks. She appeared to be gathering herbs into a bag she held at her wrist, nodding solemnly as her elder spoke to her quietly in their native language. The two elves looked up as the elf scout led them onward; the girl appeared genuinely curious at the approach of so many humans-or 'shemlen', as Arthur remembered the elves referred to his kind-, while the old elf gave a welcoming smile, though Arthur could not fail to see the smile did not reach his eyes, which remained cold and guarded, scrutinising Arthur with a look of veiled unease. _'He's wary of me'_ Arthur knew instinctively. '_But what does he fear of me?'_

The old elf's smile extended almost ear to ear as he inclined his head and spoke in a soft voice, giving a smile that seemed a little too obsequious for Arthur's liking "I see we have guests..." but the elf's spiel was interrupted by an angry growl. Looking behind, Arthur saw to his great surprise Edward barking viciously at the old elf, his teeth bared and hackles raised, growling at the elf. Arthur quickly silenced the dog, but privately his unease about their surroundings grew. '_He's never been wrong about people before. So what's riling him about this elf?'_

For his part, the old elf showed no unease at the mabari's angry barks; his lips merely curled into a haughty sneer of disdain as he glowered at the dog and coldly remarked "And they have a hound with them; as if we've not had enough trouble with such creatures". The old elf shook his head and then turned his attention to the female scout. "Who are these strangers, Mithra? I have precious little patience today, and even less time to waste on outsiders!"

The female scout gestured to Arthur and replied "This one _claims_ to be a Grey Warden and says he wishes to speak with the clan. I thought it best to leave the decision to you".

The old elf gave a comprehending smile and nodded to her. "That was wise of you. _Ma serennas_, Mithra. You can return to your post now".

"_Ma nuvenin,_ Keeper" Mithra curtly replied with a formal half-bow, then departed to rejoin the elves patrolling the borders of the camp. The Keeper now turned his full attention to Arthur and gave a polite nod to Arthur. "Very well, it seems some introductions are in order. I am Zathrian, the Keeper of this clan, its guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?"

Arthur gave a full bow: he wasn't going to confirm the stereotype that the Dalish had long possessed regarding humans as brigands and degenerates responsible for all their woes. Instead, he intended to act in the manner befitting a Grey Warden, or as he assumed one would act. "I am Arthur of the Grey Wardens. I consider it an honour and a privilege to speak with you, good Keeper".

The Keeper's eyebrows rose in surprise, as though the courtesy was nothing he had ever expected to hear. "Manners? From a _shemlen_? How...unexpected". The elf sighed and gestured to the griffon medallion around Arthur's neck. "If you are a Warden, what is your purpose here? Have you come to spread word of the Blight in the south? There is no need: I have already felt the corruption of the darkspawn spreading from the south, not to mention we have encountered bands of darkspawn outriders within the southern reaches of the Brecilian forest. The existence of the Blight is nothing new to me. I would have already taken the clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see" he concluded sadly, gesturing to his frightened and wary clansmen "That is not possible".

"Yes, looks like you've been having some problems. Who'd have thought it?" Alistair agreed. Sten looked at the Keeper askance and opined "So their first reaction to trouble is to flee from it? Curious"

Zathrian glowered at the qunari and Arthur had to suppress a sigh of exasperation. 'Very _diplomatic, Sten'_. Shaking his head and wondering if the qunari wished to annoy the Dalish further, Arthur took charge of the conversation. "I have no doubt that you are aware of the Blight. However, my purpose in coming to you was more than simply as a messenger..."

Zathrian cut across him with a nod "Then I would imagine you are here regarding the treaty our people signed with your Order centuries ago. Unfortunately" and at this, the old elf looked rather uneasy "we may not be able to live up to our commitment". Arthur's eyebrows rose at this; '_This is hardly a great start to trying to raise an army if one of our potential allies refuses us aid! But what reason could he have to deny us? The Dalish have no interest in human politics, so I doubt he gives a damn about whatever lies Loghain's telling about the Wardens. So why does he not wish to help?'_

As though he had read Arthur's thoughts, Zathrian raised his hand in a placating gesture and said in a peaceful tone "It is not that we do not wish to aid you, Warden; I have no desire to see this land corrupted and poisoned by the darkspawn's taint anymore than you. It is more that our present 'circumstances' have greatly reduced our ability to provide aid to the Grey Wardens. This will require...some explanation". The elf gave a weary sigh and ran a hand over his bald scalp, before gesturing for Arthur to follow him. Arthur nodded and made to follow the Keeper, as did the others, but the Keeper raised a warding hand. "I would prefer to discuss this with you in private, Warden. Your companions are free to enjoy the hospitality of our camp"

"Considering that their idea of hospitality so far has been a somewhat frosty indifference and a selection of arrows thrust into my face, I think I may pass" Morrigan griped as she turned on her heel and walked towards the fire, completely indifferent to the cold glare Zathrian directed at her retreating back. The others retreated with her; Sten made his way towards the perimeter of the camp, clearly not wishing to be idle when the possibility of danger lurked. Leliana and Edward joined Morrigan by the fire, though their actions were somewhat different from hers: whereas the mage simply sat down by the fire and refused to acknowledge anyone else, Edward settled himself next to a group of Dalish children who began to enthusiastically run their fingers through his fur, while Leliana sat opposite the glowering male elf by the fire and tried to engage him in conversation. The old elf seemed resistant at first, but Leliana's charms soon won him round, and the pair began talking in hushed tones. Alistair made to join her, but the elven girl who'd been stood beside Zathrian tapped him on the shoulder, the curiosity on her face plain, and began to talk to him. Arthur watched his companions go, and then followed Zathrian to where the Keeper stood, behind the caravan.

As Arthur joined Zathrian, for a moment, he thought himself back at the infirmary in Ostagar; the air behind the caravan was thick with the same stench of blood and gangrene. Looking round, he saw it wasn't just the smell that had caused him to remember that terrible place: set about him were about twenty pallet beds, upon which lay twenty elves of mixed gender. Most seemed to be unconscious, but a handful were still awake, their eyes wide with pain, gasping and groaning in pain as they clutched mutilated limbs and maimed bodies. Arthur was quick to notice the similarity between the injuries the elves bore; deep, ragged cuts made close together in groupings of three, or series of jagged puncture wounds made close together. As he looked closely, Arthur heard something at the back of his mind mutter '_Teeth and claws'_ and as he bent down beside one elf-a young female who'd been viciously slashed across the face and abdomen- his suspicion crystallised into certainty: he'd been on enough hunts to recognise the evidence of an animal attack when he saw it.

'_Whatever did this had to have been a beast of phenomenal power and savagery. But what?'_

Just as he pondered on this, Zathrian gestured to his injured clansmen and said "The clan came to the Brecilian forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers that lurk within the forest, but we did not anticipate the werewolves would be lying in wait" he finished sadly.

'_Werewolves! Here?'_ Arthur thought, astounded. He'd heard tales of the epidemic of men who could change into beasts during the Black Age; as Aldous had taught him, his ancestor Mather Cousland had played a pivotal part in protecting Highever and its dominions from the ravages of the lycanthropes. However, no more such creatures had been seen in centuries, and many in Ferelden believed wolf-men to be little more than tall tales to frighten children. _'Though evidently, this is not the case' _Arthur thought.

"They...ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak..." Zathrian began to continue when an agonised shriek tore through the silence. Whirling round, Arthur saw one of the injured elves- a young man whose leather armour clung to his body in tattered shreds- began to buck and convulse on his pallet bed, though his thrashing were somewhat restricted by the thick ropes that had been tied around his wrists and ankles.

As he watched, Arthur saw to his horror the elf's chest begin to _expand_, becoming broader and more muscular, his arms becoming thicker with muscle, the fingers lengthening, with nails contorting into claws and bristles of dark fur beginning to protrude from his skin. But the worst thing was seeing the look of terror in the elf's eyes as they altered into slit-pupilled yellow orbs, his head elongating into a lupine snout packed with rows of curved teeth. As Arthur watched, paralysed with shock, the new-born werewolf, thrashing against its bonds, threw back its head and let loose a deafening howl.

The terrified screams and shouts from the nearby elves galvanised Arthur into action: his hand flew to the hilt of the Cousland sword, but before he could draw it partway from its sheath, he felt a strong hand stop him. "No, Warden" he heard Zathrian murmur sadly "this is my duty". Making his way towards the thrashing beast, Zathrian pulled a curved dagger from within his robes, raised it to his lips and sadly intoned "May the Creators watch over you in the Beyond, _lethallin_". With that, Zathrian raised the dagger above his head, and then brought it down into the werewolf's heart. The beast thrashed and bucked for a few more moments, but as strength fled its body from the mortal wound, its thrashings grew weaker and weaker. Finally, the werewolf collapsed back onto the pallet bed, gave a final plaintive whimper and was then still.

As Arthur watched, the change began to regress with increasing speed until it was the corpse of a male elf, not that of a feral animal, lay on the pallet bed. Arthur watched in respectful silence as Zathrian ordered several elves, including the woman Mithra, to take the body and bury it deep within the forest as per the customs of the Dalish, and then turned back to Arthur, wiping off the blood from the blade used to put the poor soul out of his misery. Zathrian gave a weary sigh and gestured to the spectacle they'd just witnessed.

"Even with all our magic and healing skill, we will be forced to slay our brethren eventually, to prevent them from becoming mindless beasts". Now Arthur understood the terrible fear he'd felt in the camp: the Dalish were terrified not only of further attack from the monsters in the forest, but that their own kin would become a threat to be destroyed. Zathrian rubbed the weariness from his eyes and continued with a chagrined expression "The Blight's evil must be stopped, but we are in _no_ position to honour our obligation. I am truly sorry"

"Why did they attack you?" Arthur questioned.

"They are savage and unrelenting; they need no reason to attack anyone. What is curious, however, was the ambush. We expect werewolves to be no more cunning than a rabid wolf. The ambush suggests a level of intelligence we've not seen before".

"Maybe they're cleverer than you think" Arthur suggested. Zathrian gave a derisive snort at the thought, a little too quickly for Arthur's liking. The swift bluntness of his reply also made Arthur a little uncertain.

"I doubt that; the curse that runs rampant in their blood fills them with an unthinking rage that precludes any true thought" the old elf finished with a contemptuous scowl. The disdain in his voice made it clear to Arthur he wasn't willing to accept any other explanation. Arthur showed no sign of his discomfort at the open disgust the elf had expressed and kept his voice neutral as he spoke again.

"Is there any way to help your men? The human kingdom is in disarray; we need all the allies we can get against the darkspawn".

Zathrian gave an uneasy grimace and replied "The affliction is a curse that runs rampant through their blood, bringing great pain and ultimately either death, or a transformation into something monstrous. The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself and that...that would be no trivial task to retrieve".

"But you're going to ask me to anyway, aren't you?" Arthur questioned, raising an eyebrow.

The old elf gave a sly smile and answered "I would not ask anything. T'was you who asked. But in answer to your question, there is something you can do to help our clan. Within the Brecilian Forest, there dwells a great wolf; we call him Witherfang. It was within him the curse originated, and through his blood that it is spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us. I sent a group of my best hunters into the forest nearly a week ago, but they have not returned, and I cannot risk any more of my clan".

"Very well. If it will secure the aid of your clan against the Blight, then I will seek out this Witherfang for you" Arthur sighed. _'I should have known it wouldn't be so easy as to simply show up with the treaty and hope the Dalish would rally to our banner immediately'_ he dejectedly thought_. 'Life's never that easy. Still, we need the aid of the Dalish, and if helping the elves against their current threat is the way to secure their aid against the darkspawn...'_

Zathrian gave a satisfied smile and inclined his head gratefully, but then his eyes became hard, and he spoke in a serious tone "I should warn you, more than werewolves lurk within the Brecilian Forest. It has a history of carnage and mayhem. Where there is so much death in one place, the Veil separating the spirit world from our becomes thin, allowing spirits to possess things both living and dead. But if you can indeed help us, then I wish you luck"

"I have some questions, before I depart".

Zathrian nodded understandingly, but replied in a brisk tone "Make them quick, if you please; I have much to do. My apprentice, Lanaya" here, he gestured to the blonde girl, who was deep in conversation with Alistair "or Sarel, the clan's tale-teller" indicating the older male elf with greying hair by the fire, whose initial hostile expression had softened a little in the wake of whatever charms Leliana had used to get the suspicious Dalish to open up "could answer them just as easily"

"How did this curse originate?" Arthur asked. Zathrian looked rather uneasy at this question; he stayed silent for a significant period of time, and when he finally answered, it was in a quick, blunt manner that did not allay Arthur's suspicions, only aroused them further.

"That...that is a long story I do not have time to tell. Ask Sarel about it if you are truly interested" Arthur nodded, but his mind was roiling. _'You know more than you're telling. The question is what are you hiding, and more importantly, why?'_

"Can these creatures pass the curse on to anyone? And how does one know if you're infected?" he asked, wishing to know more about the enemy they were likely to face in the forest.

"The curse came first from Witherfang, but now any werewolf can infect their victims with it. Should you be infected, you will be aware of it in a matter of days: you will begin to develop a fever, sweating and vomiting uncontrollably. Your temper will also become wild and uncontrollable as the curse progresses. Should this happen, you should seek Witherfang out with greater haste. Your reasons will be more...personal at that point" was Zathrian's answer.

"Is there any way to protect against the curse? Some magic, for example?"

Zathrian shook his head. "My magic can slow the progression of the curse, but we have found nothing that can stop it. The best cure seems to be prevention: it would better for you not to get bitten in the first place".

"Very well, I shall gather my companions and some supplies, and we shall start our search thereafter" Arthur answered. Zathrian nodded and then turned away, gesturing to his injured charges.

"I must return to caring for my people. Creators' speed on your way".

Taking his leave of the Keeper, Arthur joined Morrigan, Leliana and Edward by the fire, gesturing for Alistair and Sten to rejoin them. Once the companions had reconvened, and ensured none of the elves were choosing to eavesdrop on their conversation, Arthur swiftly relayed what Zathrian had told him to the others.

"I don't like it" was Morrigan's immediate reply. "This elf wishes us to venture into the depths of this forest, crawling with bloodthirsty lycanthropes and all other manner of dangers, chasing a needle in a haystack because it _might_ help his people? It is madness!"

"Though it pains me, I agree with the mage" Sten added. "I recognise deception when I smell its stench. The leader of these elves reeks of it".

"I agree" Arthur added. "He's hiding something. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he refuses to acknowledge the werewolves are after something more than simple mayhem. He was also quite evasive when I asked him about how the curse came about, as well"

"According to Sarel, Zathrian told his clan that Witherfang came into existence centuries ago when a powerful and dangerous spirit possessed the body of a wolf" Leliana supplied. "Apparently, the werewolves came to be when Witherfang started hunting human tribes near to the forest"

"And how does Zathrian know this?" Arthur questioned.

"He may well have seen it" Alistair chipped in. "According to Lanaya, Zathrian's been around for quite some time; centuries at least. Many in the clan whisper he's rediscovered the immortality of the elves of old, and many revere him for it" the former templar finished.

'That just means they may take offence if we dig too deeply into his past' Arthur mused. Looking at all the evidence, he said "So if this curse has existed for centuries, why are the werewolves becoming aggressive towards the Dalish only now? The ambush they mentioned was not that of mindless animals lying in wait for prey: this was a carefully planned attack. So what is driving the werewolves to it, and why would Zathrian be so unwilling to think otherwise?"

"I don't know, but unfortunately, solving riddles isn't why we're here: obtaining an ally against the Blight is" Alistair remarked "If killing this Witherfang gets us the help of the Dalish, then I guess we know what we have to do"

"So do I, but I don't like this secrecy. People in power having too many secrets is what got us into this mess" Arthur muttered. "Morrigan, Leliana, Edward, you come with me. Alistair and Sten, you'll be staying here; you can help the Dalish protect their camp, and see what else you can learn about the curse". Seeing the disappointed expression on Alistair's face, Arthur replied "You'll get your chance to fight soon enough, but we need as small a group as possible to avoid attracting attention. Zathrian implied that there's magic at work here, and since Morrigan can shape-shift, she may have some idea of what we're dealing with. If we have to fight, I'd prefer to kill these things from range, so a masterful archer will come in handy, and mabaris proved their worth against shape shifters a long time ago: he'll be able to sniff them out before they attack. If we need more help, I'll come back for you two: I've no doubt you'll get your blades wet with wolf-man blood before the day is out".

Alistair reluctantly nodded, and he and the qunari took their leave. With Morrigan, Leliana and Edward in tow, Arthur stopped briefly to acquire supplies from the clan's craftsman- a pleasant enough fellow called Varathorn- purchasing supplies of food and medical aids, refilling their quivers and making any needed repairs to their armour and weapons, then Arthur and his chosen group hefted their weapons and supplies and quickly made their way out of the Dalish camp and into the forest.

###############################

They entered the forest and Arthur was quick to notice the silence: no bird song, no sounds of animals grazing or simply moving through the foliage. The only noises were the sounds of leaves and seeds falling from the trees and the distant sound of running water, brief interruptions in the deathly silence. He looked around, and he could tell the others were just as uneasy about it as he was, but they couldn't afford to let it stop them: they had a task to complete.

They pressed on into the forest, keeping their eyes open for any sign of life, but nothing showed itself. Arthur kept looking down at the mabari walking beside him, expecting Edward to have caught the scent of something, but nothing. As they came within sight of a small stream, Arthur had begun to doubt they were likely to see any evidence that might lead them in the direction of Witherfang.

And then he heard the voice. Guttural, rasping laughter echoed from a point behind them, followed by a hoarse voice that sounded like millstones grinding together.

"The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters".

"Who's there?" Arthur called out, pulling his sword from its sheath. Behind him, Leliana nocked an arrow to her bow and Morrigan began to gather her power. The mocking laughter came again, this time from a point above them, its tone cold and derisive.

"The Dalish send a human, of all things, to put us in our place, to make us pay for our attack!"

"I command you, show yourself!" Arthur yelled. "Do not play games with me!". As if in answer to his demand, something leapt down from the branches of a tree just across the stream. It landed elegantly and began to rise to its feet, and Arthur realised he was looking at another werewolf. This one was an impressive specimen: fully erect, it was much taller than him, at least seven feet in height. Its reddish-brown fur gleamed in the dappled light passing through the leaves above like burnished copper. Its broad chest was criss-crossed with scars and wounds, some of which looked recent, likely received in the ambush, and its muscular arms tapered down to large clawed hands encrusted with gore. Yellow eyes scrutinised them coldly as they approached the stream that separated them from the beast, and its jaws contorted into a foul grin.

And then it opened its mouth and hissed, in that gravelly, harsh voice "What bitter irony".

Arthur involuntarily took a step back. _'It speaks?'_. He had been led to believe that the werewolves were non-sentient animals, beasts incapable of thought or intelligence, but what he'd just seen proved otherwise. Learning that these creatures were capable of speech, just as they were capable of tactics like ambushes, only increased Arthur's belief that Zathrian hadn't given them the full picture.

Behind him, he heard Leliana whisper in a horrified tone "How is it these mindless beasts can speak?". The werewolf's ears pricked up at this and it turned its baleful gaze to her, its foul smile only growing wider.

"We are beasts, but we are no longer mindless and savage. Let that thought chill your spine". The words were slurred and halting, coming from a mouth never meant to speak, but they were still recognisable. The creature's demented smile then faded as it gestured to itself with a blood-spattered paw and snapped "You speak to Swiftrunner. I lead my cursed brothers and sisters". The creature gestured to the path behind them and snapped "Turn back now! Go back to the Dalish, and tell them you have failed! Tell them we will _gladly_ watch them suffer the same curse _we_ have suffered for too long! We will watch them pay!". The hatred and anger suffusing the creature's voice as it gave its demand and wished destruction on the Dalish was plain to hear.

"Unless you can tell me where to find Witherfang, be gone, beast!"

"You are sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang!" the werewolf roared, its eyes going wide with anger. "I will not stand by and allow that to happen!"

"You call the Dalish treacherous?" Arthur asked incredulously. "You're the ones who attacked them! What other reaction do you expect from them?"

In answer to this, Swiftrunner spat disgustedly on the floor and growled coldly "You know _nothing! _And I'm not about to enlighten you! I will never allow Witherfang to come to harm! I will drive you from this place!". Giving a feral howl, Swiftrunner bounded across the stream, claws extended towards Arthur.

The Warden managed to get his shield up in time before the yellowed claws could close around his throat. Reacting quickly, smashing the werewolf's scrabbling hands away from him, Arthur stabbed out with his blade, catching Swiftrunner in the side. The clear waters of the stream were briefly mixed with scarlet as blood flowed into it, but Arthur's hopes of victory were dashed as he saw that Swiftrunner had only suffered a flesh wound. The werewolf snarled and made to try for another attack, but before it could, the beast whimpered as a well placed arrow from Leliana struck it precisely in the wound Arthur's sword had made. Snarling in anger, the werewolf staggered back across the stream, clutching its side.

"Enough! The forest has eyes of its own, and it will deal with you as it does all intruders! You have been warned!" Swiftrunner spat ominously, and then turned and fled into the forest. The group let him go: there was no point in blindly going after the werewolf when they had no clue what lay ahead, when for all they knew, others of its kind lay in wait to ambush them.

They continued across the stream, pressing deeper into the forest, encountering danger at various turns: intermittent attacks by werewolves, who threw themselves at the group with savage abandon. Most of the beasts were dropped with an arrow from Leliana or Arthur in the throat or heart before they got close, or blasted howling into oblivion by Morrigan's magic, while the few that did manage to evade the arrows and blasts of sorcery were dealt with by Edward, the mabari slamming into a charging werewolf like a thunderbolt, knocking the brutes aside and tearing out their throats before they could recover. In death, the werewolves regressed, returning to the individuals they had once been before the curse consumed them. Inevitably, in death, they became elves of both genders, bearing the tattoos and marks on their flesh that marked them out as Dalish elves: likely members of Zathrian's clan infected in the attack and consumed by the curse before they had arrived. What gave Arthur pause was that when he examined the corpses of the poor elves and uneasily saw looks of blissful relief, as though the peace of death had been the one thing they wanted above all else. After that, and several similar attacks by frenzied werewolves who made no attempt to protect themselves, only threw themselves at the group and their weapons with uncaring intensity, Arthur began to wonder if these recently turned werewolves were truly attacking, or if they were simply throwing themselves at him and the others in the hope they would be put out of their misery.

As Zathrian warned them however, werewolves were not the only danger. That became apparent the further into the forest they went: animals began to show themselves, namely starving bears and wolves that, driven on by hunger, attacked, but were swiftly brought down. A familiar threat reared its head as they crested the top of an ancient barrow deep within the forest and almost walked headlong into a party of darkspawn outriders. The darkspawn- a half-dozen hurlocks, lacking the leadership of either an Alpha or emissary- were easily dealt with, but it only increased his desire to find Witherfang and be done with it quickly. '_While I run errands for Zathrian, doubtless the darkspawn will be capitalising on their victory at Ostagar, and I doubt very much Loghain will be in any position, or have any inclination to stop them!'_

But the most unsettling danger came on the other side of the barrow, as they began to descend into a shallow, tree-filled valley. As they had passed between what appeared to be an oak sapling, there had been a blood-curdling roar from either side of him and Arthur had looked round to see the sapling lunging at him, branches extended like claws, the bark of its trunk shifting and contorting to form a leering, monstrous face that snapped and gibbered hungrily. Long, grasping branches reached for his neck, scratching his face and drawing blood, but before they could close around his throat and snap it, Arthur heard the tree-creature lunging at him screeching in pain as flames came into being from the air around him and lashed the thing's wooden hide.

Chancing a look behind him, Arthur saw Morrigan was flaying the wooden creature with tongues of fire leaping from the palms of her hand, while Leliana remained at a safe distance, shooting flaming arrows into the thing's wooden hide. Arthur didn't bother drawing the Cousland sword- it would be of no use against a creature like this- instead reaching up to seize the haft of a wood-hewing axe and struck out, severing one of the creature's flailing limbs in a spray of sap. The tree creature shrieked in pain at its injuries, but its thrashings grew weaker as Morrigan's flames burnt through it and Arthur hacked it into little more than flaming kindling, and when Arthur finally put the axe through the centre of the shrieking face formed in the bark of the tree creature's body, it finally fell silent and still, the only sound coming from the crackling of the flames as they completed the destruction of the creature's oaken form.

"What the hell was that thing?" Arthur rasped as he planted a foot on the smouldering heap of wood and wrenched the axe free.

"A sylvan" Morrigan answered. "A tree possessed by a spirit, inevitably one that has gone mad from finding itself imprisoned in what amounts to little more than a wooden cage. The madness inevitably leads to a berserk rage, driving the sylvan to kill anything that crosses its path, purely to alleviate its anger"

"We should be careful" Leliana added. "The stories say the Veil that separates us from the spirit world is thin in the Brecilian Forest, and such entities are rife here. Who knows how many more mindless monsters lie in wait among the trees?".

Arthur nodded in agreement and they continued down the hill, coming into a small clearing where five more oak saplings surrounded one large, ancient oak tree. Arthur suspected all was not as it seemed, and his suspicions proved right when the five saplings sprang to life and reached for them with claw-like branches, howling in lunatic rage, but now they were ready for them: Morrigan blasted them with a torrent of fire, and then Arthur and Leliana attacked with axes, hacking the burning sylvans into piles of smouldering kindling as they desperately tried to put out the flames eating their bodies. As each was destroyed, Arthur thought he heard the sylvans emit joyful cries as their bodies were destroyed, as though the spirits within were relieved at being freed from the wooden prisons they had unwittingly allowed themselves to be forced into. In a few moments, the battle was won, and the only sounds was the sputter and crackle of flames as they completed the destruction of the tree spirits.

And then the ancient oak at the centre of the glade began to stir. The group readied their weapons, waiting for the possessed tree to throw itself at them with unthinking ferocity. The bark of the tree's trunk began to twist and shape into the form of a wizened face, its branches contorting into long arms that extended towards Arthur. Arthur raised the axe, waiting for the inevitable attack, ready to hack the tree creature apart, though he imagined, given its size and age, this would be somewhat more of an arduous battle. Behind him, he heard the creak of a bowstring being drawn back and the crackle of flames, and knew that Morrigan and Leliana were also ready. But to their surprise, the sylvan didn't attack; it merely seemed to stroke its wooden chin thoughtfully and regarded them quizzically, as though unsure what to make of them, before it extended a claw-like branch at Arthur and said, in a slow, melodious voice

"Mmm...what manner of beast be thee, that comes before this elder tree?"

Considering that the other sylvans they'd encountered had done nothing more but hurl themselves at the group with berserk savagery, the fact that this one was speaking in a calm and even voice, and regarding them with curiosity rather than hate, Arthur was caught offguard, and he lowered the axe, uncertain as to how to proceed. "Surely, this thing should be throwing itself at us with wild abandon..." he muttered to the others.

At this, the old sylvan nodded to the burning forms of its fellow creatures and sadly nodded "Thou speaketh of the sylvans, how filled they are with hate? I apologise on their behalf; they cannot control their fate". At this, the sylvan gestured to itself and continued "Allow me a moment to welcome thee; I am the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree. And unless thou thinks it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?"

"First, in answer to your question, I am a human" Arthur replied. "But I would like some information, before you ask something of me. For a start, what are you?"

"I am an Elder Oak and nothing more, though once I dreamt of a time before, when I roamed the world and howled in pain; not of this world, but twixt and twain. Perhaps I was a spirit then, a wandering thing drawn to this glen? But then that spirit joined with a tree; since then, a tree is all I be" was the answer from the wooden face.

"But you seem different. We've seen other trees possessed by spirits, but these were just mindless brutes; all they wished was to kill..."

"Of the sylvans, this is true; they are quite mad, their virtues few. A spirit trapped within a tree, no eyes to see or mouth to scream. A cage of bark, a prison wood, a thing of rage, where nature stood" the Grand Oak agreed.

"But you are not like them" Arthur countered. "You are calmer, you are reasonable...and you speak in rhymes! How did that come about?". To his surprise, the Grand Oak spread its branch-like arms wide and gave an almost human shrug.

"I do not know, why does thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me; does that make me a poet-tree?" the Grand Oak offered, finishing with a soft chuckle.

The humour was so unexpected, Arthur couldn't help but laugh. Behind him, he heard Leliana giggle "Poetry! I get it!", gleefully laughing at the notion something

The Grand Oak chuckled again "It was but a simple jest, a jibe to entertain my guest"

Morrigan gave a scowl and snapped "We do not need you to entertain us, spirit; we need you to give us damn useful information! If you can't do that, can you at least give us a reason not to turn you into firewood!". Arthur gave an exasperated sigh, expecting the affronted spirit to try and wrap its gnarled claws around the mage woman's neck at the threat, but the spirit did not appear offended, simply giving another weary shrug.

"I can only say what a tree may say. It may not help you, but it is enough for me"

"We seek the monster known as Witherfang, the Great Wolf" Arthur asked, relieved the sylvan had not taken offence at Morrigan's bluntness. "Do you know whereabouts the beast makes its lair?"

"In the centre of the forest the weres do dwell, or so go the tales my fellows tell. But they cannot be followed there; the forest doth protect the weres" was the answer.

"How can that be?" Arthur asked, confused. "Why would the forest protect those savage animals?"

"Perhaps weres use magic to command the trees?" the Grand Oak replied uncertainly. "All I know is the weres move as they please"

"If you know where they are, is it possible you might know a way to penetrate the enchantments that prevent us following them?" Arthur asked.

"Perform the boon as I ask, and I shall reward you for the task. I have one desire: to solve a matter most dire. As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn"

"And you want your seed back, I take it?" Morrigan enquired, raising an eyebrow. The Grand Oak nodded and answered:

"All I have is my being, my seed; without it, I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out, yet I shall die if left without" the tree finished, almost pleadingly.

Arthur folded his arms across his chest and replied "We could look for your precious acorn, but it could prove an arduous task; the thief you wish us to find could be long gone. What can you offer us in exchange for our aid?".

The Grand Oak rubbed its chin thoughtfully, and then clicked its fingers in realisation, pointing to the many leafy branches that adorned it as it spoke "My wooden skin has some magic, see, and part of it I can give to thee".

"And what good would a piece of your wooden prison do us, spirit?" Morrigan snapped.

"The forest would see thee as a tree, and so no harm would come to thee" was the sylvan's answer.

"And this would allow us to breach whatever defences prevent entry to the centre of the forest..." Arthur realised. "Yes, that sounds like it could be useful..."

"Wilt thou then perform the task? Wilt thou save me as I ask?" questioned the spirit, a pleading edge in its voice. Arthur gave a smile and gave a brief nod; considering that the spirit had been quite fair with them and informed them what they were likely to face in the forest, it seemed only fair. The spirit nodded and gestured into the deeper reaches of the forest.

"Go to the east to find this man. I shall await, do what thou can" the spirit's voice faded away as it retreated back into its wooden home, becoming once more as still and lifeless as the tree it inhabited.

################################

They headed deeper into the forest, and began to look for the thief the Grand Oak had directed them after. They soon discovered what the Grand Oak had meant when the sylvan had said the wolf-men had found a way to prevent entry to the centre of the forest: a thick, cloying wall of mist that thwarted all their efforts to penetrate it. Arthur was glad that they'd had the good fortune to run into the Grand Oak before encountering the barrier, otherwise they might have never found a way to circumvent it.

Soon enough they found who Arthur assumed was the thief; a ragged, bearded man clad in tattered robes and wielding a wooden staff. The man was quite mad, ranting incessantly on how 'they' were after him and insisting that the trees were out to get him, though an uneasy Morrigan had insisted the fellow still possessed much power, but he proved willing enough to trade the Grand Oak's acorn in exchange for a simple Dalish pendant Arthur had been given in the camp, and swiftly handed the acorn over. With nothing more to say, the companions took their leave of the mad hermit and headed back in the direction of the Grand Oak.

As they began to move back through the forest, Arthur spotted something emerging from the foliage; a large, oblong stone, heavily eroded and marked with strange runes, weathered but still decipherable. Arthur approached the stone and bent down to examine it more closely. He vaguely recognised the runes from half-forgotten history lessons in the draughty library of Castle Cousland, trying not to yawn at Aldous's lectures.

"This is Tevinter script" he muttered "I recognise it, but what's it doing here?"

"The Imperium once ruled this land, and many battles were fought between the armies of the Archons and the native tribesmen of Ferelden across this land" Leliana supplied. "Perhaps this is a monument to one such fight?" she suggested.

"From the little I know of the Tevinter language, this appears to a tombstone erected to one man, not a memorial to some battle" Arthur countered, looking closely at the inscription. "I can just about make out 'Interred here...Scipio, lieutenant to Alaric, general of Minrathous in service to Archon...' but that's about all I know. Hold on, there's more at the bottom..." he added, lowering his hand to brush away the dirt that obscured a final cluster of runes at the very base of the tombstone, but before he could touch the tombstone, Morrigan's hand darted forward and seized his wrist.

"Be wary, Warden. Those are warding runes; this is as much a prison as it is a grave. Something was trapped here" she warned gravely, her expression pensive as she looked at the tombstone as though it were a poisonous snake.

"But what?" Arthur questioned, cautiously approaching the tombstone. "Perhaps if we clear away the dirt, the runes might say more...' he suggested as he gently knocked away some of the dirt obscuring the runes at the base of the stone block with his hand. But any thought of what meaning the runes might have evaporated instantly from his mind as, in an explosion of dirt, a hand encased in a gleaming metal gauntlet burst from the grave and wrapped itself around Arthur's throat.

"GET IT OFF ME!" Arthur managed to choke as the metal fingers closed around his windpipe. He tried to pull away but the hand of whatever creature was now clawing its way out of the grave refused to relinquish its grasp, trying to pull him down towards the earth of the grave. As he watched, the creature's upper body began to claw its way to the surface, the earth of the grave parting to expose the withered skeletal form of a warrior who'd been dead for a long time, clad in rusted metal armour and a winged helm. Baleful red lights burned in its empty eye sockets and a gap-toothed, death's-head grin was visible on the undead monster's skull as it tightened its grip around his neck, slowly choking him.

And then he heard a shrill voice cry "The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand!", followed by a loud shriek as an axe blade descended inches in front of his face, striking the monster throttling him just above the left elbow and severing the limb cleanly. The pressure around Arthur's throat vanished immediately and he threw the silver gauntlet to the floor and drew his sword. The undead warrior hissed a challenge and drew a blade of its own, a long-bladed sword with a hilt forged in the shape of outstretched dragon wings, and charged, a guttural snarl emitting from its maw. Arthur blocked a heavy blow from its sword with his shield and stabbed out, punching through the creature's corroded chainmail and lodging in its chest. The undead warrior howled in anger and tried to stab at his head, but he heard a voice shout in a strange language and the creature shrieked as bolts of lightning leapt from Morrigan's fingertips into its back, the metal of its armour conducting the magical electricity across its body. As it spasmed and thrashed in agony, Leliana put an arrow through the visor of its winged helm, eliciting a screech of fury from the undead warrior.

Snarling, the undead warrior turned to face Leliana, driving its sword into the earth and gesturing at her with a clawed hand. Dark energy coalesced into a sparkling orb of power in the palm of the silver gauntlet over its hand, and then the creature closed its hand into a fist; there was a loud bang as the energy in its hand exploded and Leliana was wrenched off her feet, pulled a short distance to land in a sprawled heap at the monster's feet. With a triumphant roar, the monster seized its sword and raised it up, ready to bring it down into Leliana's chest.

'_Oh no you don't!_' Arthur's mind snarled as he bashed his shield into the creature's left side, sending it staggering as it tried to finish off the stricken bard. Before it could recover, he struck out with a high blow aimed at the undead warrior's neck; the Cousland sword effortlessly hacked through the bone and sent the warrior's head flying into the undergrowth. The second its head was severed, the undead warrior fell to its knees, its armour crumbling into rust, and its bones disintegrating into the dust of the grave.

"What in the Maker's name was that?" Arthur spat in disgust, gesturing at the growing pile of dust forming as the still-crumbling remains of the undead Tevinter completed their own destruction.

"A revenant" Morrigan answered. "A corpse possessed by a demon of pride. Considering the power of the demon that controls them, these undead are among the most dangerous of their kind. We had best be careful; the Veil is extremely weak here, and more creatures of such power may have slipped through"

Arthur nodded in agreement, though his mood was foul at the revelation of another danger they had to beware of... _'As if the werewolves, darkspawn and possessed trees were not enough!_' he thought angrily to himself. But then he saw something that made his thinking a bit more positive: the revenant was gone, its body crumbled into a mingled pile of rust and dust from its bones, but the strange silver gauntlets it had worn were still intact. He bent down to where the gleaming gloves lay and picked them up, examining them closely. They were of fine craftsmanship, engraved with Tevinter script and forged from what could only be...

"Silverite! By the Maker, it is!" Arthur cried, amazed. The value of such gauntlets, both in terms of the protection they would give in battle, and the amount people would pay to possess them, was incalculable. Inspecting them closely, on the inside of the vambraces, he could see a single word had been inscribed; '_Juggernaut_'.

"Juggernaut..." Arthur muttered, toying with the word on his tongue. At this point, Leliana piped up "Did you say Juggernaut?"

"Yes, why?" he asked.

"I'd heard tales, from when I was a roaming minstrel of an old legend. It says that in ages past, a blood mage of Tevinter used his powerful magic to forge a mighty suit of armour, mixing the molten silverite with lyrium and his own blood. When the suit was forged, he named it 'Juggernaut' after the golems that protect Minrathous's gates, and presented it as a gift to his friend, Alaric, a general to the Archon. But Alaric's lieutenants were covetous; they betrayed and slew him, seeking to claim the Juggernaut armour for themselves. Angered, the blood mage travelled to Ferelden, where he slew the avaricious lieutenants and used his blood magic to bind demons to their corpses, charging them to forever protect the armour they had tried to steal. They say that dozens of treasure hunters have entered the Brecilian Forest, seeking the undead lieutenants who guard the armour, but none have ever returned" she finished dramatically, before gesturing at the gauntlets. "If that is a piece of the Juggernaut armour, we'd do well to keep our eyes open for any of the others. Likely, such a powerful thing would be of great use to us and" she added, blushing a little at the thought "I think it only appropriate that a hero on as momentous a quest as yours should possess a suit of magical armour, don't you agree?"

"Certainly" Arthur agreed, stowing the gauntlets in his pack "I always loved the tales of great heroes with enchanted armour and magical swords as a boy; I never thought I'd get to be _one_!" he finished, chuckling at the thought.

"Oh, I'm sure you will...I need a good tale to come out of this if I'm going to earn my keep once the Blight's done!" Leliana laughed as they began to head back in the direction of the Grand Oak.

############################

Soon enough, they had reached the Grand Oak's clearing. It took a light tap on its trunk to wake the spirit within, and when it awoke from its slumber, Arthur deposited the minuscule acorn into the branches that served it for a hand. In those immense claws, the acorn was tiny, but the Grand Oak held it as gently and reverently as though it were the most valuable jewel in Thedas.

"My joy soars to new heights indeed!" the sylvan proclaimed, the delight in its voice clear to hear. "I am reunited with my seed!". The Grand Oak then reached up to the crown of leafy branches that surrounded its head and pulled one free, stripped it of its leaves and shaped it into a long staff, which the tree then handed over to Arthur, who took it and bowed to the sylvan in thanks.

"As I promised, here it be; I hope its magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest free". The Grand Oak held up its acorn and tilted itself forward as it tried to bow to him, nearly uprooting itself in the process and, the gratitude in its voice clear, intoned "I wish thee well, my mortal friend; thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind and thy roots be strong..." its voice faded away as the spirit retreated back into its wooden home.

Taking their leave of the old sylvan, the group began to proceed past the barrow where the darkspawn had attacked them. Arthur had a suspicion a certain something was buried in the barrow, and his suspicions proved correct when he found another tombstone marked with Tevinter script and several warding runes. This time, they were prepared; it was Morrigan who tapped the tombstone, disrupting the runes, and this time, when the revenant began to claw its way out of its grave, Arthur was waiting for it, and took its head off with a deadly blow of the Cousland sword before it had even pulled itself halfway from its grave. Its body and armour crumbled into dust as soon as it was decapitated, leaving only a fine silverite helm crested with a feathered sapphire blue plume, engraved around its circumference and its visor with Tevinter enchantments and the word 'Juggernaut' engraved on the inside of the visor.

With another piece acquired, the group headed back into the forest, where the mist blocked their path. Arthur extended the oak branch and the mists began to part, growing thinner and thinner, suggesting that there were fewer trees ahead and a path leading to what appeared to be a large stone structure. As the mists before them began to thin and the path ahead became clearer and clearer, Arthur could hear Leliana frantically muttering portions of the Chant of Light, the uncertainty in her voice plain to hear.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just...For there is no darkness, nor death either in the Maker's light and _nothing_ that He has wrought shall be lost..." the Orlesian prayed to herself, the words tripping off her tongue.

Morrigan gave a derisive snort and sneered "If you had any sense, girl, you'd be preparing your weapons to fight, rather than wasting your breath on an uncaring god whom your precious Chantry says has left us all, which makes the odds of him answering your prayer for protection somewhat slim!" Leliana glared coldly at the mage, but said nothing but more stanzas of the Chant of Light, only louder and faster, as if to annoy Morrigan further.

The mist finally parted, and the group began to continue forward along the path, when an all-too-familiar voice sneered from a point to their left.

"The forest was not vigilant enough, it seems. Still you come"

With a roar, the red-furred form of Swiftrunner leapt from a position in the branches of a nearby tree above them and landed in front of them, blocking their way forward. The werewolf gave them a scrutinising look and growled in a curt voice "You...are stronger than we anticipated. The Dalish chose their tool well...but you do not belong here, outsider! Leave this place!"

"Why do you protect the source of the curse that afflicts you?" Arthur questioned. "Surely if Witherfang dies, it will set you free?"

"What lies have the treacherous Dalish told you?" the werewolf spat in answer. "What falsehoods have Zathrian told you to have you do his bidding?" the creature snarled.

"You still call the Dalish treacherous! You're the ones who attacked them!" Leliana protested. Swiftrunner glared at her, his mad red-rimmed eyes burning with fury.

"And they deserved nothing less!" the werewolf roared defiantly, before waving a dismissive hand at them. "Bah, it matters not! You have been sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang, but I will _never_ allow that to happen! Here, Witherfang protects us! Here, we learn our names and are beloved! We will defend Witherfang and this place with our lives!"

At this, Swiftrunner threw back his head and let loose a blood-chilling howl, shouting into the sky "Come, brothers and sisters! Swiftrunner calls you to battle! Drive this invader from our midst!"

Swiftrunner's call was answered by a cacophony of howls from all directions; Arthur barely managed to draw his sword before five werewolves burst from ambush in the undergrowth or up in the trees and attacked. Swiftrunner fell back a short distance, howling all the while, and the roars that answered him told Arthur that reinforcements were likely on their way.

"Stay together!" Arthur roared, but any hope of fighting as a group ended as a grey furred werewolf charged straight at them, seized Morrigan round the waist and threw her; she slammed into a tree and landed in a sprawled heap at its base. The wolf-man let out a triumphant howl and bounded at her, eager to finish the job, but Morrigan quickly leapt back to her feet and spat a foul word hatefully. There was a loud crack, and the werewolf's roar turned into a yelp of terror as it found itself now charging a black widow spider...a black widow spider the size of a horse. The creature tried to flee, but the monstrous arachnid seized the werewolf with two of her barbed forelimbs, slammed it to the ground and brought her venom-dripping mandibles stabbing into the brute's chest again and again, carving it to bloody ruin with alarming rapidity. Five more werewolves rushed past Swiftrunner into the battle, two breaking off towards Morrigan, while the others headed for the rest of the group.

The portion of Arthur's mind that had memorised the tactics of countless battles came to the fore here, and he began to realise what the werewolves were doing; they were fighting in the same manner of a wolf pack on the hunt. '_They're separating us, trying to break up the group so they can pick us off one by one!'_ he thought, his suspicions confirmed as Edward looked up from the carcass of a werewolf-one he'd pinned to the floor and torn its throat out- and made to go for another; three of the beasts surrounded him, but they made no move to attack, and when the mabari tried, they kept backing away, luring him further away from the others. Morrigan seemed to be having the same difficultly, the werewolves retreating from her as she darted forward on her eight legs to try and snare a fresh victim.

"Come back, we need to stay together!" Arthur shouted, but the werewolves had thought of that; others began to encircle the warhound and the giant spider, cutting them off from the others. Looking at the only person left beside him- Leliana-he bluntly told the bard "Stay close to me!" and the pair swiftly stood back to back. A brown-furred werewolf charged Arthur; he blocked the monster's claws with the Shield of Highever and slashed his sword across its face, hacking its muzzle off in a spray of blood. Another lycanthrope with black fur attacked, but Arthur leapt back from its wild swings and slashed his sword across its midsection; the werewolf fell to its knees, clutching its maimed chest and Arthur slammed his shield into its throat- there was a loud snap and the werewolf toppled, its neck bent at an impossible angle. Raising his sword, Arthur ran through the first werewolf to attack him, too busy clutching at its mutilated snout to save itself. He heard the repetitive twang of a bowstring being pulled back and then released, and several werewolves around them fell with arrows embedded in various parts of their anatomy. When the beasts got too close for her archery, Arthur saw her draw her daggers and set about her with a vengeance, ducking under the scything claws of one werewolf to hamstring it, before opening its neck with her return stroke. A second werewolf charged her, but Leliana planted both her daggers to the hilt in its chest, and before it could recover, wrenched the blades free and slashed both through the werewolf's neck, sending its shaggy-furred head spinning in a spray of blood.

As with before, the moment they died, the werewolves began to regress into the people they had been before the curse devoured them: most became Dalish elves of both genders, but several curiously returned to being human men and women. Still, a good many of the werewolves had been slain, in exchange for only a few minor wounds, and Arthur began to hold out hope they might be able to survive this ambush and get to the ruins.

Suddenly a deafening howl rang out, far louder and deeper than any other that had been heard, and Swiftrunner let out a joyous exclamation "He comes, brothers and sisters! Destroy these interlopers and then we shall finish our business with the Dalish!". With that, Swiftrunner gave a gleeful howl and broke into a run on all fours, heading straight for Arthur.

"Zathrian's assassins die here!" the werewolf roared furiously, bounding straight for Arthur, who held his sword out, waiting to drive it straight into the beast the second it sprung at him. _'Come on, you overgrown lapdog! Let's see how tough you are with two feet of steel in your guts!'_

"NO, WARDEN!"

He felt a firm weight slam into his side, fearing another werewolf had gotten him, and Arthur was knocked off his feet, but to his surprise, he felt no claws rake his side, or fangs punch through his armour into his throat. A dark shadow passed over him, one that Arthur briefly recognised as Swiftrunner, leaping at...

'_LELIANA!_' It had been her voice he'd heard. She'd pushed him out of the way, for whatever reason she'd put herself in the way of the blow meant for him, and now...

He briefly heard a roar of fury, and then a terrible, blood-curdling scream, one of such pain and horror he never thought a fellow human could make. He desperately scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword from where it had fallen from his grasp, and looked around for any sign of Leliana or her attacker. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, seconds passing like hours...

He saw Morrigan slam another werewolf into a tree, her jagged limbs punching through its shoulders to pin it to the oak's bark, sprays of green and red droplets flying as her mandibles eviscerated the creature in a spray of venom and blood.

He saw Edward raking another's flank with his claws, sinking his teeth into an outstretched hand that the lycanthrope had intended to hit him with, and shaking his head vigorously, tore it off. The werewolf let out a piteous whimper, and several of its kin broke off from the fight at this, fleeing back towards the ruins.

And then he saw Swiftrunner, half-entangled in a holly bush, straddling a limp, motionless form trapped beneath him in the foliage. The werewolf began to stand up, to turn away from its victim, and Arthur felt the berserk fury begin to consume him. This time he let it, because the anger kept his mind from straying to the fact that this might be the second time a woman he knew had taken a fatal blow meant for him. As Swiftrunner stood up, Arthur gave a wordless cry of rage and slashed his sword across the brute's back, carving a bloody furrow from shoulder to hip.

Swiftrunner howled in fury and whirled round, his claws extended, but Arthur ducked under the werewolf's retaliatory swipe and slammed a booted foot into Swiftrunner's side, reopening the wound he'd inflicted in their first skirmish. Swiftrunner howled in pain and fell to one knee and Arthur raised the sword over his head, aiming for Swiftrunner's neck. _'Time to die, wolf-man!'_

But before he could bring the blade down and behead the werewolf, another heavy weight slammed into his side, and Arthur gasped as claws raked through his armour into the flesh of his left side. He landed in a sprawled heap a short distance away, and looking up, saw his attacker: a huge, white-furred wolf that dwarfed any other such creature he'd encountered on his travels. The wolf gave several loud, aggressive barks, and then turned its attention from the fallen Arthur to Swiftrunner, snarling angrily at the werewolf. With a plaintive whimper, Swiftrunner got back to his feet and fled into the depths of the forest. The large wolf gave a deep howl and the few remaining werewolves that hadn't already fled retreated back in the direction of the ruins, with the white wolf quickly following them. Edward made to pursue, but Arthur stopped him with a sharp command: there was no sense in running into what could well be another ambush.

Beside the mabari, the giant spider contorted and twisted, returning into the form of Morrigan, pulling her now more-tattered clothes around her frame, now thankfully free of venomous mandibles or more than two legs, mercifully devoid of a chitinous exoskeleton. Arthur had to admit, the transformation had been somewhat unsettling, even if it had been a useful tool.

A faint moan rang out, and with a thrill of horror, Arthur remembered Leliana. He quickly raced over to the bush that Swiftrunner and she had crashed into and saw her mangled frame. It was a horrific sight: she was lying face down, entangled amongst the flattened creepers of holly. The leaves of the foliage around her, as well as the earth she lay on was spattered with blood, and the leather armour she wore, now torn and shredded, was drenched in it: through the rents and tears in the studded leather, Arthur could see deep, jagged cuts, many of which were still bleeding heavily. He knelt beside her, a trembling hand reaching towards her neck, dreading that he would feel nothing, but then he felt a weak thump as he placed his fingers against the side of her throat, and so close to her, he could hear faint, ragged gasps of breath coming from the Orlesian.

'_She's alive! She's still alive!'_ he thought, elation briefly replacing the fear, before those cold claws sank themselves anew into his heart as he realised unless they did something soon, she wouldn't be alive much longer.

"Morrigan!" he yelled. "Help her!"

The witch sank down beside him, her face a mask of concentration as she channelled glowing green energy from her hands into Leliana. As Arthur watched, the redhead's bleeding began to slow, and the wounds started to close up, but suddenly, as Arthur watched, Morrigan released the flow of energy, and her efforts to heal the other woman's injuries ceased.

"Why are you stopping?" Arthur angrily demanded.

"I can do nothing more!" Morrigan protested. Arthur angrily seized the front of the robes the witch wore and snarled furiously at her "Are you so petty you're willing to let her die when you can heal her!"

To his respectful surprise, Morrigan showed no fear at his anger, only a solemnity that he had never seen her exhibit. "Even if I close her wounds, there is no hope; she doomed herself the moment she chose to shield _you_ from harm. Look at her!" she finished, pulling the hem of Leliana's armour away to expose her neck and her shoulder. Looking closely, Arthur could see a ragged row of puncture wounds-the mark of a deep bite. As he stared in horror at the wound, Morrigan gently took Leliana's head in her hands, turned it up to face them and pulled open the lids of her right eye, gesturing for the Warden to look closely. Arthur bent close to see what she was showing him, and to his horror, watched as the green iris began to become paler, fading to an almost yellow shade, and the unseeing pupil of Leliana's eye had begun to narrow, becoming more like a thin slit...

"There is nothing I can do, Arthur" Morrigan stated in a serious tone he'd never heard her use.

"She's been bitten...she's infected".


	20. Chapter 19: Into the Wolf's Lair

_First things first, I must apologise to you all for keeping you waiting for this; sorry, but I've been buried in real life-work, birthdays, family commitments, etc- that have really been eating into my writing time, so thank you for your patience; hopefully, it won't take me so long to get another one done!_

_Yeah, the idea to have Leliana bitten at the end just came to me: I'd read something similar (see _Moments in Time_ by _**Snafu1000**_), but seriously, all the time in the Dalish camp, they tell you "Don't get bitten, don't get bitten!" and then nothing happens: personally, I think that would have been a great twist in –game, so I thought, why not?_

_As always, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed or favourited my work: thank you as always to _**ethan,**__**roxfox1962 **and **spectre4hire **_for your ever great reviews, and to_** InuMaKa91**_ and_** cakeisalie **_for your reviews as well_ _(I know exactly how you feel: I'm supposed to be doing my dissertation, but I'd much rather be writing this!). Also, thank you to _**Knight of Blood**, **Chocobonight, Vercys, SpectreX, kyuubis-child, Parker Prince **and **JordanMathias**_ for subscribing to my story: as a writer, it's always a privilege to know just how much your work is appreciated, so thanks to you all for your enthusiasm, interest and faith in this._

_Will try to have my version of_ 'Nature of the Beast' _done by Monday; if not, I'll have it for you by week's end; I'm off on holiday for the rest of the week without access to a computer you see, but rest assured, soon this part of Arthur's quest will be done._

As always, '**Atrast nal tunsha-may you always find your way in the dark'.**

And above all else, enjoy!

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In later years, Arthur would never remember how they got back to the Dalish camp, so consumed was his mind by panic and concern for Leliana. He vaguely remembered lifting her-she weighed so little- trying not to look at her injuries and trying to crush the fear that he was responsible for this, trying to suppress the memories of Highever when another young woman had put herself in the way of a terrible blow that, if not for a quirk of fate, would have fallen upon him. He barely heard what Morrigan was muttering to herself behind him until he caught a snippet of her words "...a foolish act, but I suppose a necessary one..."

Arthur whirled on her with murder in his eyes. "You think it was necessary for this to happen?" he hissed in a deadly tone, glaring at the witch. '_I know she doesn't like the girl, but..._no one_ deserves this! Well, maybe _some...' he conceded, the familiar hate seeping into him at the thought of Loghain and Howe. He crushed that seed before it could flower, and drive him to something more reckless and stupid that could not be afforded, though he felt the familiar fear that another damn monster to enter his life had taken another thing he'd become attached to. _'It's ridiculous; I barely know her and yet...I can't bear to see her suffer because of me. She trusted me enough to forsake her life in the Chantry, to go with me for no better reason than she believe it to be the right thing to do, even though there's little hope we'll actually succeed, and knowing that doing so made her as hated as us! If she dies because of me...I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself...'_

"The girl came with us because she said it was her charge to protect you" Morrigan answered, in a tone as though she were talking to a particularly slow-witted child.

"And while I doubt very much this task was given to her by some distant, inconsistent god, I can respect the lengths she's willing to go to in order to keep you safe from harm. I can tell you now, had she not pushed you out of the way, despite what you may believe, the wolf-man would have pinned you to the floor and torn out your throat; you'd have realised that too, were you not lost in your battle-lust. I have run with the wolves while in their shape; I've seen them kill and these creatures fight the same as them. You are required to stay alive, Arthur; a Grey Warden is of far greater value to Ferelden at this moment in time than a priestess. Do you think Alistair up to the task of uniting this country if you were to die here? Do you think he can convince the allies needed to rally to the cause, that he is capable of stopping Loghain, let alone the archdemon?You are more important than any one of us, Arthur: why do you think my mother went to such risks to save your life? You cannot be allowed to fall; too much depends on you, Arthur! She understood that, I suggest you do as well!" Morrigan coldly finished with a curt gesture towards the unconscious Leliana in his arms.

A little stunned by her brunt practicality, Arthur couldn't think of a reply for a few moments, so overwhelmed was he at the thought that they were considering him the most important of their number; as the second son of the teyrn, he'd never expected to have any major responsibility-learning he was to be in charge of Highever in his father's stead had been a significant shock. But this, to learn that his companions viewed him the most important of their number, important enough to risk their own lives to protect him...'_surely they can't be serious?' _he thought.

But then he considered what had happened so far: they had followed him to the Brecilian Forest because he had advised it. Leliana, Sten, Flemeth; all had made their proposals and offers of aid to _him_. Alistair had as good as said he would follow Arthur's lead. Morrigan was right: they all looked to him to assume the mantle of leadership.

'_Well, if I am to lead, I'd do well to get this group to safety before any more trouble strikes us!'_ he decided. He would not shirk from responsibility when it was given: his past with Niamh had taught him that responsibilities could not be ignored, no matter how one might wish it not so, and if he had failed in his responsibility to protect one of those under his charge, he would not fail a second time. With that in mind, the Warden began to quicken his pace back the way they had come, keeping one ear open in case he heard a blood-chilling howl behind them or any other sign that Swiftrunner and his lupine kin were giving pursuit. But to his surprise, nothing came; they managed to pass through the forest unmolested, only increasing Arthur's belief something was very wrong.

As the forest began to thin out as they ran closer to the Dalish camp, a thought occurred to him about the attack and he turned back to Morrigan, questioning "If what you say is true, then why did that beast not kill me when I was defenceless on the ground? Why not attack me when I was down instead of going for Leliana?"

Morrigan looked warily thoughtful as she replied "I cannot say; I cannot predict the whims of wild animals any more than you can. But I will say this: clearly, there are matters here that our ally, the _good_ Keeper" she remarked, injecting the word with sarcastic contempt "has not bothered to tell us!"

'_At last, something we agree on'_ Arthur thought to himself. Morrigan was right: Zathrian had been withholding information, information that could very well cost them dear. _'He's been playing us along ever since we got here! Well, no more! He is hiding something, and I will find out what it is if I have to crack his head open...and pray Leliana doesn't pay the price for his silence!'_

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Moment later, they were back in the camp, Leliana lying on a pallet bed among the other injured elves, her skin streaked with sweat and burning with fever, incoherently mumbling and muttering frantically as whatever nightmares brought on by her condition assaulted her, occasionally thrashing as spasms of pain tore through her flesh. Morrigan was knelt beside her and Alistair stood over both women, both using their abilities as a mage and a templar to try and arrest the curse's progression through her.

"Help her!" Arthur had demanded of Zathrian the second they'd been met by the Keeper and a number of scouts at the outskirts of the camp, but the Keeper had taken one look at the maimed Orlesian and shook his head "There is nothing I can do. The severity of her injuries...the curse will spread swiftly through her. It might be a kindness, Warden to put her out of her..."

"Don't you_ dare_ even say it!" Arthur snarled at the Keeper, before pushing past the elves, ignoring their affronted, fearful expressions as he took Leliana into the camp. Alistair and Sten joined him as he approached, but Alistair's expression of relief had evaporated at the sight of the injured girl, his normally grinning face becoming a mask of concern, and even Sten's impassive gaze showed a twinge of uncertainty as he saw the severity of the woman's injuries.

The second they had placed Leliana on one of the pallet beds, Arthur had charged Morrigan to tend her, and then stormed over to Zathrian, seized the elf by the front of his robes and slammed him against the side of the aravel. Lanaya tried to pull him off, but Arthur shrugged the girl aside, ignoring her fearful expression and the affronted looks of the Dalish: this damn elf's withholding of information could very well cost them dearly, and the events of his past had given Arthur a pretty poor view of deception among allies. '_He had better have some good answers!'_

"You lied to me. You've been lying to me ever since we _got_ here, and the fact you withheld information from me is the reason one of my companions lies close to dying as we speak! Why didn't you tell me the werewolves were intelligent?"

"They are _not_ intelligent!" Zathrian spat back at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw a number of the clan beginning to advance on them, as if to intervene, but Sten stepped in front of the altercation and simply looked at them with those cold violet eyes, as emotionless as a statue, and the Dalish thought better of it; clearly they feared those cold eyes would be the last thing they ever saw if they provoked him to violence. Remembering Sten's claims of how he had butchered an entire family without provocation made Arthur a little apprehensive, but the qunari's earlier belief in Zathrian's deception gave Arthur the view that Sten approved

"These are _not _mindless animals, Zathrian! They're talking, using skilled tactics; these are not simple beasts merely intent on mayhem, but something more. They hate your clan with a passion, and they hate you most of all, but why?". To his surprise, Zathrian showed no fear at his anger, simply a cold indifference and a dismissive refusal of what Arthur was suggesting.

"Their curse makes them wild and savage: they have as much control over their actions as a rabid dog! I told you before Warden, Witherfang is the source of this curse! The werewolves are irrelevant: they are merely obstacles to your true objective! The Great Wolf only grows stronger while you waste time asking me pointless questions...time my clansmen _and _your friend do not have!"

Forcing himself to calm, Arthur took a step back, releasing his grip on Zathrian: he was in no way satisfied with what the elf was claiming, but one fact had permeated the berserk fury that threatened to become all consuming; that Leliana didn't have much time before she either died, or suffered a fate truly worse than death, and Arthur knew he would not allow that to happen. Forcing himself to be calm, he stepped back from Zathrian and tried to summon a more even voice.

"How long does she have?" Arthur asked, trying to sound more courteous than he had. The elf smoothed the front of his robes and sniffed in a haughty tone "I cannot say. A day, maybe two if she fights it"

"Then there is still time..." Arthur muttered, more to himself than anyone, but Zathrian clearly assumed the words were meant for him.

"Still time for what?"

Ignoring the elf's enquiry, Arthur fixed him with a cold stare, one that made it clear he would brook nothing less than the truth in this matter "You said if I bring you Witherfang's heart, you can destroy the curse. Is that true or not?"

"I believe I can..." the elf muttered, but Arthur cut across him with a raised hand, his face a mask of controlled anger.

"I want the truth, Zathrian. Yes or no?"

The elf sputtered at this, but gave a curt nod and simply answered "Yes". Arthur nodded in acknowledgement and began to gather up his supplies from where he had left them by the fire. "In answer, there is still time to find and slay Witherfang. I suggest you tend to your people, Keeper, if you wish them to still be alive when I return with this potential cure"

"Thank you, Warden. You show wisdom in your actions" Zathrian replied with an obsequious smile and made towards Leliana, but Arthur seized the elf's wrist to stop him. "No. Morrigan will tend to her. You...administer to your own people"

"But I am more than capable of arresting the curse..." Zathrian protested in a defensive tone, but Arthur did not let him finish.

"I said _no_!" Arthur snapped: he was not going to be put in debt to this deceptive elf. The Keeper bristled angrily at this, and then stalked away towards the fire, Lanaya following in his wake, casting uncertain glances between her tutor and the Warden. Arthur watched him go, glaring at his back. '_I'm not doing this for you, Zathrian: I'm doing this for_ her _and for all the others of your clan afflicted by this. I can only hope I get to the bottom of this mess in the process...and find out what it is you're hiding'._

Putting the Keeper's evasiveness from his mind, Arthur joined the group beside Leliana's bed, uneasily watching the Orlesian thrash and contort on the bed, her eyelids fluttering as she muttered frantically to herself in her native tongue, tears running down her sweat-streaked cheeks at the sight of whatever visions or hallucinations tormented her.

"Pitié! Pitié, je vous en prie!...Marjolaine, porqoui? Porqoui avez-vous me faire ça?" [_Mercy! Mercy, I beg you!...Marjolaine, why? Why did you do this to me_?]

Arthur felt a pang of guilt as he watched Leliana suffer whatever torments her fevered mind inflicted on her; he could not help but feel partly responsible for it. As he watched, Alistair and Morrigan extended their hands and a nimbus of energy appeared in their palms: an orb of blue light passed from Alistair's hand into Leliana's chest, causing her shivering form to lie still, while a similar pulse of energy, green in colour, slithered from Morrigan's palm, causing several more of Leliana's injuries to close, though the more serious remained open.

"How is she?" Arthur asked.

"She's stable" Alistair muttered, running a hand across his brow. "But so long as the curse is in her, it's only a matter of time before she succumbs. So, what do we do now?"

"Alistair, gather your supplies and tell Sten to do the same; you're coming with me. We need to find this Witherfang and kill it as quickly as possible, and I think I have a good idea where we can find it. Once she's safe, we can look more closely in Zathrian's duplicity"

"And what purpose do you have in mind for me?" Morrigan asked.

"I need you to stay here and tend to her...and" Arthur added, hating himself for the words but knowing the subject had to be broached "should the worst happen, I need you to...to do what has to be done" he quickly finished, nodding to one of the daggers at Leliana's waist.

Morrigan caught his meaning in an instant "I understand. But" she protested "surely I'll be of greater use to you with you. You're venturing into the unknown; surely some magic would be of more use to you..."

"No" Arthur bluntly answered. "Swords are of more use against these creatures and I have no wish to leave her here defenceless. I don't trust Zathrian: for all his platitudes and reassurances, he's lying through his teeth. Keep your eyes on him and if he tries anything that puts either of you in danger, get out of the camp; we'll meet you in the Grand Oak's clearing"

"And...should the worst happen, make it quick" Arthur commanded. Any acerbic comment Morrigan might have made evaporated at the stern, weary expression on Arthur's face; she simply nodded and pulled one of Leliana's daggers from the tattered remains of her belt. Arthur felt relieved; he knew Morrigan would have no qualms with putting Leliana out of her misery if the curse consumed her, but he wouldn't have the antipathy between the two women drive Morrigan to draw the act out.

Arthur knelt down beside Leliana and placed a hand on her brow, whispering in her ear "I promise, I swear to the Maker I will find a way to save you. I will not let this fate be yours". As he pulled his hand away, Arthur could've sworn he saw the ghost of a smile cross Leliana's lips, as if she'd heard what he'd promised her.

With that, Arthur turned away and joined Sten, Alistair and Edward at the edge of the camp, hefted their weapons and packs, and slipped back into the depths of the Brecilian Forest.

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It had been mid-afternoon by the time they left the camp; when they finally reached the breach in the trees leading to the ruins and the site of the attack, the sun had begun to fade below the tops of the trees. Looking around the clearing, he saw most of the werewolves killed in the attack had regressed into their old forms save one, who still moved on the floor weakly, clutching a deep wound in its side. The group made to pass around the dying beast, but as they did, the creature lunged forward and seized Alistair's ankle. All three of them raised their weapons to finish the beast off, but suddenly, it threw out its hand in a desperate entreaty for them to stop.

"Please, help! Listen! I am not...the mindless beast I appear to be!" the werewolf rasped in a pleading voice that was still recognisable as female.

"You are one of the Dalish who succumbed to the curse?" Arthur questioned.

The werewolf nodded her shaggy head and choked in a weak voice "Yes, scant days ago. So you know what happened to us?" Arthur nodded in reply and the werewolf continued "If you know what became of us, I assume you have been sent after Witherfang?"

"I am. Have you seen it?" Arthur questioned, hoping his suspicions about the ruins ahead would be confirmed.

The werewolf again nodded, but she desperately seized the front of his armour and, in a hoarse whisper "I have, but you must listen: it is not what you think. But there is no time to explain; I am dying; if not of my wounds, then I will perish of the curse. I will tell you what I can of what you will face inside the ruins, but I ask a boon in return"

"Then tell me what you know"

"You will find Witherfang in the deepest recesses of the ruins, but the werewolves will think you mean to kill them all. They will fight you every step of the way...they are no longer mindless animals. They have overcome the curse...and they will protect Witherfang to the very end. That...is all I can tell you, shemlen..." she finished, her voice fading away to a ragged croak.

"What boon do you ask in return?"

In answer, the werewolf reached out and placed something soft into his gauntleted hand; looking down, he saw the werewolf had given him what looked to be a scarf of red silk, tattered and frayed, but still recognisable. "Give that to my husband; he is at our camp, his name is Athras. Give him my love, and tell him I am at peace"

Arthur remembered Athras: a solemn, quiet elf consumed with worry about his beloved Danyla. _'So this is Danyla'_ Arthur thought, remembering Athras's fear that his wife, injured in the ambush, had succumbed to the curse. The thought brought the reason they were there, and he turned back to the werewolf "Surely you can hold on? We can take you back to your clan, heal your wounds and keep you alive until the curse is broken...". But the werewolf shook her head.

"No, I will die before you can break the curse: my wounds are too severe. I beg you, give me a quick end; put me out of my misery. I have the right to choose my death, human; I would rather die the woman I am, than the monster I have become"

"As you wish" Arthur sadly intoned, pulling a dagger from his belt. '_Everyone has the right to choose their own death' _he thought, and then suppressed it as the memory of that blood-soaked larder in Highever came to him; he couldn't allow more guilt to distract him. Helping Danyla to her feet, Arthur drove the dagger into the werewolf's armpit, between the ribs and into the heart. She gasped once as the blade bit into her flesh, and pulled herself close to him, her body shifting from a thick, muscle bound, fur-covered bulk to a slim, slender female elf, pale-skinned and weak from exhaustion. The elf looked up at him, and Arthur was surprised to see the relief in her eyes; the indescribable happiness at finally being freed of her torment.

"Gods...bless you" Danyla whispered, a smile of blissful joy on her lips as she slipped peacefully into oblivion. When he felt her go limp, Arthur pulled the blade free and gently lowered Danyla's body to the floor. '_May your gods protect you_, _lethallan_' Arthur thought to himself, trying not to imagine the same expression on Leliana's face as he did the same for her.

Out of respect for the slain, Arthur and the others dragged the bodies of Danyla and her Dalish kin to one side, covering them under leaf litter and foliage to protect them from the attentions of the scavengers. '_When this is done, I will bring the clan to their fallen, so they can perform the rites for their dead'_ Arthur thought, as he returned to the path and continued towards the ruins. As soon as they reached the great ruined courtyard of the building, somewhat overgrown by the surrounding forest, he saw three werewolves standing guard outside a great stone gatehouse; as soon as they entered the courtyard, one of the beasts had spotted them and snarled a warning "We are invaded! Fall back to the ruins! Protect the Lady!"

'_Lady?'_ Arthur wondered for a second, before practicality took over; if they didn't catch up with those beasts soon, they'd rouse every living thing in the ruin, and the Wardens would have to fight their way through everything in there to get to their objective.

'_Into the belly of the beast' _Arthur thought to himself as the group followed the fleeing werewolves into the towering edifice.

#########################

"I think there's something ahead. Something _big_"

Alistair's warning rang true with Arthur as they continued down the staircase. Having pursued the werewolves from outside into the ruins, they had raced into a large circular entrance hall of Tevinter architecture, crumbling and eroded by the elements, the walls and columns marked by clumps of moss and lichen and bound with creepers of ivy, but the impressiveness of the ruins was somewhat diminished by the sight of one thing; the copper-furred form of Swiftrunner in the centre of the hall, directing the retreating guards down a passage to the right.

Arthur vaguely remembered himself bellowing a challenge at the werewolf, determined to carve some justice for Leliana from Swiftrunner's hide, but the werewolf had simply barked a command at two of his lupine underlings and fled down the passage. The two werewolves had charged headlong at them, but Sten had been ready and waiting for them; he ducked under the swipe of the first werewolf's claws and slashed his greatsword through its midsection, all but cleaving the beast in two. The second beast leapt at him, but Sten dropped to one knee, holding his sword out like a spear; the werewolf skewered itself on the blade and fell in a mangled heap, the greatsword buried halfway along its length in the beast's chest. Sten pulled the blade free and the three warriors charged into the corridor, the mabari on their heels.

Unfortunately, they soon discovered that the attack had never been meant to succeed, only delay them. Swiftrunner and his ilk had fled down a corridor sloping down to a heavy wooden door that defied all effort to open or break it down. All three men slammed booted feet into the door, and Arthur had even charged the door with his shoulder, but to no effect except to bruise his shoulder.

"Maker dammit!" Arthur had cursed. The werewolves had barricaded the door from the other side, which suggested to Arthur their objective was just out of reach. In his frustration, he drew his blade and made to hack his way through the wood, but a firm hand had grasped his shoulder. He looked round to see Alistair holding him back, a soft smile on his mouth.

"There will be other ways to the lower levels, Arthur. Look at it this way: with the door blocked, all they've done is trap themselves inside" Alistair offered, but Arthur shrugged him off and made to start chopping, but the hand seized his wrist more firmly. Arthur whirled round to see Alistair looking him in the eye, his expression understanding but his voice firm.

"I'm worried about Leliana too, Arthur, but acting irrationally is not going to help her. You are not to blame for what happened, but if you don't start thinking with your head and not your sword, it will only make things worse".

Arthur shook his head to clear it of the berserker in his system. Alistair was right: actions made in haste here, where so much depended on their success, could prove disastrous. Nodding, Arthur had sheathed his sword and turned away from the door. "Alright" he said to Alistair "Let's try it your way". To himself, he muttered "Why you let me lead is beyond me..."

And so, they had proceeded through corridors and tunnels, and more enemies had emerged from the ceilings, chambers around them or from the very ground. Always, it was one of two enemies: either giant spiders, not as large as the monstrous arachnid Morrigan had transformed into, but bigger than Edward, their fangs dripping with poison as they dropped from the ceiling to attack, or skeleton warriors rising from the places where they had fallen years, maybe centuries ago, disturbed by the presence of the living. These creatures had tried to attack, but the Wardens and their companions smashed their way through these attacks, carving such beasts down with ease, but as they had reached the end of the corridors, and come to the top of a staircase leading down, they had heard it; a deep, rasping snarl that had come from somewhere above them.

"Draw your weapons, and be careful" Arthur ordered as they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped through an arched doorway into a great colonnaded hall that stretched for many metres: immense columns rose to the ceiling, which was still relatively intact save for a gaping hole where part of the roof had collapsed in, through which the chamber was illuminated by the light of a gibbous full moon rising in the darkening night sky. The light illuminated piles of gold and objects of fine make...as well as a number of tarnished, armour-clad corpses lying where they had fallen.

Suddenly, the loud growl they had heard before sounded again and Arthur heard another sound accompanying it, one he'd heard before in his taint-fuelled dreams and recognised instantly: the beating of wings.

"Atashi!" Sten roared, with an expression of what looked suspiciously like delight. "This will be a worthy battle!"

"Atashi?" Alistair questioned, but the answer was provided as with an almighty roar, a huge shape swept into the chamber through the gaping hole in the hall's ceiling, descending with the loud beating of leathery wings. Arthur saw the silhouette briefly cast against the wall by the moonlight streaming in from the hole in the ceiling and felt his blood run cold.

"DRAGON!" Arthur roared as the dark shape gliding above their heads landed in front of them with an almighty crash. The dragon was an impressive sight; a large, muscular body the size of a bear, protected by a hide of emerald-green scales as thick as chainmail. A horned reptilian head swayed snake-like on a long, serpentine neck rippling with muscle, fixing them with the glare of beady, slit-pupilled yellow eyes, as a long tail tipped with an arrowhead-shaped barb flicked cat-like from side to side. Huge wings, each one as wide as Arthur's outstretched arms, fluttered idly, ready to carry the dragon back into the air, or to lash and hit out at its prey. It was one of the most magnificent creatures Arthur had set eyes upon, but as those fanged jaws opened and bellowed a deafening roar, Arthur raised his weapon, as did the others.

'_Appreciate its beauty after you kill it!'_ his mind yelled at him. The dragon pulled its head back as if to roar, but Arthur saw the tendrils of smoke emerging from the beast's nostrils and in a heartbeat, knew what was about to happen.

"Look out!" Arthur bellowed, but there was no need: they had all seen the danger signs. The four of them all ducked for cover as the dragon opened its jaws and a torrent of flame erupted from its gaping maw. Arthur and Alistair ducked behind the cover of their shields, the fire heating the metal, but leaving the wielders unharmed, while Sten seized Edward by his collar and dragged the dog, along with himself, behind the protection of a fallen pillar. The fiery blast diminished as the dragon sensed such a weapon wasn't going to be enough and began to advance on the two Wardens. Alistair loosed a bolt from his crossbow at the advancing monster but it simply bounced off the dragon's hide. There was a chilling howl and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Edward slam into the dragon's left side, his claws raking thin furrows in its hide. The dragon howled in fury and turned its attention on the dog; Alistair and Arthur took advantage of its distraction, loosing arrows and crossbow bolts at the monster, peppering the more vulnerable parts of its body-the head, neck, underbelly and wings. Most bounced harmlessly off, but some found homes in the dragon's flesh. The monster snarled in irritation at these, but Arthur knew such would not be enough to slay it.

The monster's growls intensified as Edward continued to harass the beast with bites and scratches to its sides and limbs and it lunged, striking at the mabari. But its lunge went wide; Edward leapt back from the dragon's strike and then sprung into the air, latching onto one of the wattled crests on the side of the dragon's skull. The monster roared in rage and started slamming itself and the dog into the walls of the chamber, trying to shake him off, but Edward only clung on harder. The dragon's shrieks only intensified, and it tossed its head back with incredible speed and force, finally shaking Edward off, the mabari losing his grip...and tearing off the wattled crest as he was shook off. The dragon let out an ear-splitting wail of agony, pawing at the bleeding side of its head, too distracted to notice the armour-clad figure charging forward to take advantage of its distraction.

"Victory to the Qun!" Sten roared, and charged the dragon, slashing his sword along the dragon's right flank as it remained distracted by the mabari-inflicted wound. The dragon swung its head round and attacked, its head lunging forward like a striking serpent to snap at the qunari, but Sten deftly leapt aside and stabbed out with his greatsword, driving his sword through the membrane of the right wing. Grounded, the dragon gave a keening wail and lashed out with the injured wing, smashing Sten off his feet. Before the qunari could recover, the dragon was on him, pinning him under its bulk with a clawed foot pressed down on his chest. The dragon's gaping maw descended but Sten managed to seize the jaws before they could close. His considerable strength kept the dragon's fangs at bay for the moment, but Arthur knew unless the odds were turned in the qunari's favour, Sten wouldn't last long.

"HEY!" Arthur yelled, desperate to attract the creature's attention before it crushed Sten's skull between its jaws. The dragon's head swung round and Arthur reacted instantly, hurling the glass bottle he'd pulled from his belt straight at the dragon's face. The dragon wailed in pain as the glass broke, dousing its head in the flask's acidic contents; the monster released its grip on Sten, trying to wipe the acid away from its mouth and eyes, and the qunari began to crawl free. Desperate to help Sten escape, Arthur slammed the Shield of Highever into the dragon's side, and the monster staggered back, allowing Sten to get out from under it. Seizing his sword from where it had fallen and leaping back to his feet, Sten and Arthur broke into a charge, trying to take advantage of the monster's distraction.

As the monster shook the last remnants of the acid flask from its face, now bearing deep burns along its snout and brow, a bolt whirred through the air and struck the dragon in its right eye, drawing another scream as Alistair's well-placed shot blinded it. Drawing his blade Oathkeeper, Alistair charged the distracted reptile from the left and slashed his blade across the back of the dragon's left foreleg, hamstringing it, while simultaneously Sten roared a qunari battle cry and smashed his sword into the dragon's right foreleg, all but cutting the leg clean off. Unbalanced, the dragon stumbled forward, its outstretched wings smacking Sten in the face and sending him staggering, and it collapsed in a ungainly heap directly in front of Arthur.

The dragon tried to pull itself back to its feet, but Arthur raced forward and, raising the Cousland sword above his head, brought the blade stabbing down through the dragon's skull and into its brain. The dragon let out a deafening shriek of agony as the blade was driven home, one that swiftly petered out into a gurgling death rattle as the mortal wound took effect. The dragon's wings fluttered weakly as Arthur pulled his sword free of its skull, spurting blood, bone and brain, the tail thrashing from side to side as its strength ebbed away. Its limbs slowly but inevitably ceased their tremors, and the eyes grew blank and unseeing, rolling up in their sockets, before it sank to the floor and was still.

Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, unable to believe their victory. Alistair gave a soft chuckle and removed his helm to run a hand through his hair, wiping sweat from his brow. Arthur's mind was churning with thought: '_Was this intentional?_'. The werewolves must have known the dragon made its lair here; had they blocked the entrance with the intention of driving the group here, in the hope the dragon would save the lycanthropes the task of killing them?

'_Who knows what other traps lie in wait here?'_ Arthur turned to see Sten struggling to get to his feet. Arthur held out a hand to the qunari, who took it uncertainly, allowing Arthur to pull him to his feet, even though the qunari would have previously brooked no such gesture.

"In Par Vollen, the Antaam might have you flogged for such a foolhardy action"

"Fair enough; next time you're in mortal danger, I'll let you get killed"

"I did not say I was ungrateful, Warden; I was simply remarking on the fact that you were lucky there were no repercussions for drawing the beast's attention, as there were...before". Arthur crushed a moment's pause at the thought as he noticed the qunari was staring at him with great scrutiny. "Still, the fact that you intervened is more than I would have expected of you. There has been much about you that I did not expect to see in your kind. How...curious"

Further discussion of what the qunari found curious was interrupted by a call from Alistair, who was over by Edward, tending to the mabari where he had landed after the dragon tossed him off. The dog looked a bit unsteady on his feet, but Edward barked happily as he saw the dragon lay dead and bounded over as he saw his master approaching. Arthur ran his armoured fingers through Edward's fur, checking for any sign of major injury by the impact, but he could see no sign of any major injury on the surface, nor could feel anything too severe within the flesh, though even if there were, there would have been little he could do.

After quickly helping themselves to the treasure the dragon had hoarded in its time-a large quantity of gold sovereigns and silver coins, several gemstones of fine quality and a longbow, made of a strange, fine wood and marked with the symbol of the Dalish god of death- and treating any injuries acquired in the battle-fortunately, the Dalish had given them a good number of poultices, bandages and other medical supplies- before heading through the hall and coming to the opening of a tunnel leading down into the earth. It looked as though it had been excavated long before the dragon had taken up residence, and though several large gouges had been made around the mouth of the tunnel, it seemed the beast hadn't managed to force its way further underground. Emanating from the tunnel, he caught a waft of strange scents: a dry, animal musk, combined with an overpowering stench of decay. Further in the tunnels lay something that had been dead a very long time.

And yet, there was no way now but onward. Nowhere to go but further into the tunnels and hope there was a way that led to the lair of Witherfang, even knowing that more danger awaited below.

"Looks like we're going down deeper" Arthur muttered as the companions stepped into the tunnel, heading deeper into the bowels of the earth.

###################

Morrigan released another pulse of healing energy into Leliana's weakened form, feeling the girl's tremors ease as the magic eased her pain. A few more of the smaller wounds closed and the bleeding of the major injuries eased again, though the more serious refused to close, including the ragged bite wound at her neck. Even if Arthur and the others succeeded in their foolish endeavour and found a means to cure this curse, the woman was going to have quite a number of scars to remind her of this. Morrigan also feared that some of the wounds might begin to fester...

'_Listen to me!'_ she chided herself. '_Fussing like an over-glorified nursemaid over this Chantry wench when there are so much better things I could do!'_. Once more, she silently cursed Arthur for leaving her in this derelict ruin, alone in a camp full of hostile elves led by a suspicious, untrustworthy deviant, tasked with watching over a limp wallflower whose sole achievement had been to nearly get herself killed and who at any moment could turn into a rabid beast that would rip them all apart in seconds, while those Wardens chased down a needle in the haystack for reasons that Morrigan suspected had little to do with the Blight. She could see the seeds of infatuation taking root behind the Warden's eyes, even if he didn't know it, and knew it was more likely an attempt at chivalry on Arthur's part that had sent them after Witherfang, rather than for their duties as Grey Wardens. Not for the first time, she was relieved that neither of those idiot males were trying any foolish notions of seeking her affections; Flemeth had schooled her well in the desires and lusts of men. But even so, Morrigan couldn't allow her disdain for this task to give the Wardens cause to drive her off; she knew Alistair would happily cast her aside, but Arthur...she suspected that he was less critical of her, and if she could earn his gratitude from this ridiculous endeavour, it would likely secure her place at his side and make achieving her own purpose much easier.

Leliana wasn't the only one who had a reason behind her desire to accompany the Grey Wardens.

Not for the first time, she remembered Flemeth's command, whispered into her mind as they departed her hut in the Wilds. _"We need the Wardens, Morrigan. They must reach the archdemon and you must ensure they do. You know what you must do; succeed and you and I will have access to a source of power greater than anything you can imagine. It can be ours for the taking: are you capable of accomplishing the task?"_

'_I'll show you I'm _capable_ of!'_ Morrigan remembered her reply, irked by the sneer in Flemeth's tone that clearly indicated she doubted it. Morrigan had sworn to herself that she would prove herself equal to the task; she would succeed, she would seize that power and make it her own, and fate help Flemeth, the Circle of Magi, the Chantry and anyone else who got in her way.

But first, the Wardens would have to get within striking distance of the archdemon, and she would ensure they did. If she had to perform this ridiculous task to earn the good graces of Cousland, she would do so and keep her mouth shut, do the task and take advantage of the Warden's gratitude to secure her place until they reached the chance to confront the archdemon...

"Je suis innocent! Je ne suis pas un traître!" [_I am innocent! I am not a traitor!_]

The girl's murmurs caught Morrigan's attention and she turned back to face the unconscious Leliana, wondering if there was any information that could be gleaned from her ramblings; she was not above using secrets for her own ends; after all, Leliana had Arthur's ear, and if she could learn something of the girl that could help _encourage_ Leliana to persuade him of Morrigan's usefulness, she wouldn't hesitate. But to her disappointment, Leliana said no more, simply tossing and turning but saying no more. And then Morrigan noticed the silence.

Looking up, she saw that she and Leliana were alone-Zathrian had refused to allow two shems, particularly one who was infected, to put his people at risk and had insisted Morrigan tend to Leliana at the edge of the camp- and she could not see the Dalish camp, because a thick mist had descended all around them, obscuring any signs of life or movement, and just as when they had entered the Brecilian Forest, the sounds of the forest- the noise of the animals grazing or hunting, birds or insects in the trees- were gone. The forest was once more silent as the grave.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, Morrigan felt something long and thick brush against her left leg: looking down, she saw what she thought was a serpent, but then realised was a long vine moving of its own accord. '_Magic'_ she thought, which quickly became certainty as the vine began to slither up her leg. She tried to shake it off, but the vine only tightened its grip around her ankle. More seized her right ankle, trying to pull her down, as more lashed at her wrists, trying to wrench her staff from her grasp. Morrigan gave a shriek of rage and blasted the vines with magical fire, causing the ensorcelled plants to recoil, but Morrigan saw they had found a new victim; other vines were slithering up the side of the pallet bed on which Leliana lay, constricting her arms and legs like pythons and moving up to try and bind her head and mouth.

Morrigan staggered towards Leliana, trying to cast off the vines coiled like ropes around her legs and scour off those binding Leliana; Morrigan didn't know what was going on, but she knew Arthur would never trust her if Leliana came to harm while in her care. For a moment, Morrigan wondered why the Dalish weren't coming to their aid, but she realised with their distance from the camp and the mist, they probably didn't know what was happening. _'Or worse'_ she thought '_they've been ordered not to interfere...'_

As she tried to fight her way to Leliana and fend off the binding vines, she felt a blast of power strike her in the back and she toppled, feeling weak and drowsy. Morrigan tried to call upon her magic, but she couldn't muster the strength to cast a spell. Vaguely, she felt the vines binding her ankles and her wrists behind her back, slithering between her teeth to gag her and saw two shadows looming over her and Leliana, the Orlesian all but mummified by the vines binding her. One belonged to an immense, hulking brute, while the other tall and thin. The second figure touched Leliana on the brow, and Morrigan felt another pulse of magic, dispelling the curse, before the imposing figure turned its gaze on her prone, bound form and pointed a crooked finger at her.

"Sleep" she heard that haughty, sneering voice hiss, and Morrigan recognised it. '_Zathrian! What the hell are you playing at, elf?_'. But then Zathrian's magic overcame her; Morrigan's eyelids closed and she knew no more.

Zathrian turned to the sylvan that accompanied him and gestured to the two unconscious, bound and gagged shemlen women and the wooden creature seized both of them in its clawed hands and followed him as they moved in the direction of the ancient Tevinter ruins. Zathrian smiled to himself: he knew how easy male shemlen were to convince when their females were in jeopardy. The old elf felt no remorse over the fact he might have to threaten his ally; he had sworn long ago that he would keep justice for his people and his family and he was not going to let _her_ and one upstart shem change that.

###################

"STOP! Brothers and sisters, be at ease!"

It had taken the Wardens three hours to fight their way to this lower level; three hours of traversing tunnels and catacombs overrun by the living dead, of fighting skeletons and shades that rose from the grave, roused by the presence of the living to attack, desperate to feed on the life force they no longer possessed.

Having fought their way through the labyrinthine tomb passages of the ruin, they had waded through a half-flooded tunnel at the end of the tombs, into an almost pitch-black chamber that stank of fur and animal dung; clearly a lair. Once inside, they'd been attacked again by werewolves, strange creatures who had emerged from the very shadows. What had followed had been a battle of terrifying intensity, trying to identify the foe as they kept shifting back and forth from the shadows. Arthur had nearly been pinned to the floor by one of the creatures, but before the beast could tear his throat out, the blade of a greatsword had speared through its back and out of its chest, Sten heaving the mortally wounded brute aside. Arthur leapt back to his feet, and then returned the favour as a second werewolf slammed into Sten, hacking the creature's head off as it wrestled the qunari to the floor, trying to expose his throat. With their ambush thwarted, the remaining werewolves had fled back into the depths of their lair. Arthur had once again helped Sten to his feet, and been treated to another round of the qunari staring at him quizzically and murmuring "Curious..." to him and behind his back every time Sten looked at him.

The only good thing that had happened to them in this rat's nest of tunnels and passages was that they had acquired the remaining pieces of the mythical Juggernaut armour; a pair of fine silverite boots and a magnificent breastplate and fauld, all gleaming, forged by a master blacksmith and inscribed expertly with Tevinter runes. Arthur placed the pieces in his pack with the others-he did not have the strength to wear full plate just yet- but given time and a few more battles, he would be capable of enduring the weight of the armour to make use of its protection.

After surviving the ambush, they had raced down a small flight of stairs in pursuit of the shadow wolves, coming into an atrium that branched off in three different directions; more tombs to the left and right and another heavy door directly ahead of them, but all other thoughts had been driven out of his mind by the sight of a trio of werewolves blocking their way. The second Arthur had sighted the enemy, he had begun to charge forward, fully intending to kill, but the grey-furred brute at the front of the group had raised a hand in peace, an action unexpected enough to cause Arthur to stop, bringing both sides to the impasse they now found themselves at.

The werewolf who had spoken gestured to Arthur and spoke in a calm, clear voice "We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask this of you, outsider: are you willing to parley?"

"Parley?" Arthur sneered, the sarcasm in his voice clear. "As you parleyed with the Dalish? Like you parleyed with me outside this tomb?". The other werewolves snarled at this, but the one who had spoken silenced them with a soft growl and turned back to Arthur.

"_That_...was different" the werewolf replied curtly. "The Lady believes the Dalish have not told you everything, so she has asked that you be brought to her".

'_Lady?'_ Arthur wondered at the identity of this new player in this strange drama. Zathrian had mentioned no such thing, and this only increased Arthur's unease about the whole situation.

"So why doesn't this Lady come and speak to me herself?" Arthur asked. The werewolf sputtered incredulously at the very notion and hissed "We would not let her: we will defend the Lady to our last breath. It may yet come to pass that you will kill us all anyway, but until then, we will not chance her coming to harm"

"And how do we know we're not simply walking into another ambush?" This time, it was Alistair who asked.

"What would be the point? You have already proven your strength: we have no wish to anger you further!" the werewolf snapped in reply. Arthur had to agree; surviving wandering into a dragon's lair and a labyrinth of tunnels overrun by the living dead were a good sign they were not to be underestimated. _'But still, surely we had proven that when we reached the ruins? So why do the werewolves only now wish to speak?'_

"If you were so willing to talk to me, why are you only doing so now?"

"Swiftrunner did not think it would matter. The Lady disagrees, and since you have forced your way this far, we must acquiesce to her wishes"

"Is this 'Lady' Witherfang?" Arthur asked. He had been under the impression that Witherfang was the leader of the werewolves; if both were the same thing, it might make the task

"She is not Witherfang, but she can tell you of Witherfang, if you ask it of her. But first you must agree to parley" the werewolf demanded.

Arthur's first instinct was that this was a trap: after so many recent betrayals, he was more than willing to consider the potential that the wolf-men were simply just trying to lure them to a place where killing them would be easier. A distant voice at the back of his mind chided him for being paranoid, but as he was starting to reason _'Better a touch paranoid than ending up face down in a ditch'_. Still, if the creatures were willing to consider talking instead of simply fighting, then surely there couldn't be that many more left. They could easily dispatch the last of the creatures, and then deal with this 'Lady' and Witherfang, ending the curse, saving Leliana and acquiring the aid of the Dalish against the Blight...

'_You are_ better _than this'_.

Leliana's voice came to him unbidden, reminding him of that moment in Lothering, where she had directed him away from starting down a path to a darker place, to do what seemed harder, but was ultimately right. Certainly, they could kill every last one of the werewolves, destroy Witherfang and resolve the curse in battle, but should they? There had been enough bloodshed already: if there was a way to avoid further conflict, to resolve the matter peacefully, surely they should be willing to take it?

Looking round, he saw the same opinion in the eyes of Alistair; he knew the former templar disapproved of needless bloodshed. The question was Sten; would the qunari view treating with lycanthropes as madness? But when he turned his gaze on the qunari, he was surprised to gain an approving nod from Sten.

"If they wish to negotiate, there is no dishonour in hearing their terms, Warden. There are more ways to win a war than on the battlefield" Sten replied. Arthur nodded in agreement and turned his attention back to the werewolf.

"Very well, I accede to your request. Take us to this Lady".

The werewolf gave a soft smile, baring its jagged fangs, a sight that didn't reassure Arthur, and gestured for them to come with it. "Follow me, but" it snapped, its gaze hardening as it pointed a clawed finger warningly at Arthur "if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay!"

With that, the werewolf opened the door directly ahead and led them down another flight of stairs through an arched doorway, into a great rotunda. As they stepped inside, Arthur caught a strong animal reek, and he realised that this was surely where the werewolves made their lair.

Looking round the rotunda, he could see the walls were covered with vines and creepers, the high vaulted ceiling encrusted with moss and lichens and at the very rear of the chamber, a gargantuan, ancient oak tree rose to the roof, its branches reaching out through a gaping hole in the domed ceiling through which the moonlight above poured in. Several smaller saplings reached to the heavens, their roots ensconced in the earthen mounds rising from great rents in the chamber's floor. Scattered around the chamber floor were crude mounds of leaves, branches and feathers; makeshift beds upon which the werewolves rested.

Within the spherical chamber stood a full score of werewolves, all warily glaring at them with feral, red-rimmed eyes, fear and suspicion obvious in their stares. Several of the werewolves roared challengingly as the group strode across the chamber behind the herald and Arthur, regaining his suspicion that this was a trap, restrained the urge to draw his sword. They were heavily outnumbered, and in as tense a situation as this, a stalemate could easily become a massacre in the blink of an eye; a fight here and now was not one they could win. Looking behind him briefly, he could see Alistair looked uneasy, but resolute, his hand also close to his sword's hilt for any sign of trouble. Edward answered the snarls of the werewolves with a growl of his own and if Sten felt any trepidation at their situation, Arthur saw no sign of it on the qunari's face.

Ahead, a crumbling dais rose, atop which stood Swiftrunner and a number of other werewolves, likely leaders of the pack, who all roared menacingly as Arthur and the others approached. Looking closely however, Arthur could see no sign that identified any of them as female; no sign that any one of the creatures was this 'Lady' who wished to see them. At the rear of the dais, which rested at the foot of the great tree, Arthur saw the trunk and roots had been garlanded with flowers, pieces of jewellery and clothing, bones and rocks, among a number of other curios and trinkets. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd have said it was a shrine, as though the werewolves were making offerings to something. _'But what?_'.

A shimmering mist emitted from the gargantuan tree at the rear of the chamber, slithering along the floor to a point beside Swiftrunner, rising and twisting into an almost humanoid shape. There was a sudden burst of light and when it was gone, Arthur saw the mist had coalesced into the form of a female figure. She was human in appearance, but as devoid of clothing as the werewolves: her ample breasts were hidden behind long tresses of ebony hair that fell almost to her waist and her womanhood covered by a loincloth formed from what appeared to be vines. Her skin, however, was the green of pine needles in hue, and her hands and feet looked as though they had been formed from branches and roots. But most unsettling were her eyes; insect-like orbs of pure jet, devoid of iris and pupil, and brimming with power and mystery, only adding to the ethereal air this _being_ projected. As they watched, the werewolves all around the chamber went down on one knee, like courtiers bowing before a queen.

As they approached the dais upon which the woman and her lupine acolytes stood, the woman curtsied at the group and spoke in a rich, melodious voice "I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest"

"Really?" Alistair asked, eyeing the female figure appraisingly, and gesturing at their surroundings. "Considering where we are, I'd have thought the Lady of the Ruins would be a more accurate title" he glibly joked, but anything else he might have said was drowned out by an outraged roar from Swiftrunner, who bounded across the dais and bellowed at Alistair in a voice thick with barely-controlled rage.

"You will not address the Lady in such a manner!"

"Or you'll do what?" Arthur snapped. "Strike without warning when his back is turned? Disrespect another attempt at parley like you did outside?"

"You are the intruder in our home! You came here to kill! We were simply defending ourselves!"

"You attacked us when we were simply trying to resolve matters between you and the Dalish! You attacked us without provocation, and infected a woman innocent of your quarrel with Zathrian! But if you think I'm here to kill, then maybe I'll make a start with you!" Arthur yelled, drawing the sword and levelling it at the werewolf. Swiftrunner roared in reply and extended his claws, but as both man and wolf-man began to advance on each other, both felt a strong hands press against their chests. Looking down, Arthur and Swiftrunner saw the Lady stood between them, and though both of them dwarfed her, she pushed them apart with inexorable strength.

"Stop!" the Lady commanded, interposing herself between Arthur and Swiftrunner. "I will _not_ have violence in this place!"

Swiftrunner gave a frustrated growl and pointed a yellowed claw at the drawn blade in Arthur's hand. "You see? You cannot trust him, Lady! He will betray you! We must kill him now!"

Before Arthur could roar a challenge that the werewolf was welcome to try, the Lady fixed Swiftrunner with a stern gaze and calmly but curtly said "Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has only hastened the deaths of those you've been trying to save. Is that what you want?"

The werewolf took a step back, as though mortified by the accusation. "No, my lady. _Anything_ but that".

The woman's expression softened, and she ran her branch-like fingers through the fur on the nape of the werewolf's neck. "Then the time has come to set our rage aside, to speak with these outsiders". Turning the gaze of those inscrutable, alien eyes back on Arthur, the Lady inclined her head and said "I apologise on Swiftrunner's behalf, mortal. He...struggles with his nature"

"As do we all, Lady" Arthur replied, trying to restrain his rage. Considering that the situation hung on a knife edge, a bit of courtesy couldn't hurt. In any case, he had agreed to the parley; he wouldn't let his anger drive him to disrespect it, there was too much at stake.

The Lady gave an understanding smile at this, gesturing to Arthur as though she could sense the anger in him diminishing in the face of weariness and curiosity. "Truer words were never spoken, human; I can sense you know what it is like to experience the darkness within you, to fear what would happen if you let it hold sway. But even so, you cannot claim the same as these creatures, whose very nature is a curse forced upon them. But I did not bring you here to discuss the nature of my companions. No doubt you have questions. There are things that Zathrian has not told you".

"I suspect that Zathrian has his secrets about all this, but how do you know what he has or hasn't told me?"

"Because there are things he and I both know about this situation that he will _never_ tell you. Things you must decide for yourself if you need to know them or not". The Lady paused briefly and then continued "It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer. The same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer..."

And so the Lady and Swiftrunner told the tale; another example of the never-ending conflict between humans and elves. The tale of how human suspicion and fear had cost Zathrian so much. How human tribesmen, in their desperation to drive the Dalish off because they feared what they didn't understand, committed appalling atrocities against the Keeper's family: a son tortured and murdered, a daughter raped, left for dead and driven to suicide by the horrors of her ordeal. Arthur felt a great swell of pity for Zathrian-he despised wanton cruelty being inflicted upon the elves purely for the sake of it- but as the Lady continued the tale, that empathy evaporated as Arthur realised the revenge Zathrian had taken on the ones responsible was just as terrible as the crimes he wished to avenge: how Zathrian summoned the monster Witherfang into existence, turned its blood-thirsty fury on the humans, condemning those not killed by the beast to an eternity as mindless animals.

"Deceit is the nature of man" Sten muttered in disgust as the full story of Zathrian's deception concluded. The Lady and Swiftrunner pressed on with their tale, explaining how she had come to those afflicted by the curse, soothed their feral rage and unthinking ferocity, and allowed them to regain a portion of their humanity. _'An intriguing story, but what does it have to do with me_?' Arthur wondered.

"If you have overcome the curse, then why did you attack the Dalish? What purpose did it serve? Revenge?" he asked.

"In part" the Lady replied with an enigmatic smile, before her tone became more businesslike "But there was greater reason behind our actions than petty vengeance. We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, I freely admit that, but they were committed centuries ago, and those responsible no longer live to answer for their crimes. We sent word to Zathrian every time the land-ships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always denied us". At this, her face hardened and her tone became blunt, tinged with anger. "We will _no longer_ be denied"

"We spread the curse to his people, so he must end the curse to save them!" Swiftrunner rasped.

"You also afflict those who have no part in your quarrel with the Dalish" Arthur snapped. Swiftrunner snarled at this, but the Lady raised a placating hand and turned her gaze on Arthur.

"Your companion's affliction was...an unfortunate necessity" she admitted. "The watch wolves told me you had come to acquire Zathrian's aid for your own purposes. You are a neutral party: you have no part in our quarrel, so why would you care of such things? I feared you would accede to Zathrian's request to destroy us whether or not you knew the truth of matters, so I took...precautions"

"Precautions?" Arthur snarled, feeling the anger rising.

"I believed that you would be more willing to listen to what we have to say if you experienced the curse for yourself. I...agreed to Swiftrunner's tactic in the hope it would convince you not to simply slaughter us like the rabid dogs Zathrian would have you think of us as"

"You infected Leliana just to stop me from killing you? If you had wanted that, you could have simply shown yourself sooner. That way, she would have been unharmed and many more of your people would still be alive!" Arthur retorted angrily. The Lady looked somewhat chastened, but she pressed on, as though desperate to get the matter out of the way.

"I had no way of knowing how you would react if I revealed myself, mortal. I feared you might believe whatever Zathrian would tell you of me-that I was some monster to be destroyed without mercy or forethought. I...agreed to the attack in the hope that your desire to find a cure for the curse, and Zathrian's reticence to provide you with sufficient, would convince you to stay your blade long enough to hear me out".

"If she has died because of your machinations, Lady, you may be proved wrong..." Arthur warned. The werewolves growled at this, but the Lady raised a hand to hold them back, keeping her gaze fixed on Arthur, her voice sympathetic but resolute.

"I apologise for what happened, mortal, but it is done. Have no fear: I can sense your friend through the curse. Though she is greatly weakened by the curse, she still lives. But if you help me, you will not only save her, but a great many more, condemned and damned for a crime in which they played no part! Will you not help me correct a great injustice?"

Arthur felt a great surge of anger at the reason behind Leliana's infection, but a part of him could understand the fear; considering what they knew of Zathrian, he was not surprised the werewolves believed he would kill them all: as part of Arthur's mind reasoned, had he known of Howe's intent, would he not have done whatever he could to protect his own kin? Regardless of what the Lady thought, Arthur had no intention of attacking now: her words had only served to further his dubiousness of Zathrian's trustworthiness, and even if the situation were one he believed could be won in battle, Arthur remembered the last person to disrespect the hospitality and grace of their host._ 'I will not lower myself to the level of Rendon Howe by acting as he did'_. And likewise, he could just imagine the Chantry sister's argument in this situation: Leliana would want them to help the less fortunate, to protect the innocent, to do what was right...and Arthur could not deny Zathrian's brutal justice was too severe, far too cruel.

"What do you want from me?" he sighed, resigned to the task.

The Lady locked her gaze with his, those alien black eyes boring into him, and spoke in a pleading tone "Please mortal, you must go to him. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight, surely he will agree to end the curse"

"I have spoken with Zathrian, and personally, I feel he will brook no other solution than curing his own people. It was hard enough to convince him to let Leliana back into the camp; I think he wishes to cure his people and leave it at that" Arthur sadly replied.

Swiftrunner nodded in agreement. "Zathrian despises us! He will never break the curse, Lady! He will never allow it, you know this!". The Lady, however, looked stricken at such a thought, but even so, her voice sounded uncertain as she countered "We, we can't know that, Swiftrunner. Surely his rage doesn't run so deep he would endanger his own clan?"

"Even if hatred has not robbed the elf of reason, creature, what cause would he have to come willingly into the stronghold of his enemies?" Sten questioned. Arthur had to agree: Zathrian had made his antipathy for the werewolves quite clear; it was doubtful any reason they might give would provide the Keeper any reason to come to the ruin.

The Lady gave a smile that said clearly she knew something they didn't. "Because if Zathrian comes, qunari, I will summon Witherfang. I possess that power...just as I possess the power to ensure that the Great Wolf is _never_ found" she finished coldly, her voice possessing a touch of steel as she fixed Arthur with her imposing gaze and continued "Tell Zathrian this, mortal. If he doesn't come, if he does not break the curse, he will never find Witherfang...and he will never cure his people".

"What if...what if there is no way to break the curse?" Arthur whispered, dreading the answer. The Lady, however, gave another enigmatic smile and replied "I believe there is. There must be. If you did not believe the same thing, you would not be here, looking for a chance to save your friend's life".

That decided Arthur: if there was a chance to save Leliana, and one that would provide a resolution to the conflict with no more bloodshed on either side of the conflict, he would take it. It was the sort of thing his father would have approved of. '_The best compromise is often the one that is hardest to reach, but in the end satisfies the most'_ Arthur remembered Bryce once telling him after watching his father finish settling the disputes and cases of his vassals; he was sure Bryce would agree with such a course of action. Arthur didn't know what Zathrian's aversion to ending the curse was, but if needs be, he would drag the elf back to the ruins by the scruff of his neck to get him to end the curse.

"Very well. I will speak to Zathrian as you ask" Arthur replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alistair give an approving nod at the plan. The Lady smiled gratefully and turned to the right, pointing to a door that was all but barricaded by overgrown vines, but as she gestured, the vines recoiled and retreated, leaving the door clear.

"The passage back to the surface has been opened to you. Return with Zathrian as quickly as you can". Arthur nodded and with that, he and his companions took their leave of the Lady of the Forest. Opening the door, Arthur realised that they were at the foot of the staircase they'd pursued Swiftrunner down from the entrance hall, and the door was the one they hadn't been able to open. '_If only we'd known sooner'_ he thought '_so much bloodshed could have been avoided'._

Heading up the staircase, Arthur turned back to the others. "Any ideas how we're going to convince him to come with us?"

Alistair opened his mouth to say something, but anything that might have emerged was lost as they stepped into the entrance hall and a cold, haughty voice sneered from a point to their left "Ah, and so here you are".

Arthur sighed to himself. '_I should have known'_.

"Somehow I thought I would find you here".


	21. Chapter 20: The Breaking of the Curse

_And so we come to the conclusion of my take on '__**Nature of the Beast'**__. Again, I'm sorry for how bloody long it's taken to get this done: the demands of real life are starting to become a bloody nightmare these days._

_As always, thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited or subscribed to my work; it's what gives me the drive to keep going with this. Thank you as always to __**ethan**__ and __**roxfox 1962,**__**InuManKa92, Ygrain333**__ and__** Spectre4hire**__ for your reviews and to __**Matian**__ and __**ShadowHawk **__for adding; it's always great to know your work is enjoyed by many._

_As I post this next chapter, I'm working on another brief interlude that will hopefully be posted by the end of tonight. Keep watching this space!_

_Since I've not said it for a while, everything but my embellishments belongs to David Gaider and Bioware._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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Zathrian emerged from behind a pillar, his hands clasped behind his back and a soft smile on his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone so pleasant and banal anyone might have thought he was commenting on the weather.

"Well, aren't you the intuitive one?"

"It's good to see you made it to the ruins, though it would have been better if you'd shared that information with us..." Arthur finished accusingly. The elf had to have known about what had lain in wait within the ruins, could easily have warned them of the dangers, but instead he'd held his silence, allowed them to waste time in the cavernous depths...time his infected clansmen and Leliana didn't have. The thought of the girl made Arthur wonder how she and Morrigan were. _'I only hope she lasts long enough for us to resolve this matter...'_

If Zathrian was unsettled by the accusation, he gave no sign, save a mere nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "There was no need. I knew you would reach the ruins, and I had no time or inclination to give you a history lesson on matters that had no bearing on your purpose here. Still, there was no way of knowing what would happen when you reached this place, so I decided to come and see for myself".

Arthur scoffed in disbelief. "Spare me. You came because you wanted to make sure I'd gotten the heart".

"True enough" Zathrian admitted with a dark chuckle. "Do you have it?" he added, extending his hand expectantly. Arthur noticed the greedy look that had crept into the elf's eyes and for the first time, was glad he had agreed to hear the Lady out; despite his claims, Arthur could tell the Keeper was acting in his own interests and nothing more.

"There are things we need to discuss before I can tell you that" Arthur began to reply, but Zathrian's expectant look melted into a disappointed glare, and the outstretched hand was withdrawn, curling into a fist.

"No need" Zathrian scowled, his face contorted by anger. "I can sense you do not have it, therefore I can deduce what has happened: that wretched spirit has convinced you to act on her behalf. So tell me, what does she want this time? What, you think you are the first one she has convinced to hound me?" Zathrian sneered at the surprised look on Arthur's face. "_What_ does she want?" he repeated, annunciating every word coldly.

"If you know about her, then what do you think she wants?" Arthur snapped.

"To survive, I suspect. That is the nature of all such creatures; the will to survive" Zathrian sneered, turning away from the group disdainfully. An awkward silence followed for a few moments before Zathrian turned back to face them, an eyebrow raised and an annoyingly smug look on his face. "You do understand that she actually is Witherfang?"

"I...suspected as much" Arthur replied. The deference the werewolves had shown to the Lady, and yet the same respect in their voices when they spoke of Witherfang, as well as the Lady's evasiveness regarding the wolf's location had suggested to Arthur there was more to the matter than he had been told. He didn't know how such a thing was possible, but then, he'd seen things just as strange since becoming a Grey Warden.

If Zathrian was surprised that Arthur had made the deduction, he gave no sign of it, merely continuing in that bland, emotionless tone "She is the spirit of this ancient forest that was summoned and bound within the body of the great wolf. Her nature is that of the forest; beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both; two sides of a single being. The curse came from her, but those afflicted mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast as well as human".

"The curse was your creation first, elf" Sten said in a curt tone. Looking behind him, Arthur could see an intense expression of dislike in those violet eyes; clearly, the qunari was no fonder of the elf for his deceptiveness with them than he was.

Arthur saw the rage in Zathrian's eyes as he glared back at the qunari and spat in a cruel voice, every word choking with hatred "They attacked my clan, and they are the same savages then as they have ever been. They _deserve_ to be wiped out, not defended! But enough of such things" Zathrian's tone quickly became more businesslike, as though he were trying to brush the whole matter aside. "I will accompany you back to the ruins and force the spirit into Witherfang's form. He may then be slain and the heart taken!"

"That is not necessary, the werewolves have regained their minds, I assure you..." Arthur protested, but Zathrian waved a dismissive hand, the contempt in his voice as vehement as ever.

"Whether or not that is true, they are still the same worthless savages that their ancestors were. This is _not_ your battle, Grey Warden. Let us just take the heart and be done with it"

"I'm making it my battle" Arthur curtly snapped; in truth, it had become his battle ever since Zathrian's face contorted into a mask of anger, but then a smile spread across his lips, one that sent a chill down Arthur's spine. It was the cruel, predatory smile of a cat about to swallow a mouse; a malevolent leer brimming with malicious cunning that set Arthur's teeth on edge.

"Well, perhaps you should remember what those you wish to ally with have done..." Zathrian sneered, snapping his fingers. There was a loud rumble and the group drew their weapons as from out of the shadows, the familiar hulking shape of a sylvan staggered towards them, its hands outstretched towards them. Arthur, Alistair and Sten raised their blades, but then they noticed that the sylvan wasn't reaching to claw at them; instead, it was holding out to them something in its grasp. Looking closely, he could see the sylvan held two human-sized bundles in its grasp, heavily bound and restrained. '_What are they?_' Arthur wondered; for a moment, they looked to him like the web-bound corpses left by the spiders in the tunnels, but as he scrutinised the bound forms closely, he recognised them with a jolt of shock and anger.

In the grasp of its gnarled hands, the sylvan held Morrigan and Leliana, both women bound and gagged with strange green ropes. Leliana was unconscious and looked much worse than she had the last time, her skin ashen and her hair hanging lankly around her face, but Morrigan was stirring, and at the sight of where she was and who was there, began making muffled cries though the length of vine gagging her. From the little he could make out, the witch was shouting demands to be released at them and shrieking a litany of curses, hexes and profanities in the direction of Zathrian. In an instant, Arthur levelled his sword at Zathrian's chest, and from the low growl and rasp of swords being drawn, he could tell Alistair, Sten and Edward were likewise restraining the urge to fling themselves at the elf and hack him down for yet another example of how far he was going to keep the truth from them.

"I don't know what you're playing at Zathrian, but you _will_ release my companions, _now!_"

"And why would I do that, Warden? Why do you think I'd bring them here? Now, if you're finished making idle threats, you and I shall descend to the lower levels and destroy that fiend that dwells below. Once I possess the heart, I might deign to release..."

But the elf's threat was cut off as, with a shriek of rage muffled by her gag, Morrigan managed to worm one of her hands free and press it against the sylvan's wrist behind her. All eyes flew to the sylvan as it let out a horrific scream as its wrist suddenly caught light. For a moment, Arthur feared the fire might spread to burn the two women helpless in the creature's grasp, but as the fire spread up its arms, the sylvan dropped its load to the floor, eliciting an outraged cry from Morrigan as she landed heavily on the stone floor.

Sten reacted first, seizing both women by their bonds and dragging them out of harm's way, before turning on the sylvan, desperately trying to pat out the flames consuming it, and thus oblivious to the danger until Sten hacked off a thick limb in an explosion of sap. Meanwhile, Arthur and Alistair advanced on Zathrian. The elf's face contorted into a snarl as he levelled the staff at both men, the headpiece crackling with electrical energy as Zathrian unleashed a bolt of lightning straight at them, but before the blast could reach them, an nimbus of blue light appeared in Alistair's palm, drawing the lightning into it and dissipating it harmlessly. The templar's skills clearly caught the elf offguard, but before Zathrian could recover his power and concentration to attempt another spell, Arthur slammed the Shield of Highever into his face, knocking Zathrian back into the pillar he had emerged from behind, before placing the blade of the Cousland sword to the Keeper's throat, who reluctantly let the staff in his grasp fall to the floor, clearly indifferent to how the tables had turned.

"Has the Blight reduced the Grey Wardens to common assassins?" Zathrian sneered, seemingly unafraid of the blade at his throat. "Or has the spirit bought your loyalty?"

"You try to turn my companions into hostages, and you have the nerve to insult me when your scheme fails?" Arthur questioned, incredulous.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Alistair bend down beside Morrigan and Leliana and began to cut both women free of their bonds. He offered a hand to Morrigan to help herself to her feet once she was free, but she brusquely waved him aside, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists and glaring daggers at the Keeper as she got to her feet. Leliana barely moved as Alistair severed the vines binding her, and Arthur could see she looked much worse than before: sweat trickled down her face, which was red with fever. Behind them, Sten levelled his blade free from the smouldering remains of the sylvan.

Zathrian followed the line of the youth's gaze and angrily snapped "How can you ally yourself with that monstrosity? Do you need a reminder of what the werewolves have done to you personally? We are both the same: we have suffered because of these monsters! Surely your friend's wounds demand justice from those fiends as much as what happened to my kin? What we want is the same, Warden!"

"We are not the same, neither is what we want!" Arthur angrily retorted. "What I want is to end the curse: you simply wish to perpetuate your vendetta against these creatures!"

"Believe what you will, Warden! But the fact of the matter is that now you can either kill Witherfang or kill me; either way, my justice will endure. I will _never_ end the misery those beasts brought down upon themselves! " the elf yelled back. Clearly, he expected to provoke a violent reaction, but Arthur did not oblige Zathrian with his desire.

" Do you still have so much hatred for them, even after all this time?" the youth questioned, exasperated, releasing his grip on the elf sadly.

Zathrian's face devolved into a mask of anger, his dark eyes glaring with so much hate that for a moment, Arthur feared the Keeper might attack them for refusing him. When he spoke again, every word was cracking with furious venom. "You were not there. You did not see what their ilk did to, to my son, to my daughter and to so many others! You are not Dalish, how could _any_ of you understand how we have struggled to survive?" he sneered, waving a dismissive hand at the group. "I had to protect my clan, by any means necessary!"

"But it's your own people suffering now!" Alistair cut in, his expression and tone desperately trying to plead to the Keeper's sense of loyalty to his people, but the hate and fury in Zathrian's eyes remained undimmed.

"I have sworn to protect my people, and I shall! I will not lift a finger to help the descendants of savages who deserved the curse they received!"

"So your answer is to let them suffer forever?" was Arthur's incredulous reply: he couldn't believe that the Keeper would be so willing to cling to the embers of his hatred. _'Surely, even the worst pain can be forgotten?'_

The elf turned his wrathful glare on Arthur and demanded "Tell me, if you held your own daughter's lifeless body in your arms, would you not have also sworn an eternity of pain on those who did such to her?"

Arthur let out an involuntary gasp; he could not have anticipated just how deep Zathrian's words would cut. '_Did I not do the same as he?_' he realised, remembering the threat of unending vengeance he had left for Howe among the corpses of his underlings at Highever. He saw the look of victory in the elf's eyes and it caused him to rebel: he would not believe his wish to exact justice on one corrupt, evil man was the same as this elf's willingness to hold those who had never done him any wrong responsible for something that, while atrocious and horrific, had been committed centuries ago by those who were long dead.

"I...I might have, but who is being punished now?"

Zathrian's look of triumph vanished at Arthur's response, but then his face became calm and impassive. In a flat, emotionless tone he spoke "Very well. You wish me to talk? I shall do so. But will you protect me from harm if it is only vengeance they seek?". Arthur gave him a curt nod, not trusting his voice to say the words and the elf seemed somewhat mollified. "I fail to see the point in this...but very well. Let us see what the spirit has to say".

With that, Zathrian turned on his heel and stormed down the staircase to the werewolves' lair. As they made to follow him, Morrigan seized Arthur's wrist and nodded at the Keeper's retreating back. "Be wary, Arthur. I can sense power being drawn to him; the elf is planning something". Alistair nodded in agreement; no doubt his abilities as a templar were alerting him to the gathering of magical forces.

"Be wary. If he tries something that puts any of us in danger, kill him" Arthur bluntly commanded. There would be no more lies, no more half-truths; the elf would be called to account for his deception. As they headed down the stairs, Arthur spared a glance back at Leliana, Sten carrying her as though she were a doll. She looked as bad as ever, and Arthur heard himself muttering a prayer to the Maker to keep her going long enough for them to bring this madness to an end.

By whatever means.

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They quickly followed Zathrian back to the den, warily watching the Keeper's every move for any sign he intended to betray them. The second they stepped inside the rotunda, Swiftrunner and the other werewolves roared in fury at the sight of Zathrian; many of them looked like they wanted to leap across the chamber and tear the elf limb from limb, but the outstretched arms and firm gaze of the Lady forced them to restrain themselves.

Zathrian marched up to the Lady with arrogant confidence and spoke in a cold, haughty voice "And so here you are spirit".

At this, Swiftrunner bounded across the dais, drawing himself to his full height and bellowed in Zathrian's face "SHE IS THE LADY OF THE FOREST! YOU WILL ADDRESS HER PROPERLY!" The werewolf's voice was hoarse with anger, their faces so close that the tip of his snout almost touched the bridge of Zathrian's nose.

To his credit, Zathrian showed no fear at the werewolf's anger; his sneer only widened as the Lady ushered Swiftrunner back and he continued in a derisive tone "You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets, these beasts that follow you?"

"It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them discover who they are" the Lady snapped curtly.

Zathrian scowled in irritation and tersely replied "Who they are hasn't changed from whom their ancestors were! Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!" he finished damningly, waving a dismissive hand at the assembled werewolves, ignoring the hateful growls they directed at him.

"He will not help us, Lady!" Swiftrunner snapped in a tone that confirmed he had expected nothing less. "It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!"

Zathrian hissed angrily at being interrupted and said "What do you expect? We both know how this will end. Your nature compels it, as does mine".

At this, the Lady extended a hand in entreaty to Zathrian, using the same pleading tone she had to convince Arthur to speak with the Keeper. "It doesn't have to be this way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. _Surely_ your retribution is spent?"

But Zathrian angrily slapped the Lady's outstretched hand aside and spat disdainfully at her "My retribution is eternal, as is my pain, spirit. This is _justice_, no more!"

The Lady took a step back, shocked by the elf's vehement refusal, but it was swiftly replaced by a look of disgust, as though she knew the elf to be lying through his teeth. "Are you certain your pain is the _only_ reason you will not end the curse?" she sneered angrily. Her gaze suddenly switched to Arthur, and an enigmatic smile spread across her lips as she nodded in his direction. "Have you told the mortal how it was created?"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur questioned, less than enthused to discover there were yet more pieces to this deranged puzzle.

Zathrian looked mortified, as though what the spirit were about to say was something he dreaded to hear. "Do not listen to her, Warden! She speaks nothing but lies and falsehoods!"

"And of course, everything you've told us has been nothing but the truth?" Morrigan sneered, clearly still irked at having been trussed up like a sacrificial goat by the Keeper. Zathrian glared at her angrily at the accusation, but the Lady took advantage of his distraction to press her case without interruption, her voice taking the tone of one telling a tale.

"This is an old forest, mortal, and I am its spirit, its heart. I was not summoned from across the Fade, but pulled from the rocks, the trees and the very soil. I was then bound into the body of the wolf who became Witherfang: not possessing a host like a sylvan or one of the undead, but bound into a single being. But such a process could not have been accomplished without Zathrian's blood...a great deal of his blood".

'_Blood magic?_' Arthur wondered. He was familiar with the view of the Chantry, and thus the view of most Fereldans, that blood magic was an abominable and evil art, its practitioners deserving of nothing less than death, and he could see Alistair staring at the elf's back with a great expression of dislike. But the Lady had yet more, yet worse to say.

"The curse and his life...are intertwined"

Words failed Arthur, and looking at his companions, he saw they were the same as he, all looking at the Keeper with astonishment: the templar in Alistair was no doubt appalled at the obvious evil of a blood mage, Sten's unusually stoic face was contorted into an expression of disgust, as though he had expected nothing less from magic, and Morrigan looked torn between being intrigued and repulsed by this form of magic.

Zathrian stared at the Lady in slack-jawed horror, unable to find a voice to defend himself against these accusations, and so the Lady pressed on mercilessly. "Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you" she finished damningly.

"NO! That is not how it is!" Zathrian turned to Arthur, his tone desperately pleading, but when Arthur looked at Zathrian and saw the elf's eyes were darting from side to side, an uneasy gleam in that gaze, and knew the Lady was telling the truth.

"Just how far are you willing to go for vengeance, Zathrian?" Arthur questioned, part of him awed, the other aghast.

"I did it for my son, for my daughter!" Zathrian defiantly yelled. "For them, for justice I would do anything!"

"The curse would not end with Zathrian's death. His life, however, relies on its existence and I believe his death plays a part in its ending" the Lady cut across the ranting elf in a soft, solemn voice. At this, a great number of the werewolves began to advance on Zathrian, growling in anticipation at the thought. One in particular seemed to be eager to attack there and then.

"Then we kill him! We tear him apart now!" Swiftrunner roared gleefully.

Zathrian's face showed no fear at the threat of death; the look of disgust already on his features merely became more intense, the contempt in his voice even more evident as he spat back at the towering brute "For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still! What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will _never_ do it!"

"You see? We must kill them all!" Swiftrunner roared, gesturing at them. The Lady raised a hand to silence him, but the damage had already been done: Zathrian's eyes lit up with a gleam of triumph as he turned to face Arthur and gleefully cried "See? They turn on you as quickly! Do what you came here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way!"

'_This was what he planned all along; he wanted to provoke a confrontation'_ Arthur realised. But he was no longer going to give in to the elf's whims, not after everything he had withheld from them, and now what he expected them to do.

"I agreed to help you end the curse, Zathrian, not murder the innocent. I'm sorry, but I won't help you do this".

"We're standing for what's right here, no matter what!" Alistair added coldly, a remark that garnered an approving nod from Sten, who lowered Leliana to the floor to draw his own blade.

"Then you can die with them! All of you shall suffer as you deserve!" Zathrian shouted hatefully. As they watched, Zathrian drew a curved dagger from within his robes and stabbed it into the palm of his hand. As the blood welled up, the Keeper spat a dark word in an arcane tongue, summoning three glowing blue orbs of energy into his hand. Before anyone could react, Zathrian yelled another arcane phrase and the malefic energy shot into three of the small saplings, and the newly created sylvans howled in deranged fury as the spirits summoned by Zathrian became accustomed to their new wooden shells.

Of all those present, the Lady was the only one not rooted to the spot by what Zathrian was doing, and she reacted instantly: dropping to her hands and knees, her form contorted and twisted, furred bristles erupting across her neck and back, her face lengthening into a lupine snout, her hands and feet shortening into clawed paws until the Lady was gone, and in her place stood the huge, white-furred wolf that had attacked them outside the ruins.

"Witherfang...!" Zathrian delightedly intoned, before turning to the sylvans and pointing a crooked finger "Kill it! Kill them all!"

The werewolves howled defiantly, but the angry roar that escaped Witherfang's jaws made them sound like whimpering puppies. The sylvans cowered away from the great wolf, the spirits within them beaten down by a more powerful being than themselves, but then their gaze turned to Arthur and his companions, and the twisted faces formed in the gnarled bark of the wood twisted into snarls of deranged fury as they began to advance on the Wardens and their companions, branches outstretching into gnarled claws. Zathrian's face contorted into an expression of cruel joy.

"I shall kill your puppets, spirit, then I shall butcher your pets and carve your still-beating heart from your chest! And when you are dead, I shall have justice once and for..."

But the elf's boast fell silent as, with a Chasind battle cry, Morrigan blasted the sylvans with another torrent of fire, their berserk howls becoming screams of agony as their wooden forms were swiftly consumed by the flames. As the sylvans desperately tried to put out the flames consuming them, Sten and Alistair leapt into action, hacking off tree limbs and burying blades into possessed trunks, tree sap spurting like blood. Meanwhile, Edward broke into a run at Zathrian, who retaliated by blasting the warhound with fire, though Edward dodged the magic and raked through the Keeper's robes with hooked claws, drawing blood. The old elf only laughed however, placing his fingers to the wound and renewing his magical onslaught with greater intensity, now he had more power to work with.

Arthur looked round; the sylvans were destroyed, hacked into smouldering piles of wood, but the battle had been hard: Sten's greatsword was a wreck, bent halfway along its length, the blade notched and chipped. The qunari himself didn't look much better; rents had been made in his armour, blood trickling from within staining his heavy chainmail crimson. Morrigan was leaning heavily on her staff, exhausted from her magic and from whatever power Zathrian had used against her, though fortunately she seemed unwounded. Alistair bore a few cuts, though fortunately they seemed minor, though Arthur did not think they held much chance in their exhausted state of overcoming a powerful and crazed maleficar with nothing to lose.

And then, the tables turned once more in their favour: the Lady, who in her guise as Witherfang had so far done little to intervene in the battle save protect herself and the werewolves behind a glowing barrier of energy, let out a chilling howl and slammed her forepaws into the soil visible through cracks in the stone floor. Her intent became clear as the ground in front of Zathrian split open as large, thick vines burst from the ground and constricted around Zathrian's staff like pythons. The elf looked shocked at this, as though he never expected such a thing to occur to him, but as he tried to pull his staff free, a voice redolent with power and authority, a harsh echo to it as though two voice spoke at once, echoed around the chamber.

"You are my creator, but you cannot master me! I watched over this forest before the foundations of Arlathan were laid. I was ancient before the Old Gods were bound beneath the earth and I will be here long after the bones of your people have crumbled into dust!"

Zathrian gave a wordless snarl of anger in answer and increased his efforts to pull his staff free, blasting back a charging Edward with a dismissive wave of his hand, not even turning to acknowledge the dog as he hurled the spell. But the sight gave Arthur an idea. Turning to his companions, he roared orders "Morrigan, Sten, protect Leliana and the Lady! Edward, with me!".

Master and hound broke into a charge across the rotunda, and again, Zathrian didn't look away from his struggles with the Lady as he pointed a claw-like hand at them, unleashing a jet of flame towards them. But before the fiery blast reached them, Arthur yelled "Alistair!" and the elf finally looked round, a look of utter shock on his face as the templar's abilities overcame his magic. Before he could recover himself, a shield bash to the gut sent him staggering back, and then the full weight of a mabari slammed itself into his chest, knocking him off his feet and causing him to lose his grip on his staff, swiftly wrenched across the chamber. Before Zathrian could get up, a fully-grown snarling mabari had placed its clawed paws on his chest and the tip of a silvered sword was held an inch from his throat.

The loss of his staff seemed to cause Zathrian's fighting spirit to dissipate: the anger in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a weary sadness. "No...No more. I cannot...cannot defeat you" Zathrian's defeated whisper of a voice was barely audible. Arthur pulled up his blade from Zathrian's throat, but before he could react otherwise, Arthur was bowled aside as something large and powerful knocked him out of the way to get at the defeated Keeper.

"Finish it! Kill him now!" Swiftrunner roared, seizing Zathrian by the throat and holding him in midair, the elf struggling and grasping at the clawed hand gripping his throat as Swiftrunner's claws extended to eviscerate Zathrian. Arthur was torn between intervening to save Zathrian and simply letting the werewolves exact their retribution, if either course would end the curse.

And then a strident voice, hoarse with pain but determined despite it, cut through the horror-struck silence behind him.

"NO! Don't kill him!"

All present looked round, to see it was Leliana who had spoken, despite looking like death warmed up, her face haggard and drawn, her hair lankly hanging around her face. She was using Sten as a crutch to support her, and every step forward she took was slow and halting, but her eyes, though still yellowed with the taint of the curse, were wide and bright with an intense fervour as she entreated on Zathrian's behalf.

"Lady, please! Stop him!" the Orlesian girl pleaded, and Arthur could not help but be amazed at her humanity. Even gravely ill, kidnapped, brought close to death, and with the one responsible for all she had suffered within her reach, she couldn't bring herself to harm him for the sake of vengeance.

And it seemed the Lady agreed with her. In the blink of an eye, the Lady darted across the dais with impossible speed and seized Swiftrunner's wrist. The werewolf reeled as though he had been struck and dropped Zathrian to the floor, where he lay in a heap, coughing and quietly cursing alternately.

"No, Swiftrunner! We will not kill him. If there is no room in _our_ hearts for mercy, how can we expect there to be any in _his_?". She offered a hand to Zathrian, but he remained where he had fallen, staring despondently at the floor. When he looked up, they saw angry tears streaking down his cheeks as he stared up at them all, hate warring with sorrow in his gaze.

"I cannot do what you ask, spirit! All I see when I look at them are the faces of my children, of my people! I can't do it, I just can't!"

"Zathrian" Arthur spoke in a patient, placating tone "Hasn't this gone on long enough? How long will you punish the innocent for something they didn't do?"

"What else can I do? What would _you_ do, Warden?" he demanded suddenly. "If you held your son's maimed corpse in your arms, looked into the broken eyes of your daughter as life fled her body from the knife she'd driven into her own heart, and knew that you had the power to avenge them, would you not do all you could to do so?"

He heard sharp intakes of breath from behind him, and looked round to see Alistair and Leliana staring at him, but he paid them no heed; this was something he had to do himself. He sank down to Zathrian's level and looked the elf in the eye, his voice sympathetic, but firm. "You think you are the _only_ one who knows what it is to lose your family? I held the body of my brother's son, hacked apart like an animal to be slaughtered after watching his mother die trying to defend him in their own home."

"I saw my father bleeding his last across the floor of our home, and left him and my mother to certain death, left the only home I ever know to be destroyed at the whims of a traitor who dared to call himself friend because it was my _duty_," he spat the word as a curse, "to put the need of others above my own desires, to do what was needed for the kingdom than for myself. I went to Ostagar, went to bring word to my brother and the King, to see that justice was done. But there was no justice, only further, worse betrayals by a man who should have been the best of us. I went from being a son of nobility to an outlaw and proscribed traitor in the blink of an eye, and yes, I swore to exact justice on those who took everything from me. But I have a greater duty now; as someone very wise said to me, a Grey Warden's duties must come before revenge. And I have realised that as much as I might wish to, I cannot forsake that duty for anything. Make no mistake, I will exact retribution if I get the chance, but not at the cost of everything; if I must choose between killing my enemies and the archdemon, I will end the Blight. Nor will I make the many suffer for the crimes of the few; such a thing is an abomination in the sight of your gods, as well as mine."

"I swore upon their graves that I would avenge them" Zathrian choked in a hoarse whisper, angry tears still running down his face "I swore that for everything they suffered, those who did such would suffer a hundred, a thousand times worse."

"And so you have. But are you really going to let your clan, the people who look to you as leader and father, die for _this_? Such a thing is an affront to everything a Keeper stands for, not to mention a blasphemy against your gods and all that is good in this world" Arthur countered. Zathrian gave a weary sigh and slowly, reluctantly gave a nod so brief it was almost imperceptible.

"Perhaps I have lived too long. I can barely remember them as they were before...before I lost them. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root...it has consumed my soul". Allowing Arthur to pull him to his feet, Zathrian turned to the Lady, looking at her with something other than hatred or disdain for the first time since they had entered the rotunda. "What say you, spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

"You are my maker, Zathrian and through you, I have experienced all that it is to be mortal. I have known hope and fear, pain and love, all the joy that is life. Yet above all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, Zathrian, put an end to me. Let me return to my beloved forest, and let yourself go to be reunited with your children. We beg of you...show mercy".

She offered Zathrian's staff back to him and he took it haltingly, staring at a point far beyond her. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and when he finally spoke, it was in a voice hoarse with regret. "You shame me, spirit. I...I am a stubborn, selfish old man, alive long past his time"

"Then you will do it?" the Lady asked, a hopeful edge in that rich voice. "You will end the curse?"

Zathrian looked at her, his weary eyes clearly expressing the full weight of all the years he had witnessed. "Yes, I think it is time. Let us...let us put an end to all this"

At this, the Lady threw back her head and let loose a long, howling cry, like the howl of a hunting wolf, and swiftly the werewolves assembled within the rotunda, forming a great circle around the pair of them. "It is time" Zathrian intoned solemnly when all the werewolves had finally gathered around him and the Lady. His gaze briefly flicked to Arthur, and he solemnly said "Tell my clan I am sorry. And tell Lanaya...tell her she was ready a very long time ago".

With that, Zathrian turned to face the Lady, who gave him a nod. Zathrian raised his staff so that the headpiece, glowing with magical energy, was high above his head. He held it there for a few more moments, and then brought it down with a grim swiftness, as though wishing it to be over at last. The base of the staff struck the floor with a loud thud, and almost instantly after, Zathrian fell to his knees with a choked gasp of pain, clutching his heart. He looked up at those surrounding him, but Arthur saw he was looking at some distant point beyond them, a genuine smile of joy on his lips. He muttered a single word in Elvish, and then toppled to the floor, dead before he came to rest limply on the ground, the same blissful smile on his face. Arthur hoped that in that final moment, the Keeper had been reunited with the family he had lost so long ago. '_He deserves that much, at least'_.

The Lady remained for a moment longer, staring out at her followers with an expression of the utmost compassion and love, like a mother's last moments with her child, and then with a roaring rush like a great wind, the Lady burst into flame. The blinding golden light that her rapidly diminishing form emitted burned so brightly it was as though the sun itself sat in the centre of the room, forcing Arthur and the others to shield their eyes. The light began to spread outward, enveloping the werewolves so that all he could see were hulking silhouettes, altering, twisting and shrinking. He heard a sudden gasp from behind him; whirling round, he saw Leliana slump backwards as a beam of light struck her in the chest. Alistair caught her before she hit the ground, having fainted, her eyes shut, her wounds sealing closed and colour returning to her cheeks...

With a final burst of brilliance, the light burning where the Lady had stood faded and guttered out. In the final moments before it vanished, Arthur could have sworn he'd heard a joyous cry, as though the spirit was overjoyed beyond measure to be free of physical form. In her place stood, in place of the werewolves, a crowd of men and women, semi-dressed in tattered rags and scraps of fur, clearly staring at their original human forms with looks of incredulity and delight, clasping hands, hugging, kissing, laughing and crying with joy as they realised the living nightmare they had endured for so long was at last over.

A tall man made his way to the front of the group and Arthur could tell he had been Swiftrunner: the man still walked with the same grace and power that he had as a werewolf. He ran a hand through his tangled brown hair, his gold-tinted eyes wide with shocked awe, and gave an exclamation of amazement. "It's over. She's gone...and we're human..."

Suddenly, a loud gasp came from behind them, and Arthur whirled round to see Leliana stirring from her faint, trying to suppress a twinge of jealousy at the fact Alistair held her. Still, when her wide eyes opened, once more their vibrant green, it was his face they saw first. Her face was set with the same bemused smile she'd worn when she first told them of her vision in Lothering. "What are you all staring at?"

"You're alright...

"I had a feeling you'd keep that promise you made me..." she answered wistfully. Arthur gave her a wan smile and replied "I always try to keep my word". At that, Swiftrunner knelt beside Leliana, took her hand gently and kissed it.

"Forgive me, good lady. Forgive what we did..." he pleaded, but Leliana was already waving aside his protestations.

"You did what you believed you had to. The Maker says we should grant forgiveness , and I willingly give it" Leliana smiled softly.

"I thank you for your compassion, dear lady; just as we all thank you, Warden, for helping to end this curse we have lived with. Please, accept this humble token as a symbol of our gratitude" Swiftrunner said, rummaging through a nearby pile of debris and retrieving a shield made of fine whitewood. Arthur took the proferred gift and nodded in thanks, baring Swiftrunner and his kin no ill will for what had happened.

"What will you do, now that you are free of the curse?" Arthur asked. Swiftrunner spread his arms wide and gestured to his companions "We don't know. We'll head out of the forest, try to find other humans...it should be interesting, don't you think?" Swiftrunner enquired, eliciting a few amused chuckles from his fellows.

"If I might make a suggestion, head north towards Denerim, or west towards Redcliffe: that should keep you safe from wandering into the path of the Blight. Redcliffe may be your better option; Arl Eamon seems far less likely to be suspicious of a large number of mysterious men and women coming out of nowhere than Loghain" Arthur suggested.

"We thank you for that advice: we shall of course follow it, since you know more of the lands outside the forest. Perhaps, if fate wills it, we will see you again, Warden; if not, we will never forget you".

Swiftrunner and his kin bowed to Arthur and the others one last time, then turned and raced out of the rotunda to start a new beginning. The companions watched them go, and at a more reasonable pace, gathered up their things and departed the ruin, their purpose there ended.

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By the time they returned to the camp, the sun was high in the sky; their return journey through the forest was slow, on account of their exhaustion and injuries, Leliana in particular. Fortunately, there was no rush, and this time, there was no fear of rabid wolf-men attacking with feral abandon, and no spirit-possessed trees threw themselves with demented hunger at the party. The only danger they faced was a pack of genlocks outside the ruins that swiftly ran after Sten spitted the Alpha leading them on his greatsword. To Arthur's mind, the darkspawn were a reminder that they had achieved part of the seemingly impossible task that lay before them; with the werewolf threat ended, the Dalish could begin to recover and amass their strength to help contend with the common enemy.

Finally, the trees began to thin as they approached the edge of the Brecilian Forest, and the familiar sight of the aravels formed in a protective circle came into view. One of the elves guarding the camp's perimeter shouted out their approach and the clan swiftly formed into a crowd to greet their return.

"You return!" Lanaya cried as she saw them approach. "We had hopes of your success: the signs of the curse in our hunters vanished all at once not long after sunset, and we hoped that you had slain Witherfang. But have you news of Zathrian? He disappeared from our camp in the night and..." her voice trailed off as she saw what Arthur carried in his arms. A collective gasp of despair rang through the camp as the Dalish saw the body of their Keeper lying lifeless in Arthur's grasp, which he set gently down in the centre of the camp.

"Is he...?" one of the elves called out. Arthur nodded sadly and replied "Zathrian fell in battle".

"He died well" Leliana said, speaking the words Arthur had told her to say: after all, it had always been the role of story-tellers and bards to put a positive spin on death and war. "He caught up with the Grey Wardens and their companions outside the ruins where the werewolves made their lair, to warn us of the danger that lay within. There were more werewolves inside, defending Witherfang. He slew many, but he was cut down as we reached the inner sanctum. He died to end the curse and prevent it from spreading further". _'It was true enough'_ Arthur mused.

"And what of Witherfang?" a young elf hunter called out. "Is it dead?"

"The Great Wolf and its brood are gone. They will trouble you no more". A great cheer rose up from the crowd, the pain and despair at Zathrian's loss forgotten briefly at the fact that the shadow that had hung over the clan was gone, and though tempered by the death of their Keeper, it was still a cause for celebration. As the Dalish cheered, shook hands and clapped shoulders, Lanaya approached them and bowed in a gesture of gratitude.

"We thank you for your aid in ending the curse, though we mourn the loss of so many, Zathrian among them".

"He was a hero at the end, Lanaya" Arthur said in a comforting tone. "He was willing to give his life to protect the people he was charged to care for; I think that is how he wished to end it".

Lanaya nodded gratefully at this and then sighed, clearly as afraid and uncertain of her worthiness for the task ahead of her and spoke in a quavering voice "It will be difficult to take Zathrian's place. He was our leader for so very long..." Lanaya spoke, in an uncertain tone, as though she disbelieved her worthiness to take the post.

"Before he fell, Zathrian asked me to tell you that you were ready for the task of Keeper a very long time ago" Arthur told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Lanaya's brown eyes filled with grateful tears at the confident pride her leader, mentor and, Arthur suspected, surrogate father had in her, and when she spoke again, the uncertainty in her voice was gone.

"Let me say it officially; as Keeper, I hereby vow to honour the terms of the contract our people made with the Grey Wardens. Our blades will be yours, and your enemy will be ours". Arthur extended a hand to Lanaya which she shook with a surprisingly strong grip and continued in a confident voice "It has been some time since the Dalish marched to war, but I trust that in the end, we shall make a difference for you".

"How long before your people will be ready for battle?"

"It may take some time: though the curse has been broken, its after-effects will leave those weak for a time. We must also assemble weapons and equipment, and contact the other clans of our people, but rest assured, when you have need of us, we shall come and your enemies shall scatter before us. Now come; you must be exhausted and it is only fitting that we honour those who risked so much to help us".

Lanaya was as good as her word: the Dalish treated them like returning heroes. Their wounds were bound and treated, their supplies and weapons and armour repaired and mended or even replaced: Sten was gifted with a fine Dalish battleaxe, Leliana, Alistair and Arthur given fine Dalish longbows and Leliana was also given a new suit of leather armour to replace the set Swiftrunner had destroyed. But in particular recognition of Arthur, Varathorn gifted him something particularly special; a gleaming breastplate made from the wood of a tree known as ironbark, which gleamed as if it were forged of fresh steel. Arthur donned the armour, a fine replacement for his severely damaged chainmail and a fine placeholder until he had the strength to wear the Tevinter-made plate armour. Taking his leave of the elven craftsman, Arthur moved to the centre of the camp, wishing to sit down and rest his exhausted frame for a moment or two.

"You did it, outsider! You saved us from the ravages of the curse!" Sarel joyously exclaimed as Arthur sat down at the fire, his earlier antipathy towards the human intruder forgotten.

"May the Creators bless you, truly!" a female elf gratefully nodded in agreement. Sarel gave an agreeing nod, before a more solemn edge crept into his voice "But poor Zathrian is dead. He died a hero, I hope?"

"Yes, I believe he did" Arthur agreed. In spite of all he had done, the cruelty he had inflicted, Zathrian had, in the end, possessed the courage to relinquish his bitterness and hate to save others; if that self-sacrifice wasn't a form of heroism, Arthur didn't know what was.

"Good. I would like a happy ending to his story; he will be a role model for the children of the Dalish for many generations to come, I think" Sarel approvingly remarked, before his face became much more guarded in expression as he continued "Now, Keeper Lanaya prepares us to enter war alongside the humans. I never thought I would live to see the day" he finished, somewhat incredulous at the thought.

"I, for one, look forward to fighting against these darkspawn creatures" a young male elf with the look of a warrior called out, garnering a few more approving nods and cheers from other elven warriors of the fellow's age. Sarel merely raised an eyebrow and replied "Do you? Well, let us hope you return and tell us all about them. As for you, I imagine one day I'll be telling stories about the Grey Warden, eh? But you will have to excuse me for now, Warden, I must prepare myself".

"Prepare for what?" Arthur asked, intrigued.

"Keeper Lanaya has said that tonight we will further share our thanks for what you have done, but first, we shall remember those who are no longer here to celebrate with us".

"Then I shall allow you to attend to your preparations, Sarel" Arthur respectfully replied, getting to his feet. "There are a few things I must do before tonight's...ceremony".

Further down from the camp, a great lake lay; no doubt the Dalish had chosen to camp here to take advantage of the water to wash, bathe and refresh both themselves and their animals. The water looked deep, though the Dalish had assured him that the worst that could happen was that the fish would nibble their feet. And since Sten and Alistair had already performed their ablutions in the lake with no ill incident, Arthur suspected it would be fine.

Arthur made for the lake, intending to bathe and freshen up for the evening's ritual when he saw Leliana ahead of him, clearly intending to do the same, removing her boots, her gloves and beginning to unbuckle the straps of her leather armour. Not wanting to seem a voyeur, Arthur ducked behind a tree and made to turn away to give her some privacy, but before he could, Leliana undid the last strap and her cuirass fell away. Arthur was about to cover his eyes to allow her some modesty, when he saw them.

Her slender back was covered in scars.

He knew Leliana said she had seen some battle in her time as a tale-teller in Orlais and he knew some could even be discounted as inflicted in the attack that had resulted in her infection, but a great deal more looked like they hadn't been inflicted by claws or swords, but more by the lash of the scourge and the fiery sting of a branding iron, and he could only think of one explanation for such.

At some point in her life, Leliana had been tortured.

'_What happened to her?'_ he wondered. He remembered the whimpers she had made while delirious from the curse, murmuring insistent protests of her innocence and mentioning a name connected to it; did that have something to do with it?

Deciding to wait until after they'd all had a chance to recover from their ordeals before bringing the subject up, Arthur turned away to allow Leliana some privacy to bathe, but he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets the woman, whom he'd gone to such lengths to aid, was holding.

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Leliana looked behind her, but saw no sign of anyone nearby, and swiftly began to bathe her battered flesh. She did the task almost mechanically, without thinking, because her mind was elsewhere, pondering on the terrible fate she had so narrowly avoided and the one who'd gone to such great lengths to save her from it.

'_He barely knew me and yet, he was willing to risk everything-his allies, his cause, even his own life- for even a chance to prevent such a terrible end. Why? Is it simply the desire of a commander trying to preserve his forces as much as possible, or something more?'_ she wondered. The fact that he knew so little about her also raised a pang of guilt from Leliana, regret that she hadn't told him of her past, for fear it would turn him against her. '_I will test the waters, see if any good can come of speaking of the past...'_

She quickly finished her ablutions, scouring off the last traces of dirt and blood from her pale skin, relieved to see that none of the wounds she had suffered in the attack were visible, though the bite that had nearly claimed her life would remain a scar for the rest of her days; likely to be just one reminder of the price paid to defeat the Blight. Not that it bothered her; '_After all, did not Andraste wear the scars of her devotion to the Maker as badges of honour?'_

Climbing out of the lake, drying herself off and putting her armour back on, admiring its fine make and elaborateness, if not the fact it exposed her midriff and legs in a way she knew the Revered Mother would never have approved of, Leliana spotted Alistair and Sten returning from the forest, leading a party of Dalish scouts grimly bearing the bodies of their dead, recovered from where they had fallen in battle, victims of the curse. Moving through the camp, elsewhere she saw a number of the Dalish digging holes in the ground, _'likely for the ceremony'_ she thought, remembering the little she knew about Dalish burial customs. The mood of the camp was solemn and quiet; voices hushed and quiet as the sun set lower and the evening's ritual drew closer.

At the centre of the camp, she found what she sought; Arthur, sat by the fire, idly running a hand through the fur of the mabari as he stared into the fire, clearly deep in thought. He didn't look up as she drew nearer.

"Sovereign for your thoughts?" she asked, tossing a gold coin into his lap as she approached. Caught by surprise, Arthur looked up at Leliana, a relieved smile as he regarded her. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. I'd been worried the curse would have had some longer-lasting effect, but I'm glad to see it's clearly not so".

Leliana gave a soft smile and "You seem troubled. What's on your mind?". Arthur's smile faded and he looked back into the fire.

"Zathrian"

Her thin eyebrows rose; that had not been what she had expected. "What of him?"

"I know, I know I should be disgusted by what he did-allowing the innocent to suffer and perpetuating great misery, both among those he cursed and his own people- and yet, part of me envies him. He loved his children so much, that he would go to any length to avenge the evils done to them. And I can't help but wonder; was I a hypocrite in having him end the curse? I swore that I would undo all of Rendon Howe's works and destroy him and all his kin for what they did to mine; does that make me any better than Zathrian...?"

Leliana seized his right wrist in one hand and with her other, took Arthur's chin and tilted it so he was looking directly at her and spoke in a soft, but firm voice "Don't think like that, Arthur. Yes, you have suffered and yes, you deserve justice. But don't let your hatred and your grief consume you the way Zathrian let his. It might have been love, touched by pain that started Zathrian down the path of vengeance, but it was hatred that kept him on it, and hatred that would have kept him walking to its end had you not intervened. You are a good person; you showed mercy to those soldiers and Sten in Lothering when you could have easily killed them all, you brought an end to a great evil that had already consumed dozens of lives and would have taken many more, myself included. Never doubt that what you did was the right thing, just as you should never doubt that what you said to the elf was true".

Arthur nodded and gave a soft laugh "I'll never understand why you all have such faith in me"

"'Even the smallest person can change the course of the future'" Leliana offered. "The Revered Mother said that once about Andraste, but I believe it can apply to anyone who strives to make the world a better place, which I know you'll do in your duty as a Grey Warden. Beyond that, I have faith in you because...because I see something of myself in your past. I am no stranger to betrayal..." she finished sadly.

"What do you mean?" Arthur questioned, his gaze and tone marked by surprise at her revelation. She could sense no wariness or suspicion in him, only genuine curiosity and perhaps concern, and Leliana thought perhaps it was time to tell the truth she'd withheld from him.

"Before I came to Ferelden, I was...in the service of an Orlesian noblewoman..." Leliana began, but an elven incantation drew their attention and interrupted further discussion. Looking around, Arthur and Leliana saw their other companions had taken a place beside them, in the midst of a circle the Dalish had formed around them, Lanaya and Sarel stood at the front of the arrangement directly before them. Beside them lay a score of bodies, wrapped in plain white cloth- their slain clan mates and their Keeper. As Arthur watched, the bodies were, one by one, placed into the holes dug in the earth by friends and family, at which point Lanaya and Sarel went to each, Lanaya placing her hand in benediction on the deceased's brow and whispered the elven farewell "_Dareth shiral_", while Sarel intoned an elven prayer. Once the funerary rituals were completed, the Keeper and hahren stepped back, but instead of using the dug hollow in the earth as a pyre for the dead, their kinsfolk filled the grave in and then, upon each grave, buried the roots of a sapling into the fresh earth.

Leliana saw the confusion on Arthur's face at this unusual practice, no doubt more used to the Chantry's funerary rite of cremation, and whispered in his ear "It is a Dalish custom, to let life come from death". The Warden nodded in comprehension "A fine sentiment".

Leliana nodded in agreement "It reminds me of...of when my mother died, and this wise elven woman comforted me. I was so upset, but she comforted me, and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. She said 'Death...death is just another beginning. One day we must all shed our earthly bodies to let our spirits fly free'"

"That...that is a comforting thought" Arthur mused thoughtfully. "I...I had never looked at it that way". And he hadn't. '_I was so wrapped up in my anger at the violence of my family's deaths, I never stopped to consider the...the possibility that they were in a better place, free from this world of pain and suffering'_.

Leliana took his hand in hers, the comforting grip of a friend and comrade, and smiled "It is a beautiful sentiment, I think, one that brings peace and hope to the grieving". Gently, she released her grip on Arthur's hand and made over to Lanaya and Sarel, and asked "May I pay my own honour to your people and to your late Keeper, whose noble actions saved my own life?"

Lanaya nodded and gestured for Leliana to do so. The bard strode to beside the fire at the centre of the camp, took a deep breath and began to sing in a clear, melodious voice.

"_Hahren na melana sahlin"_

Around her, she heard gasps of surprise and looks of amazement and approval in the eyes of the elves, along with the occasional scowl of outrage that a _shemlen_ would dare to sing one of their most sacred ballads, of the ancient days of Arlathan and of the sacred Uthenara, the long sleep that led to blissful oblivion in the old times of immortality. The approving looks far outweighed the others, however, and Sarel's approving nod told her that her choice of song had been a good one. When the old elf added his voice to hers in a duet, it was a piece of such grace and beauty that many of the elves were brought to tears by it.

"_Emma ir abelas  
Souver'inan isala hamin  
Vhenan him dor'felas  
In uthenera na revas_

"Vir sulahn'nehn  
Vir dirthera  
Vir samahl la numin  
Vir 'lath sa'vunin"

The others were just as struck by the song's beauty as the elves: Edward sank down on his haunches, his ears pricked up as though the dog were just as captivated by it as the others. Morrigan's face briefly twisted into an amazed look of captivated awe and longing, before she swiftly shook it off and her expression reassumed its usual haughty indifference, Leliana smiling at the witch's brief display of emotion. Sten was likewise caught up in the song's power and import; his head sank into his chest as he stared at the forest floor, lost in his own thoughts. If Leliana didn't know better, she could have sworn a single tear rolled down the qunari's bronze cheek. Arthur and Alistair watched her sing, as much captivated by the song as by the woman who sang it, their heads inclined to her respectfully, clearly deep in thought and awe.

"_Vir sulahn'nehn  
Vir dirthera  
Vir samahl la numin  
Vir 'lath sa'vunin'" _

As her voice faded into silence, the clan burst into a great chorus of approval, applauding and comments of respect and praise from the elves, as well as her fellow companions. The warhound was the first to reach her, barking and nuzzling against her leg. She ran a hand through Edward's thick fur as others came forth to pay their adulations.

"A fitting tribute, my dear girl" Sarel remarked respectfully. "Thank you for sharing it with us".

"Spectacular! Truly, that was spectacular!" Alistair cried, applauding enthusiastically.

"A fine piece, minstrel" Sten agreed in a soft, courteous tone that suggested even the usually sullen, stoic qunari had been moved by the music. Leliana caught some remark from Morrigan about sounding like a cat being thrown off a high roof, but she didn't quite catch it.

"That was beautiful! Truly wonderful..." Arthur agreed, and in his eyes, she could see the unspoken compliment '_As are you'_.

"It was nothing..." she protested, but Arthur continued "It was truly enchanting, and...It has given me a new perspective on the passing of loved ones, not one of misery and regret, but of hope and light. So, thank you, Leliana", and his expression was one of gratitude and praise that Leliana felt such a pang of regret and shame for keeping silent for so long.

'_Tomorrow'_ she promised herself. '_Tomorrow I'll tell him all, and if the Maker wills it, all will go well'_.


	22. Interlude: A Murder of Crows

_Just a brief one this time around to keep the muse going, a brief foray into the mind of Loghain. Just my take on the thoughts going through the tyrant's head as he tries to justify himself (Bioware really outdid themselves with Loghain and Howe; I really do get into the spirit of things in game, I hate Loghain so much!)_

_Thanks as always to those of you who've reviewed, added or favourited; thank you to __**les111280**__ and __**TheManApart**__ and as ever, thank you to __**Ygrain333, spectre4hire, ethan **__and __**sova**__ for your truly great reviews; it's praise like that that gives me the drive to keep on going!_

_Just a note on the chapter: I don't think for a minute Loghain would have believed whatever lies and slander Howe concocted about Bryce (would you?); I'd always imagined it was something they'd made up together to help consolidate their position, so I took that take on it. Your thoughts?_

_As always, enjoy!_

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-may you always find your way in the dark'.**_

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The Regent's study, the Royal Palace, Denerim

Loghain Mac Tir finished reading the missive in his hand, written on vellum of the finest make in expensive ink, and with a snarl, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it onto the roaring fire in front of him.

'_It does not matter how fine the vessel, if its contents are only poison' _he thought to himself. The missive had said the same thing nearly every similar letter to him from the Bannorn had said: another upstart with the temerity to demand that he resign the regency and surrender to investigation about Ostagar. _'How bloody dare they?_' Loghain thought to himself. Nothing had changed; the fathers of these wretches had been all too willing to bend knee and kiss the arse of the Orlesian usurper instead of acknowledging their rightful king, and now their heirs were preferring to sit on the fence and denounce him when it was plain to the common folk that he was the best choice to lead Ferelden against the darkspawn raids.

'_Raids_' he reminded himself '_not a Blight'_. He had not been stupid enough to believe the tommyrot that secretive bastard Duncan had spoon-fed to an all-too-gullible Cailan. He was not so foolish as to dismiss the danger darkspawn posed, but he knew full well this could not be a Blight. _'Just a lie of the Wardens, parroted to scare us into letting their Orlesian masters put the yoke of oppression round our necks again!_'. Cailan had not believed it, but Loghain would never be fooled into lowering his guard against such threats.

The thought of the darkspawn and Orlais brought to memory the earlier two missives he had read, the ones that had put him into such a foul mood; the first had been written on fine parchment and marked with a wax seal bearing the emblem of a crown and fleur-de-lys over the Grand Cathedral-the emblem of the royal house of Orlais itself. Loghain had nearly tossed it onto the fire then and there, but he had reluctantly forced himself to read it. The letter had been a demand-an _outrageous_ demand- from Empress Celene to know why the Orlesian Grey Wardens, not to mention the four legions of chevaliers she had dispatched to assist the Fereldan war effort against the darkspawn, had been turned back at the border on the order of a _lesser_ noble when King Cailan had agreed to allow them passage into Ferelden.

Loghain was tempted to send back a reply regarding what the Empress could do with her offer (namely, shove it somewhere the sun didn't shine) but he desisted. For a start, he owed no allegiance to that pampered witch: he was not her vassal, no matter how she might have liked to make him and Cailan and all of Ferelden serfs to Orlais once again, and thus, he saw no need to kowtow to provide an answer to the wretched Orlesian bitch's questions. The second was more practical: if the Empress got wind of what had happened at Ostagar, of how Cailan was dead and Ferelden's armies greatly diminished, it would be like showing a red rag to a bull, and those chevaliers she claimed were to _help_ the people of Ferelden hold against the darkspawn would swarm across the border and re-conquer his beloved homeland in the blink of an eye, helped along by all the traitorous nobles of Ferelden who were all too willing to look to their own fortunes rather than do the damned right thing.

The news of Cailan's death and the disaster at Ostagar were not the only news of chaos within the Fereldan borders he needed to keep quiet, thinking of the second missive, received only three days ago: Lothering was gone. The darkspawn had swarmed out of the Korcari Wilds, falling upon the village, the survivors had said, like a plague of locusts descending upon farmland to gorge themselves, destroying everything and killing everyone in their path. The meagre defences that Loghain had seen the villagers erecting as he passed through with his men on the way to Denerim had proven insufficient-'_Not that I would have expected anything less against a force of that size'_ the old general mused- and Lothering had been drowned in a black tide of bloodshed, disease and death.

For a time, Loghain had toyed with the notion of assembling his forces and heading south to see what could be done, but the next day, he'd received word from another messenger who'd ridden his horse to the brink of collapse to get to Denerim; the darkspawn were gone. Having destroyed or taken anything that they had come upon, the beasts had retreated back the way they had come, melting back into the Korcari Wilds as if they had never been, leaving the gutted corpse of Lothering behind them. He'd heard rumours the Chantry were trying to put together some relief aid, but personally, Loghain was more concerned with whether or not the darkspawn would come back. As with Ostagar, there had been no sightings of an archdemon anywhere during the attack and with the darkspawn retreat back into the Wilds, the teyrn allowed himself a sliver of hope that the darkspawn had satisfied their urge for destruction and pillage, and were even now returning to where they belonged; the dank pits of the Deep Roads and the nightmares of small children. '_That would be most useful'_ he knew '_since it would mean I could secure my position more easily, without having to fight a war on two fronts between the wretched nobility and those monsters!'_

Outside his study, he heard the approach of armoured feet coming closer and closer and the sound of an armoured gauntlet rapping softly on the oaken door. "Enter" he snapped curtly. The door swung open slightly and Cauthrien stood in the doorway, her head inclined respectfully. Her tone and body language were still respectful, but he could see it, in her eyes no matter how well she hid it; the smallest hint of anger and disdain towards him. It had been there ever since that fateful night at Ostagar, and part of him knew it would never leave her: her image of him had been tarnished by that single order that went against everything she had been taught to do, and yet, she still wouldn't or couldn't go against him, the man who'd given her everything.

"My lord, the Arl of Denerim requests an audience with you" she stated, her tone calm and fair; it could have been a statue telling him who was waiting on his pleasure.

"Show him in, Cauthrien" he replied. She gave a curt nod, her face showing no emotion or reaction as she withdrew. Loghain gave the same satisfied smile he had when he had won the contest of wills with her at Ostagar. No matter her personal feelings, he knew Cauthrien was of the same mind as him. She knew what was at stake: the safety, security and freedom of Ferelden. He had no doubt Cauthrien was still loyal to him and his cause.

The man she ushered into his study was another matter altogether.

Loghain didn't even bother to acknowledge Rendon Howe as he entered the room. The new Arl of Denerim had the good graces at least to look respectful: if he'd come in with his usual smug smirk, Loghain felt he might have given in to the urge to split the abrasive git's skull. The Arl seemed to sense he was still very much in the doghouse with the regent, particularly over the Highever incident; Loghain had made it particularly clear after the Landsmeet where they'd denounced Bryce for his supposed collaboration with Orlais the only reason he hadn't sent Howe to the gallows was because his head was more useful to Loghain attached to his neck and helping him to sway the nobility, rather than decorating a pike atop Fort Drakon. He was still exceptionally enraged over the destruction of the Cousland line, since that had caused no small amount of problems in convincing the nobility to accept his leadership.

'_I wanted Bryce discredited before the Landsmeet, so that, with some 'persuasion', I could help him redeem himself in the eyes of the people, namely by endorsing me! A man of such skill and popularity would have had the nobility eating out of his hand; with someone like that on my side, my regency would have been secured so much more swiftly! But instead this devious, covetous bastard decides to settle an old score and leaves me to clean up his mess!_' Loghain thought hatefully to himself.

The sole reason he hadn't had Howe executed or sent south to the tender mercies of the darkspawn was because, though he loathed himself for saying it, he needed him. For all his skills as a general and a soldier, Loghain had never had much time for politics; he'd left that to ones better suited to it, like Maric and Rowan. For all his faults-of which there were many, the latest being to restore order to his new arling by ordering a near-genocide of the Denerim alienage- Rendon Howe did have an astute political mind, a keen understanding of the rest of the nation's nobility and how their minds worked: the velvet glove to the iron fist. Howe had provided several solutions to either coerce recalcitrant nobles into joining with them, or means to eliminate those who would never accept his authority, often by means the teyrn had not considered.

Not that it made Loghain trust or like him whatsoever.

"What is it, Howe? What do you want?"

"Sire, I bring news. There are more demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the regency".

"I know that; do you think I don't? Every day I sift through their demands, their complaints and their threats! Ungrateful louts; I gave the better part of my life defending them and_ this_ is how they repay me?" Loghain angrily snarled more to himself than to the prime example of such ungrateful louts stood behind him.

If Howe was offended by this, he gave no sign as he continued in that obsequious, waffling voice of his "There is more, my lord. They are said to be gathering their forces, as are your allies. It seems it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn. Pity". Loghain shook his head in disappointment, not that he was surprised; the so-called nobility of Ferelden had always been slow to accept the authority of their rightful rulers.

'_Rightful? The throne was never rightfully yours; you brought it with the betrayal of your kinsman and the shedding of innocent blood. Why?_

Cailan's voice was so vivid it was as if the late king were sneering in his ear behind him. The sudden memory of the previous night's dream caused Loghain to nearly start with shock, but he didn't; he would not allow Howe to see any such weakness. Uncorking the bottle of red wine made in the vineyards of Gwaren, he poured himself a goblet, trusting to the drink to steady his nerves. Draining the goblet dry and turning back to Howe, Loghain snapped "What allies? Who stands with us?"

"Bann Ceorlic has pledged his forces to your causes: he says he will stand beside the regent as is right and proper". Loghain snorted loudly at this: Ceorlic was just as much a bootlick as his father had been, the sole difference being the son was a Fereldan bootlicker, as opposed to an Orlesian one. Ceorlic didn't give a damn about doing what was right and proper; he only cared about not appearing to be anything less than loyal, lest he suffer the same fate as his murdering traitor of a father. '_Still, at least he knows his place'_ Loghain considered reluctantly '_and I need all the allies I can get, so I suppose I should thank the Maker for small favours'._

"Who else?"

"Banns Alfstanna, Sighard and Telmen are still dubious, though I believe I have methods to either bring them into line or get them out of the way, much like our 'solution' to matters in Redcliffe" Howe replied with a cat-like smile of self-satisfaction that sent a chill down Loghain's spine. He would never have normally agreed to such methods, but he couldn't deny that ensuring the removal of Eamon would prove beneficial to securing his position. Eamon, just like that obstinate whoreson brother of his, Teagan were far too stubborn and proud to accept his authority, not to mention too loyal to Cailan. Not for the first time, Loghain wondered how Rowan- a woman who'd understood the necessity of sacrifice, of doing what needed to be done-could have brothers as stubborn, pigheaded and obstinate, as unwilling to work for a greater cause as those two.

'_Bastard! Betrayer! I loved you so much that I was willing to go back to a man who broke my heart because it was what you wanted, and how do you thank me? By betraying everything we stood for, everything you, I and Maric fought for and leaving my son to his death at the hands of those monsters? Why?'_

Thinking of her brought the memory of Rowan from that nightmare-weak and all but drained of all her strength and vitality by her long illness- sprang into Loghain's mind and he shook his head to clear it of the memory. He didn't understand why it was happening to him now or what it meant, only that he didn't like it. '_What is it, a sign? They say dreams are visions from the Maker; is it a warning? Am I on the right path?'_

Shaking his head to clear it, he addressed Howe again "Who else?"

"Alas, Arl Wulff says he will not swear fealty unless we send him aid; he fears the darkspawn mean to assail West Hills next and wishes our aid in helping to secure his land, and there is still no news from South Reach. Perhaps you would consider sending me to attend to this matter; I know Arl Bryland of old, I'm sure I could convince him to..."

"There would be no point, for I have already received word from Arl Bryland" Loghain cut across his underling's blatant toadying . "He writes, in no uncertain terms, that he considers you a traitor and a murderer, and me at best an unwilling accomplice, if the rumours surrounding Ostagar are untrue. He adds that as far as he is concerned, you are no friend of his and never have been, that he will not dishonour Bryce and Eleanor's memory by acknowledging you, and concludes that if you are stupid enough to show your face in South Reach, he will have you killed" Loghain finished, taking great pleasure at the dumbfounded expression on Rendon Howe's face at Bryland's vehement denunciation. Personally, Loghain didn't care about Bryland's sentiment's towards Howe- Leonas had not said anything that Loghain didn't already think about Howe- but he was irked by Bryland's refusal to swear loyalty. Not that there was much that could be done about that; South Reach was a long way from Denerim and Loghain needed every man to secure the city and the closest reaches of the Bannorn before dealing with upstarts further afield.

When Howe spoke again, his face contorted in self-righteous indignation, it was with that same obsequious tone he had suggested deposing Bryce and the 'solution' to matters in Redcliffe. "Perhaps then, we should think about installing someone more _loyal_ to you in that arling?". The oily, aggrandising tone of his voice made it clear to Loghain who Howe thought should be given the title, and not for the first time, regretted ever letting this covetous, untrustworthy serpent of a man into his council, or ever taking his advice.

"No, do you want to give our opponents more ammunition than they already have?" Loghain roared, slamming a gauntleted fist down on the desk, upsetting the mass of scrolls, parchments and quills atop it, though fortunately not the wine bottle, from which Loghain helped himself to another glass. "Your mess at Highever has caused enough problems as it is, and people are already beginning to suspect our hand in Eamon's 'illness'. You think no one will become suspicious if a third noble who has made his opposition to us clear goes missing? No, we will deal with Bryland and Wulff later; for now, we will concentrate on the nobles who can be persuaded to join our cause. How that is done, I leave to you" Loghain concluded, a part of him regretting it: Howe's methods had already given the likes of Teagan and other dissenters enough mud to throw at him. Some had started to stick, and doubtless Howe's methods would create yet more. Still, Loghain pushed aside the thought; it would happen regardless. For better or worse, he was stuck with Howe-the man knew too much to simply get rid of him-, so Loghain knew he might as well make use of the wretch.

"Now, what news from Redcliffe? Is that stubborn bastard Eamon still on his last legs, or has he finally gone through death's door instead of lingering on it?"

To Loghain's surprise, Howe looked rather uneasy at this, and his tone was wary as he replied "I don't know, sire; I have not received word from my agents there in a good while. And there are rumours coming from the west; they say Redcliffe is threatened by something. Darkspawn, perhaps?"

Loghain rubbed his chin thoughtfully: he hadn't heard of the darkspawn reaching that far west, not that it would necessarily be a bad thing, since both Eamon and his obstinate bastard of a kinsman, Teagan were both still there, or at least Loghain had last heard. If the monsters obliterated the cursed Guerrin brothers, it would certainly be a benefit. Still, it would be better to ascertain the true nature of the situation, and ensure his hand was still undetected in that arling. "Very good, I will consider that. Now if that's all, you may leave" Loghain curtly replied, but to his surprise and annoyance, Howe made no move to obey the command.

"What is it? Do you have more to say?"

"I have another interesting report, sire. It appears there are Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How I do not know, but they will act against you" Howe replied uneasily. Loghain was forced to agree with his adjutant. He'd been aware that some of the Order had survived after that cowardly ingrate that he'd left behind in Lothering, Sergeant Fredrik, and his men had arrived back in Denerim days before. Loghain hadn't for a moment believed their tale of some red-haired demoness assisting the Wardens- more likely, the Wardens had taken Fredrik and his men by surprise while they were lounging in the tavern, blind drunk- but he was well aware of the danger the Wardens posed to him: despite the efforts of his propaganda to besmirch the reputation of the Grey Wardens, he knew some amongst the nobility still looked favourably on those warmongering doomsayers, in spite of all his proofs of their true allegiance. And if the Wardens were to find shelter and support among those opposing him...the rumours surrounding him at Ostagar would become more than rumours for many.

Those Wardens needed to die and soon. He knew they'd been heading in the direction of the Brecilian Forest the last time he'd heard of them, but that had been days ago. He had no men to spare hunting ghosts in that foreboding place, and no notion of how to root out and crush the threat those wretches posed before their travels took them to where his enemies could find and assist them.

"I have arranged for a solution, with your leave, sire" Howe's voice cut through his musings. Intrigued this time by the Arl's proposal, since it might be of use, Loghain watched as Howe told someone outside the study to show in his guests, and moments later, half a dozen rough-looking figures trooped in; four men, two women. Their faces and flesh were scarred and heavily marked, and Loghain might have dismissed them as bandits or thugs one could find loitering about the docks and more dubious drinking dens of Denerim, if not for the fact their weapons and armour were on the finest make. The fighters looked in the peak of health, and well fed, not like the usual condition of the riffraff that made up the criminal underbelly of the city; indeed, judging from their tanned, weather-beaten look, they were certainly not Fereldans.

The leader of this motley group- a tall, thin elf with long, pale blonde hair tied back behind his head, clad in fine leather armour with a sword and dagger sheathed at his waist- pushed his way through the group to stand by Howe and regarding Loghain with an amused smirk, as if uncertain why the man before him was worth all the pomp and ceremony. Loghain glared at this blatant disrespect, but the elf was completely indifferent to the regent's ire. The elf inclined his head briefly, though there was no respect to the gesture, and spoke in a cultured, but haughty tone, his voice a husky, accented rasp that spoke of his true origins. "The Antivan Crows send their regards".

"Assassins?" Loghain spat at his advisor, disgusted by the very notion.

Howe simply gave a blasé shrug and simply replied "Against Grey Wardens, sire, we will need the very best".

"Ha, and the most expensive" the Antivan elf added with a sneering chuckle.

Loghain turned away, considering the possibility. He had always despised assassins and others of their cut-throat ilk. For the rest of the world and his own conscience, he said it was because of the despicable nature of their act. There were many good reasons to kill- for honour, in defence of one's home and family, for freedom, in a righteous cause- but those who killed for money had none of the worthiness or purpose, any consideration or remorse for the act that kept you from becoming consumed by it or aware it should always be done as a last resort, as he had. At least, that was what Loghain claimed was his aversion to cut-throats.

In his heart of hearts, Loghain knew the reason he despised assassins was because they reminded him of that traitorous bitch, Katriel and the damage she had nearly done to Ferelden. The fact that this Antivan elf bore a slight resemblance to that Orlesian-paid tatterdemalion did little to improve Loghain's opinion of the matter, since it brought back memories of all that wretched cut-throat had done. The slaughter at West Hill. The near deaths of Maric, Rowan and himself in the carnage that followed. That dark night in Gwaren where the treachery had been dealt with, and yet where he had also seen part of his friendship with Maric die forever. And the fact that years after that night, years of being king and years of marriage to one of the best women Loghain had ever known, Maric had continued to betray Rowan as he had before by pining after the elven bitch that had nearly gotten him killed and dragged Ferelden into oblivion with him.

'_And you would know all about betrayal, wouldn't you?'_

Maric's taunt from the same dream as the others was laced with hatred and contempt that Loghain had never heard his old friend use when he was alive.

'_She was right about you, Loghain._ "Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last". _And she was right. Maker forgive me, but that witch was right about you, Loghain. Look around at what you have done. What you are doing. You are no better than Meghren'._

For one wild moment, the memory of the nightmare struck Loghain. Was he at risk of becoming the very tyrant he had fought to overthrow?

'_No_, he told himself_. 'I am in the right. The dream was just a dream, nothing more. Merely my doubt and uncertainty manifesting itself. It is to be expected in moments of importance like this, but I cannot allow it to get the better of me. That dream was no sign, but a test. To allow doubt to rule over me is to invite chaos and destruction down upon Ferelden once more, and I will_ NOT _allow that to happen!'_

Those Wardens had to die, and immediately. He was well acquainted with the reputation of the Antivan Crows for getting the job done, so if he could destroy a potential threat to his rule and the safety of Ferelden, shouldn't he be willing to? Weren't the safety, security and freedom of his beloved homeland worth the sacrifice of his principles?

"Just get it done" Loghain heard himself say in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Howe bowed low, his nose practically touching the floor, and ushered the Antivan elf and his hirelings out of the study. As the door closed behind them, Loghain poured himself yet another cup of wine, lost in thought.

'_It will be worth it in the end'_, he told himself. '_Everything you have done and have to do will be justified'_.

'_The freedom, the very survival of Ferelden is all that matters'._

'_For that cause, I will sacrifice any ideal, pay any price'._


	23. Chapter 21: Secrets Revealed

_Well, first things first, I suppose I really should apologise for keeping you all waiting with this; sorry, but real life is really starting to eat into my free time. I'm trying to write three epics nowadays-my dissertation, a personal project and this- so writing priorities are constantly changing. Hopefully though, things should pick up soon: I've kinda got the framework for my take on the 'Arl of Redcliffe' quest-line, so hopefully putting the pieces together won't take so long...I hope!_

_As ever, thank you to all of you who show incredible faith, patience and enthusiasm with my humble work by reviewing, adding or subscribing, so thank you as always to_ **cakeisalie**, **roxfox 1962, ethan **_(sorry about not including Stolen Throne spoiler warnings, I'll remember it next time!),_ **spectre4hire ****les111280** _and_ **Ygrain333 **_for your wonderful, supportive reviews as ever, and thank you to __**Zenman, **__for your great review. Also, thank you to_ **SirTiser, ****dyslecksec, Grey Jackett, sandman7734, ethan89, **_and_ **AtS** _for subscribing or adding; it's your enjoyment and enthusiasm for this that keeps me going!_

_Can't say when I'll have more for you-my work is having to take priority- but rest assured, I will keep at it whenever I can!_

_Just a note on the chapter; since having read the last one, you probably know who's going to make an appearance now, I've just changed the location where our companions meet him, since I felt the location where Arthur and the others bump into a certain elf makes more sense than just some spot at random on the road._

_As always, enjoy!_

'**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**

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"So, you say Arl Eamon raised you?"

Alistair looked up as Arthur addressed him. They'd left the Dalish a day before, the clan retreating into the Brecilian Forest to gather their strength and attempt to contact others of their people. He also remembered Arthur talking to Keeper Lanaya about something to 'aid the Wardens' cause and prepare the Dalish for war'. He hadn't caught all of it; all he knew was that Arthur had asked them to keep watch on the road from Gwaren, Loghain's terynir. When he'd asked, his companion had given an evil smile and replied "Let's just say that if the regent tries to move troops from his holdings in Gwaren to reinforce him in Denerim, our Dalish friends will have quite the surprise waiting for him".

Since leaving the Brecilian Forest, the group had been relatively quiet, now that the relative security of the Dalish camp was behind them and any undue noise might attract attention. Fortunately, the only trouble they'd had so far was a small party of bandits who'd swiftly realised they were out of their depth and retreated after losing two of their number. Since then, there had been little conversation for fear that it would attract attention, so they had remained mostly silent. The question caught Alistair, who'd gotten used to the silence, by surprise, not least because he wasn't quite sure how best to explain the story of his somewhat murky past to his companion. And so Alistair decided to address it the way he usually did such things.

"Did I say that? I meant wild dogs raised me. Giant flying dogs from the Anderfels, a whole pack of them in fact!"

""That would explain the smell" Arthur opined. Truth be told, none of them smelled particularly pleasant; the pleasures of that bath in the lake by the Dalish camp were quite forgotten and the immediate lack of water sources at times when they made camp meant that the ability to attend to their hygiene was somewhat intermittent. The group had acquired various means to deal with the matter; Leliana always emitted the pleasant smell of those pale white wildflowers known as Andraste's Grace they'd discovered she had a fondness for. When asked about it, she had smirked and said that she always kept the blossoms in her brassiere to stay fresh. Alistair initially wasn't sure if she was joking or not, but when Arthur had put the question to her, Leliana had demonstrated with one after Arthur presented her with another flower. Morrigan never smelled any different, always projecting a faint air of pine needles, even though the great pine forests of the Korcari Wilds were far behind them; Alistair wondered if the witch would lower herself to use her magic for a simple cantrip as disguising an unpleasant scent. Sten, however, lathed his flesh with a strong smelling, though not unpleasant oil that certainly disguised any other scent. Edward, of course, smelled of wet, muddy dog.

Feeling they were drifting from the conversation, Alistair returned to the matter they had been discussing. "Well, it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean. Old habits die hard, you know."

"So does a horde of darkspawn"

"Hmm. Point taken" Alistair agreed, his expression becoming much more sober. He gave a reluctant sigh and answered "Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard. And before you make any smart comments," he said, eying Arthur's face sharply and pointing a warning finger at his companion, stopping him just as Arthur opened his mouth, "I mean the _fatherless_ kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

"Arl Eamon wasn't your father? Do you know who was?" Arthur questioned, no doubt confused as to why a man as powerful and important as Eamon would go to so much effort to bring up a child who wasn't of his own blood. Uneasiness struck Alistair as he wondered _'Should I tell him the truth?'_ before dismissing it; there'd be time enough for that later.

Still, Alistair couldn't suppress a rather sour grimace at the memory as he replied "I know who I was _told_ was my father. He died even before my mother did, but that's not important".

"So why did Eamon send you to the Chantry?"

"Several years after he took me in, Arl Eamon married a young woman from Orlais; it caused all sorts of problems with the King because it was so soon after the war. But...he loved her". Arthur nodded at this, as though he understood how love could make people willing to do things that went against all rational thought. Alistair wondered what such things were, but dismissed it as a matter for another time.

"Anyway, the new arlessa was never too fond of me. I think she resented the rumours that pegged me as his bastard; they weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she _did_. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten, just as well really. The arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point; she_ despised_ me"

"What a terrible thing to do to a child" Arthur muttered, frowning and furrowing his brow. Alistair could understand his comrade's displeasure: he was a child of nobility, had probably never wanted for anything growing up. No doubt he thought it abominable that the arl had been willing to cast aside a child whom he'd spent ten years bringing up as an apparent act of charity, solely for the affections of a shrewish woman who'd made said child's life a living nightmare. Alistair, however, had had long years to come to terms with the matter.

"Maybe," Alistair replied to Arthur's ire with a small shrug. "She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her. She wondered if the rumours were true herself, I bet." They walked on quietly for a few seconds before Alistair spoke again, thinking aloud. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away, I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, _stupid_ thing to do. The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything… and eventually he just stopped coming."

"You were young" was Arthur's sympathetic answer.

"And raised by dogs. Or I might as well have been, the way I acted. But maybe all young bastards act like that, I don't know. All I know is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He also was King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway… that's really all there is to the story. Why did you want to know?"

"Well, since Redcliffe's our next stop, I was curious about what kind of welcome we're likely to expect" Arthur replied, causing another slew of unease to pass through Alistair at the mention of Redcliffe; a good many people there knew of his _history_ and that past was sure to be mentioned. _'It's probably going to better if he hears it from my mouth rather than some random villager...but how does one just bring it up?'_

Still the matter was going to have to be broached sooner or later, and Alistair knew it would probably be better to do it now rather than walking into Redcliffe Castle. But as Alistair opened his mouth to begin to explain more about his origins, he fell silent as he, like the other saw what was on the horizon; a collection of burnt or heavily damaged buildings.

"Be ready for anything" Alistair heard his fellow Warden remark as the ruins of Lothering came closer.

#####################

The elf known as Zevran Arainai smiled as he saw the approaching target; the information the Arl had given them had been good. Howe had provided intelligence showing that the Wardens had last been seen heading into the Brecilian Forest, but since he and Loghain didn't believe the Wardens would be stupid enough to show their faces in Gwaren or Denerim, Howe figured it was simply a ruse; that if the Wardens survived the dangers of the forest, they'd likely circle round and head towards an area that would be more likely to welcome anything that helped them undermine the rightful ruler. _'Not that I particularly care about that!_' he thought; his only care was his share of the large chest of gold sovereigns that scowling, dour old git Loghain had paid the Crows for the job that awaited him upon his return home to Antiva City.

The Arl had suggested Lothering would be a good place to wait, since it was on a crossroads that their target was sure to pass through, and had advised them to wait there, reassuring the worries of several of the assassin's associates that the darkspawn who'd gutted the village were long gone and the worst they'd have to worry about would be a few ghouls and the likely mess of scavengers and looters seeking to take anything of value not destroyed or tainted by the darkspawn.

A hectic race to the ruins, setting themselves up and then waiting for the prey to approach had now come to fruition; their target was nearly there. The individuals' one of his men, the archer Rico, reported approaching from the east matched the descriptions they'd been given-two men, two women and a qunari, with the addition of a large war dog- and Zevran swiftly issued orders to the Crows he'd been given.

"Rico, Carla, Amelia and Nicodemus, get on the roof of the Chantry; take out the qunari and the two women. Lucian, Quintus, you're with me; we'll deal with the Wardens" he smiled, already thinking of what he'd spend his share of the coin this job would net him; that fine pair of boots, for a start. '_And then the hard decision; a hundred 1 sovereign prostitutes, or one 100 sovereign prostitute?'_

'_First things first'_ the practical part of his mind reminded him '_Let's get the job done'_. Turning to the one member of his team yet to be assigned a task-the buxom, blonde acolyte the Antivan Circle had lent the Crows for this mission- and gave her a wide, devious smile. The girl was clad in a tattered, torn dress; the picture of a wide-eyed frightened survivor of the horde. It had been Zevran's idea: the information Arl Howe had provided them with suggested the leader of these Wardens had a weakness for chivalry, and Zev was all too aware of how a pretty face could lead even the most skilled and competent individual into making a fatal blunder.

"And as for you, my dear Rosa, make sure our guests find our welcoming party"

##########################

The sight of Lothering was quite haunting. They'd known what to expect; by chance, they'd encountered Bodahn Feddic and Sandal again heading north to Denerim, who'd warned them the village was gone. To hear the dwarf merchant describe it, the darkspawn had descended on Lothering like locusts, wiping aside everything in their path. Anyone who hadn't fled the village in time had been killed or taken by the monsters, and once they had satisfied their urge for destruction, they'd retreated, leaving no structure in their path intact and no one who had remained behind unharmed. Arthur murmured a prayer to the Maker that as many people as possible had managed to escape with their lives. A stifled whimper caught his attention.

"I should have been here..." he heard Leliana mutter behind them. Arthur fell in step beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, murmuring "There would have been nothing you could have done. The horde would have still struck the village and the only difference that you would have made is that the darkspawn would have killed one more person"

"I could have made a difference" she protested. Arthur's grip on her shoulder tightened and he said in a soft, comforting, but firm voice "You did what you thought was right. And you are making a difference here and now, helping us to turn back the Blight..." he reassured her, gaining a wan smile, though he could see in those emerald eyes she was unsatisfied by the platitude.

"Should we look for survivors?" Alistair put forward uneasily. Before anyone could answer, Morrigan darted forward and whacked him round the back of the head. "You're a Grey Warden: I thought you would know the darkspawn do not leave survivors. The only things you will find alive here are ghouls and blight wolves; our best bet is to just get out of here and back on the road as soon as possible before they come looking for an easy meal!"

And that was when a wild-eyed woman, wearing a tattered dress, her pale blonde hair wild and unkempt came running towards them. Arthur raised his sword, but stopped when he saw the girl bore no signs of the taint; no pale, milky eyes or blotches forming on her skin. She raced up to the group, panting raggedly and gasped, beckoning them to follow "Oh, thank the Maker! They attacked the wagon, please help us!"

With that, she turned on her heel and ran in the direction of the ruined Chantry. The group followed her at a more reasonable pace, their minds all racing with similar thoughts: there was no way the girl could be a survivor of the darkspawn attack; he couldn't see any sign of injury and the presence of the taint around them was somewhat muted by the absence of the horde. '_Survivor of a bandit attack?_' he wondered.

Following the girl, she led them to beside the ruins of Lothering's Chantry, but the scene they saw was not what they had expected: a trio of hard-looking men stood in front of the Chantry, clad in leather armour of superior workmanship, as well as weapons of fine make. Looking around, Arthur saw a quartet of other figures perched like crows on the building's roof, and to his great unease, aiming crossbows at them. The girl nodded to one of the figures stood before them- a tall, haughty looking elf with a condescending sneer on his thin mouth, a longsword and vicious looking dagger clutched in his hands. The girl smiled in a cat-like manner and nodded to the elf, before beginning to incant in an arcane tongue, flickers of lightning dancing in her hands.

That was when Arthur realised just what they'd gotten into.

This was not a rescue. This was a trap.

"The Grey Warden dies here!" the elf roared as he and his fellows hurled themselves into the fray. Leliana and Morrigan ducked into cover as the archers on the roof loosed their shots at them, while the trio of attackers flung themselves at the others. Alistair and Sten grappled with the two other attackers while the elf charged straight at Arthur, both blades stabbing at the Warden's face. In the nick of time, Arthur blocked the blades with his shield and bashed it into the elf's face, sending him staggering back. Arthur slashed out with a high cut at the elf's neck, but the rogue recovered more quickly from the shield bash than expected, ducking below the swing so the blade only shaved off a few locks of blonde hair instead of shearing off his head. The dagger slashed out behind him as the elf swung low and Arthur roared in pain as the blade ripped a bloody furrow across the back of his right knee. A pair of identical screams sounded seconds later behind them as Sten all but hacked the man he'd been fighting in half at the waist, while one of the archers perched on the Chantry's roof fell screaming to the earth, Leliana having emerged from behind the cover of a wrecked wagon to put an arrow through his torso.

The elf looked chagrined at the sight of this, and Arthur stabbed out at the elf's chest while he was distracted; the elf saw the attack and leapt aside, responding with a hacking blow that slashed into the back of Arthur's hand, piercing the gauntlet, flesh and bone. Arthur gave an involuntary howl of pain as the Cousland sword fell from his maimed grasp, his head spinning as he saw a yellowish paste coating the edge of the bloody wound- '_Poison_!'. Leliana screamed his name and tried to run to his aid, but the archers on the roof kept her pinned down. Alistair, having beheaded his own foe as the warrior had been distracted by Edward's fangs in his thigh, tried to do likewise, but a blast of lightning in the back from the mage girl sent him flying. But as the girl laughed in triumph, Morrigan screamed a Chasind war cry and let loose a powerful magical blast of her own, trapping the woman in a slowly constricting cage of magical energy. Rooted in place, unable to move, the mage was helpless to defend herself as Edward struck her full in the chest like a brown thunderbolt. Before she could recover from where she'd landed on the floor, or cast a spell to defend herself, the mabari's fanged jaws closed around the mage's neck and tore out her throat.

Ignoring the deaths of his accomplices, the elf pressed his attack, slamming his blades at the Warden with relentless intensity, reducing Arthur to merely blocking desperately with Swiftrunner's shield, whatever substance that had coated the elf's blade coursing through his blood and doing its devious work. It was growing more difficult to concentrate, the dizziness in his head growing worse with every second. He managed to block another vicious attack, but then the assassin chose to fight dirty and kicked him in the crotch. Caught completely offguard, Arthur fell to his knees, winded and expecting to feel the bite of a poisoned blade into the side of his neck. He vaguely heard Alistair and Leliana scream his name desperately, unable to stop what was about to happen.

But before the assassin could take advantage, there was a loud roar from behind them. Before either Warden or assassin could react to the sound of feet hurtling towards them, Arthur was promptly knocked aside and the assassin was lifted fully off the ground as a gargantuan figure seized the elf by his throat. The elf promptly dropped his weapons and clutched vainly at the thick, gauntleted fist closed firmly around his neck.

"ANAAM ESSEN QUN!" Sten roared as he pulled his arm back and hurled the elf away as if he weighed little more than an empty sack. The elf didn't have time to react before he flew across the square, smacking into the Chanter's board and reducing it to splinters, before crashing heavily into the stone wall of the Chantry's courtyard. There was a loud 'thud' as the back of the elf's head smacked into the hard stone; he slowly slid to the floor and lay at the foot of the wall in a limp heap.

The other assassins reacted to the fall of their leader by redoubling their efforts; one of the archers perched on the Chantry roof hit Sten in the shoulder with a crossbow bolt, but Leliana put an arrow through his eye before he could nock another bolt. Roaring like a bull, Sten seized a discarded darkspawn spear left where its owner had dropped it and hurled it, hitting the last remaining assassin full in the chest, who lost her balance on the roof and plummeted, screaming to her death.

Arthur collapsed to the floor when he saw the battle was done, exhausted and relieved beyond measure to be alive. Morrigan and Leliana were at his side in an instant, Morrigan's hands swiftly pouring healing energy into his wounds, while Leliana forced him to swallow a bitter liquid from a glass phial she pulled from her belt pouch. "Antidote for deathroot poisoning" she explained as he swallowed, the dizziness and blurred vision beginning to clear up as the liquid he'd drunk counteracted the elf's poison.

Getting to his feet, he saw Alistair, Edward and Sten checking the bodies of their attackers for signs of life; Sten merely tapping bodies with his boot or the haft of his axe, Alistair and Edward being much more brutal about it with casual stabs or slashes of their blade and claws. "This one still lives" Sten remarked, nudging the unconscious form of the elf with his boot.

"Not for much longer!" Alistair snarled as he stormed over, kicked the elf onto his back and raised his sword above his head, about to plunge it down into the elf's chest.

"NO! Wait!" Leliana interjected. Alistair whirled round to glare at her, the expression on his face clearly saying he thought she'd lost her mind.

"Wait? He tried to kill us!"

"She is right," Arthur added in a hoarse croak. "These weren't just simple brigands. And you heard what that one said; they knew what we are. This wasn't a simple bandit attack; this was an assassination attempt."

Alistair directed an incredulous stare at his fellow Wardens. "Assassination? Us? But who would- ...Oh." he said comprehendingly, his thoughts reaching the same conclusion as Arthur.

"You'll never find out if he's dead, would you?" Leliana reasoned. "Tie him up and interrogate him when he comes to. You can always kill him later once you have what you need to know."

"Fine. Fine," Alistair grudgingly conceded, pulling coils of rope from his pack. He and Sten seized the elf by his limp arms and tied his arms to the wooden posts that remained of the Chanter's board. After ensuring the elf was securely tied to the remains of the Chanter's board, Arthur seized a discarded bucket from beside the ruin of a cottage, filled it from the nearby river and then promptly tossed it over the elf. Being doused in cold water quickly brought the fellow back to his senses, coughing and spluttering, spitting out a mouthful of river water as he came to and took in his surroundings.

"Uh...oh" the elf muttered as he took stock of the large number of blades pointed at him. "I rather thought I'd wake up dead, or rather, not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I must admit, I am rather surprised you haven't killed me"

His voice was marked by a rich Antivan accent, much like Oriana's, though hers had become less evident over time. In the first few years of her relationship with Fergus, she had been quite talkative about her homeland, Arthur suspected as a means to combat homesickness. He felt a brief moment of nostalgia as he remembered Fergus telling him that Oriana loved it when his big brother flirted with her in her native language, the memory bringing back the familiar sense of grief and loss.

"That can be easily rectified" Alistair growled, holding the tip of Oathkeeper at the elf's neck and interrupting Arthur's reverie. To his surprise, the elf didn't at all seemed threatened by this, merely bobbed his head in agreement and replied "Of that I have no doubt. Still, it does beg the question why have you spared me?"

"We decided we wanted information, and figured the best way to get such would be to torture you for information first, elf" Morrigan coldly sniped from behind them. To their surprise, the elf didn't look remotely afraid or threatened by the prospect; rather, he gave a wink and a lecherous smile in the direction of the mage and chuckled "Oh, so you decided to keep me around for a little fun, eh? As fun as that might be, the purpose of torture is usually to gain information. That being the case, let me save you some time and cut to the chase. My name is Zevran Arainai, better known as 'Zev' to my friends-of which I appear to be rather short on at the moment" the elf sighed, gesturing to the butchered corpses of his fellow assassins "I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. A task at which, I have unfortunately failed".

"I'm rather pleased that you failed" Arthur angrily spat, the memory of the groin kick that had almost cost him his life still fresh. Zevran again nodded agreeably "So would I be in your position; no hard feelings, by the way. I've nothing personal against you; it's purely business".

"Antivan Crows...I've heard that name before" Arthur muttered, half to himself. At that point, Leliana piped up "I can tell you that. They're an order of assassins out of Antiva, very skilled, and renowned for getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man".

'_Of course'_ Arthur thought to himself, vaguely remembering a half-forgotten memory of Highever Castle, what seemed like a lifetime ago, of Oriana telling her young son stories about her homeland and the mysterious guild of deadly killers who ruled and controlled the realm of Antiva in all but name. The elf nodded in agreement with Leliana's description.

"Indeed. I'm surprised you haven't heard more about us. Back home, we're quite famous".

"Not for being good assassins" Alistair sneered. The elf's eyes went wide with annoyance, his chest puffed out as he angrily snorted "Oh fine! Is that what you Fereldans do, mock your prisoners? Huh, such cruelty!"

Ignoring the elf's bruised ego, Arthur pressed on with the interrogation. "Who hired you to kill us?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital; Loghain, I think his name was. Yes, that's it". Alistair and Arthur exchanged a significant look; their unspoken guess had been confirmed. Clearly, they'd underestimated the traitor's desire to annihilate them; he was clearly sincere in his effort to wipe all evidence of his treachery under the rug.

"Does that mean you're loyal to Loghain?" Arthur questioned.

The elf gave a dismissive grimace. "I've no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I would imagine; you threaten his power, no? Beyond that, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service. Like I said, purely business" he concluded, his expression neutral.

"How much were you paid to kill us?" Alistair angrily demanded. "How much gold did that bastard give you for our heads?"

"I wasn't paid anything" the elf shrugged, indifferent. The Crows, on the other hand, were paid quite handsomely, so I'm told. Which does make me about as poor as a Chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow is not for the ambitious!"

"Then why are you one?" Arthur questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"Aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I was never given much of a choice. The Crows bought me when I was young, you see. But don't let my sad story influence you: the Crows aren't such a bad lot. They keep one well supplied in wine, women, men; whatever you might fancy. Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you're thinking about joining, I'd really advise you to reconsider!"

"Thanks. I'll take it under advisement" Arthur replied coldly. The elf, unperturbed by his harsh tone, gave a cheeky wink and replied "Ah, you seem like a bright lad. I'm sure you've got other options". That managed to elicit an amused snort from Arthur at the thought; '_Isn't what just happened evidence of how many options I _don't_ have? An outlaw, a wanted criminal, a Grey Warden: not exactly where I thought I'd end up in life!_'. Trying to regain the sullen, merciless image he'd been trying to project to the elf, he turned a cold stare back to the prone assassin.

"When were you to see Loghain next?" he asked, wondering if this Zevran would be missed if he didn't show up in Denerim a few days later with Alistair and Arthur's heads on a plate.

"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then."

"_If_ you had failed?" A touch of the rage began to kindle in Arthur at the memory of how close failure had been success for the elf.

"What can I say? I am an eternal optimist," claimed the elf rather cheerfully. "Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" His laughter was cut short as Alistair's sword was pressed to his neck, the templar glaring at him with murder in his eyes. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?" he sighed reluctantly. A thought seemed to strike him as he then piped up, a resigned look on his face "Unless you're rather intent on killing me, and if you're done with the interrogation, I've a proposal for you, if you've a mind to hear it?"

"If it's on the best way to gut you, I'm all ears!" Alistair replied, gaining an amused chuckle and an approving nod from Morrigan. That seemed to surprise him more than anything.

The elf gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, are you really going to hold a grudge? I told you, it was nothing personal, purely business!"

"You tried to kill me and my friends" Alistair snarled back, aiming for a swing at Zevran's neck "I'm making it personal".

"Wait!" Arthur snapped. "Let's hear him out before we throw him out; it might even be amusing. Speak your piece, but I promise nothing".

The blunt, business-like tone in which the elf spoke made it quite clear he didn't believe they would accept his offer; he was merely putting it out there like a market trader trying to get rid of his produce. "Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

Alistair immediately reacted, sputtering in astonishment at the assassin as though indignant at the very idea. "Do you think we're royally stupid?"

"I think you're royally tough to kill. I'm only _hoping_ that you're stupid." Zevran winked at the man, his cheeky grin quickly changing into a penitent look as Alistair's face went white with outrage and he pulled his sword back for a decapitating stroke. "THAT WAS A JOKE! Let me rephrase it; I'm hoping you're the sort of fellow who takes a chance once in a while" he finished, looking hopefully at Arthur.

"And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?" he curtly answered, the memory of his near-death still fresh.

"To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

The sincerity in his tone could be genuine, Arthur thought, or it could just be a ploy to get into their confidence. "Won't the Crows come after you?"

"Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not... well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?" Zevran shrugged, resigned and awaiting his fate.

Arthur had to admit, he was uncertain what to do. One half of him-the berserker- screamed at him to spit on the elf's offer, relieve him of his head and find some way to send it back to Loghain as a message that he would have to do better next time. The other, more rational side saw some benefit to the elf's offer; he was clearly skilled with a blade- skilled enough to nearly best a Grey Warden- and clearly wasn't above using any means to achieve victory; a useful, if not commendable tactic in a fighter. What interested Arthur more, however, was his knowledge of methods likely to be used by any successors to his work. Arthur knew Loghain; the teyrn was clearly determined in his course to see the Grey Wardens, one of the few living witnesses to his treachery, dead. Once Loghain learned that his assassin had failed, he would not hesitate to send more until he got what he sought: namely Arthur and Alistair's heads for him to mount outside the palace. Having someone on their side who knew the methods their enemy would be likely to use would be useful, but even so, considering that he just tried to kill them all, he doubted the others would see it that way, particularly seeing as part of him possessed the same sentiments that they likely did.

"He would be of use" Leliana muttered from behind him. "You don't cast away a fine sword simply because your enemy used it before you"

"You want me to spare him?" Arthur questioned. "Why? You don't believe he could be lying?"

"A lie would gain him nothing in his position. If he tries to kill you, or return to his superiors, he will die. You are the only thing keeping him alive, and I think he'll be of use" she replied, bluntly. This was not the Chantry sister preaching atonement who spoke; instead, it was the Orlesian bard, who understood the idea of making use of any weapon that came to hand. "His knowledge, his skills and his talents will serve your cause well, and if I am proved wrong, and he does prove to be unworthy of our trust, I'll kill him myself. But until that moment comes, let him be of use" she concluded fairly.

"What? You're taking the assassin with us now? Are you insane? Does that really seem like a good idea?" Alistair angrily blurted, clearly appalled and disgusted at the very idea of it.

"You saw the way he handles a weapon, we could make use of that"

"What I saw was his attempts to attack and murder Arthur."

"But he didn't succeed. And think of what use that skill will be against darkspawn, bandits and any other threat you came across on your journey. Would you refuse yourself help, simply because of the hand that offers it?"

"She...has a point, Alistair" Arthur added fairly, the rational overcoming the berserker. "We need all the help we can get. And weren't you the one who said the Grey Wardens have always taken allies wherever they could find them?"

The expression on Alistair's face said clearly he was about as happy with the matter as he would have been told to chew on a wasp, but finally he relented "Hmmm. I suppose you're right," Alistair reluctantly conceded. "Still if there's a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello." He finished, making an annoyed face.

"A fine plan," Morrigan sarcastically added. "But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you."

"That's an excellent advice for anyone," said Zevran, strangely cheerful for someone in his position.

Leliana moved forward, drawing a dagger to cut the ropes binding the elf. "Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan."

"Oh? You are another companion-to-be, then? I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely."

The bard's emerald eyes rolled up. "Or maybe not."

"Word to the wise: don't even think about it" Arthur warned, earning a hand raised in placation from Zevran.

"Curious" Sten intoned from behind once more, clearly intrigued by what had just happened. "I didn't think it a human practice to make a companion of a defeated enemy".

"You disapprove?" Arthur asked. But to his surprise, the qunari shook his head and, with a quirk of the lips that could almost have been a smile, replied "It is...encouraging to see".

"Encouraging? How so?"

"Perhaps your people are becoming more like qunari" he replied enigmatically. "You could do worse".

"You mean to say that qunari make comrades of your defeated enemies?" Arthur asked, surprised at this example of the stoic warrior's different culture.

By way of an answer, Sten merely gave a nonchalant shrug and replied "Qunari do not waste resources. And few are more valuable than lives" before turning away in a manner that said clearly that the matter was not open to further discussion.

Once his bonds were cut, Zevran pushed himself up from the ground and approached the two Wardens. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear."

"I accept your oath..." Arthur replied, taking the elf's outstretched hand, shaking it briefly, before tightening his grip into an iron vice "but if you try to harm us, or betray us to your paymaster, I'll kill you without a second thought. _Capisce_?" he warned.

The assassin nodded solemnly before extricating his hand from Arthur's and retrieving his weapons. Alistair tensed up as the blades reunited with their owner, but to their relief, Zevran merely spun the sword and dagger back into their sheathes, and then gestured to the path out of the village leading to the west; the direction the group had been heading before his interruption. "After you?"

Arthur nodded in agreement ."Let's go. I've seen enough of this place to last me a lifetime". And thus they set off, Arthur offering silent prayers that firstly, they never wound up in this poisoned, tainted carcass of a village again, and that his decision to spare the assassin's life would prove to be a right one.

#################################

"I lied to you. About why I left Orlais".

The admission caught Arthur offguard, much as he had been upon finding Leliana in his tent. Tired from the day's events, and after making sure the elf was somewhere that he could be watched at all times, in case his commitment to his line of work proved stronger than his word, and made sure the rest of the party knew that if this Zevran tried anything, he was to die instantaneously. With that, he had left Alistair and Morrigan on watch at the edge of their camp, and Edward, who made Zevran's place at the bottom of the pecking order clear by pissing on his possessions. The Antivan elf took it all in his stride, remarking on the sullen silence and the cold glares cast in his general direction with good natured humour, teasing the men and flirting shamelessly with the women. As Arthur began to make his way to his tent to retire for the evening, wishing to recover from the day's battles, he saw Zevran had sidled up to Morrigan and was clearly trying to find the quickest way into, if not her heart, than certainly her knickers.

What about you? Yes you, the ravishing, raven-haired beauty with the ample bosom? Surely you wouldn't turn down a night of passion with one as skilled at the deed as I? I assure you, from Nevarra to Rivain, there's not a girl in Thedas who regretted a night straddling old Zevran!"

Morrigan gave a loud snort at this. "In your dreams, elf!" she sneered coldly.

If Zevran was disappointed by this, he gave no sign, merely smiled and continued unabashed "You needn't worry about that, my dear!"

Arthur left as he saw Morrigan brandish her staff threateningly and make some comment about whether a long stick inserted rather swiftly and painful up the back passage was the kind of dream he had involving her. Arthur allowed himself a chuckle at this; as far as he was concerned, the jury was still out on the elf and whether or not his oath was genuine. '_Only time will tell'_ Arthur knew, and he was willing not to force the matter until circumstances proved otherwise.

Exhausted and wanting to recover himself, he was then approached by Sten, who began the conversation with the remark that Arthur wasn't as callow as he had thought. A little surprised at the qunari's bluntness, it had led to a somewhat reluctant confession as to how and why he had ended up in that cage; a tale of a band of qunari brothers sent to investigate the threat of the Blight, an ambush by darkspawn, and the loss of a sword that encompassed everything the qunari held dear; his honour, his martial code, his belief, as well as the fact that without that blade, he would be held as a traitor to all his people stood for and would be dispatched accordingly. Arthur remembered himself being sympathetic and understanding to the qunari's plight, but there had been little he could do but give a pithy promise that they would look into where the sword might have wound up. He had no idea how they were going to find a single sword lost in a country at war with itself, but promising Sten they would look into it and thus keeping him and his considerable might with them was better than dismissing the matter and having Sten depart and try to resolve the matter by himself. '_Besides, I owe Sten for saving my life against the elf, so if I can provide any aid, no matter how small, in this, than I shall. I have a debt to repay after all!'_

Having dealt with that, and desperately wanting to retire for the evening, Arthur had made his way towards the tent he'd set up before attending to the other matters in camp, but as he'd pulled aside the entrance flap, he'd found Leliana sat cross-legged in the centre of the tent, nervously twisting her hair between her fingers and staring intently at the floor, as though she wished to sink into it. Under normal circumstance, Arthur would have welcomed the presence of a beautiful woman in his tent, but judging from the serious expression on her face, Leliana's presence in his tent was not for _those_ reasons.

"I lied to you. About why I left Orlais." The look of regret on Leliana's face told Arthur she'd clearly been holding this back for some time, a feeling that both intrigued and worried him.

"So you didn't just get bored with the life?" he asked, sitting down beside her, remembering an earlier talk they'd had about the nature of the mysterious and dangerous Orlesian bards-actors, singers, tale-tellers and assassins- and her involvement with them in her youth.

"In a way, I did" she replied "but these events were influenced by thoughts and feelings I did not have. The truth is I came to Ferelden because I was being hunted."

"You're a criminal?" Arthur enquired, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

Leliana looked at him directly now, and he could see a mix of emotions in those emerald orbs; pain, regret, anger and loss. "I was framed. Betrayed, by somebody I knew, and thought I could trust. Marjolaine." The name; Arthur remembered it, mentioned among her delirious murmurings when he had lain infected by the werewolves. The way she spat the name as though it were something foul in her mouth spoke to Arthur of great affection and respect, tainted irrevocably by the bitter memory of whatever had passed between them.

"She was my mentor, and my friend. She taught me the bardic arts, how to enchant with song, to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in as a servant. The skills I learnt, I used to serve her, because I enjoyed it…and I loved her"

"So, this Marjolaine...was a bard also?" Arthur questioned, wanting to get a better understanding of the circumstances and trying to suppress an infantile moment of jealousy at the mention of Leliana's affection for this woman.

"She claimed to have retired. She married an Orlesian nobleman, and inherited his wealth when he died. To many, she was just a rich widow". For a moment, Arthur had to wonder if this Marjolaine had had anything to do with her husband's demise. _'Considering what Leliana said, and what I know of Orlesian intrigues, it would not surprise me!'_

Leliana seemed to grasp his wagon train of thought as she continued "My devotion to her blinded me to her...less than noble attributes"

"So you were dutiful, but she still betrayed you?"

Leliana gave a brief nod and continued her tale "You could say it was my fault. There was a man I was sent to kill. I was to bring Marjolaine everything he carried." The chagrin in her voice suggested that she clearly regretted the deeds of her past- the deceptions, the lies, the remorseless killing. _'Is this why she asked me to spare Zevran? Did she see something of herself in the elf assassin?' _Arthur wondered. How easy it had been back then. Arthur sat in silence and listened as Leliana continued her tale.

"I found sealed documents on his body. My curiosity got the better of me. Something told me I had to know what was in those letters. Marjolaine... had been selling Orlesian information to other countries. Nevarra and Antiva among others. It was treason."

"Isn't that what bards do?" Arthur questioned, acquainted with the stories that bards were devious enough to do anything to achieve their goals. The question made Leliana wince, as though she disliked the accusation.

"Some. But I had assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais. It was an unhappy surprise for me. My concern was not that she was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught. Orlais has been at war with so many countries, it takes a harsh view of such things – as I later discovered."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, feeling an uneasy chill go through him. Leliana looked pained and stayed silent for so long, Arthur thought she wouldn't answer him. But before he could open his mouth to force an answer, she continued, though her voice was much softer and uncertain.

"I should have left well enough alone, but I didn't. I had to tell Marjolaine I feared for her life. She was angry with me for opening the letters, but brushed aside my concern, saying that it was all in the past. I believed her. I accepted it when she told me she wished to destroy the documents herself, and handed them over. I kept on believing it until the moment I was dragged from my bed in the dead of night and a guard shoved the papers in my face – altered by Marjolaine's hand, to make me look the traitor."

Arthur felt his blood run cold, especially as he knew what had likely come next. "What happened then?"

To his horrified shock, Leliana looked away, and he saw tears begin to fall from those brilliant green eyes . "The Orlesian guards...they captured me…did terrible things to me, to make me confess and reveal my conspirators" she blurted, struggling to get the words out as the horrors of whatever she had endured came back to her. "It was a traitor's punishment, and at the end all that awaited me was eternity in an unmarked g-grave…" she finished sobbingly, her control finally shattering as the memories of her suffering overcame her, the thoughts of what had created the scars that marked her, both upon her flesh and the scars that couldn't be seen . Without thinking, Arthur reached out and embraced her, pulling her close to his chest, just giving her what comfort he could. As the girl pressed her head against his chest, he could feel her willingness to take his comfort, but she then relinquished herself from his embrace, as though she did not think herself worthy of his compassion, and Arthur felt a great surge of hatred towards the woman whose callous, brutal actions had reduced the young woman who'd seemed so assured, so certain of the right path in Lothering and the Brecilian Forest, to a sobbing wreck.

"Bitch." Arthur heard himself snarl, trying to picture this conniving churl, who would so casually cast aside as devoted and loyal a companion as Leliana to save her own worthless hide, in a voice that was a deadly hiss. "Did you seek her out, this…Marjolaine?"

The bard slowly regained her composure and lifted her head from Arthur's armour-clad chest, wiping away her tears and breathing steadily until her voice was steady again.

"No. Survival was my only concern at the time. The skills she taught me were good for something, at least. I broke free when I saw the opportunity. If I'd tried to go after her, she just would have had me caught again."

"And so you came to Ferelden." Arthur concluded. Leliana gave a weary sigh and nodded.

"I was tempted to confront Marjolaine. I was furious, betrayed but what could I do against her? And so I fled to Lothering, to Ferelden and the Chantry. Ferelden protected my person, and the Chantry saved my soul." She took a deep breath. "And that is the real reason I am here. No more lies between us. At least in this." A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Arthur reached out and brushed the tear aside, gently holding Leliana as she regained her composure again. She took a deep breath and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to be so compassionate or understanding about the confession of her past sins.

"I'm sorry for keeping this from you for so long, but I feared...if you knew the truth, you would think of me in a way that would...make you think less of me, or even despise me..."

"Why would I do that? You were right, Leliana, that first time when you said we were similar; both betrayed by people we thought we could trust. But you didn't come to me because I was a nobleman, but because I was a Grey Warden. You didn't care about what I might have been or done, or the lies you must have heard; you came to me because you believed I could help you. Just as I believe the same. I won't cast you aside or judge you for matters in your past. What matters is that you regret what you've done, and that you're here now, helping me defend Ferelden from the Blight. We Fereldans judge people based on their deeds, and yours are certainly worthy of respect. Yes, you've done terrible things, but then so have we all; what matters is not what we have done, but what we are doing. You've done good things since you joined our company, Leliana. Never forget that".

"It feels good to have this off my chest. Thank you for listening...and understanding" Leliana smiled wanly, the relief in her voice at his reaction clear.

"You helped me in a moment of darkness; it is only fitting I do the same for you. You will be safe in my company, Leliana, and by my word and on my honour, I will defend you if this Marjolaine comes for you, be it by herself, with a legion of chevaliers or the demon hordes of the Black City itself!" Arthur determinedly swore, and Leliana smiled in genuine gratitude.

"Thank you" she replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should get out and take my turn on watch" she quickly remarked, wiping any last trace of her tears from her face.

"You don't have to; if you want to stay, you're welcome to..." Arthur offered, but Leliana shook her head and quickly departed the tent. "No, I suspect you want some time alone...and so do I. Thank you for...for being so understanding" and then she was gone.

Arthur watched her depart, and then sank back to his bedroll, adrift in thought. He'd known the woman must have had a colourful past, based on her remarks, but he'd never expected anything like that. Part of him wanted to go after Leliana and just be with her, offer her any comfort, any promise or word to make her feel better, but he suspected it would do no good; she wished to be alone, having been unnerved by the recollection of her past, reminding Arthur of the first few weeks after Highever, his unwillingness to speak to Duncan about the matter, and how any attempt by Duncan to broach the matter had resulted in sullen glares and silence, at best. He suspected a similar attempt with Leliana would result in much the same. _'I'll wait, let her adjust to it at her own pace'_.

As sleep began to overcome him, two thoughts came to mind; firstly, would this Marjolaine come after Leliana? The bard had claimed the woman's betrayal had been years before, and likely Marjolaine had forgotten the single act of betrayal to save her hide, but what if that wasn't the case? They already had one paranoid lunatic sending assassins after their heads; would it be long before there was another? It was something to discuss with Leliana when she felt more up to it.

And the last thought to go through his mind before he fell asleep; why had she brought the matter up now? Was it a simple urge to confess? Did she want to explain herself? Or did something else drive her to speak to him, to delve into her darkest secrets of her pass? Did she want forgiveness, understanding...or something else?

But that, Arthur knew, would likely be a matter for another day.

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Redcliffe came into sight in the early afternoon. The village was just as he remembered, nestled at the furthest southern tip of Lake Calenhad, lying in the shadow of the great rock plateau atop which stood Arl Eamon's castle. Alistair could see the great windmill on the brow of the hill overlooking the village, remembering the summer afternoon he and several of the village children had tried riding on the sails to the very top. He could see the Chantry down by the lake shore and the quaint, cosy cottages built all along the slopes of the hill leading down to the shores of the lake. Alistair allowed himself a moment of nostalgia. Despite the circumstances, it was good to be back.

And yet, there was something subtly wrong about the village. A good many of the houses looked to have had their windows and doors boarded up and several looked as if they had been set on fire. Alistair could not also fail to notice the air of stillness and fear that hung over Redcliffe. There were no sounds of life-no traders shouting, children laughing and playing, the sounds of animals- and the only movement he could see were lone individuals who went about their business with great haste and then departed, almost all of them retreating into the Chantry.

The village had been attacked, more than once by the look of it, and the villagers were living in fear of another such assault.

'_But attacked by what? Darkspawn?_' he wondered. They hadn't seen any darkspawn for days, and he couldn't feel the presence of the taint in the immediate vicinity, but Alistair was at a loss for what else might be attacking Redcliffe.

His companions, though, were clear of the same mind as him that something was very wrong in the village. "Looks like something's happened down there. We'd best find out what's going on for ourselves" Arthur said. The others nodded and they began to make their way down the hill to the village, at which point Alistair knew it was now or never.

"I'm sorry, can we talk? There's something I need to tell you that...that I probably should have told you a long time ago".

"Judging from your expression, I'm not gonna like this" Arthur remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't think so. I've never liked it, anyway. You remember me telling you about my mother, right? She was a serving girl who died when I was young and Arl Eamon took me in? The reason he did that was because...because my father was King Maric. Which makes Cailan my half-brother, I suppose".

"Oh." Arthur's jaw hung slackly open, and he wasn't the only one caught on the back foot by the revelation. Arthur and the others began to look at him closely, scrutinising his features, no doubt comparing him to the paintings, pictures and other imagery of Maric and, no doubt, Cailan they had seen in their lives. Eyes began to widen in recognition as they clearly saw similarities between him and the late King; it was nothing new- people had been remarking on it to Alistair all his life. The physical resemblance in face and hair, similarities in demeanour, the unholy love of cheese, even the minor fascination with the Grey Wardens. Judging from the expression on Arthur's face, his companion was surprised it had taken him so long to see it.

"So… you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"

"Ha! Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often." Alistair allowed himself a soft smile. His mirth quickly faded, however. "I would have told you, but… it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me… even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry."

"Does Loghain know about this?" Arthur asked with a tacit nod in the direction of Zevran. Alistair had to admit his friend had a point; if the teyrn did know, he would likely never stop hounding them, knowing that someone of Maric's blood still lived and thus gave his enemies a standard to rally behind.

"Why wouldn't he? He was King Maric's best friend. I don't know if that means anything, I certainly never considered that it might be important".

"So why are you telling me now?" Arthur asked.

"Because it will probably come up" Alistair replied grudgingly. It was true; a good number of people in the settlement below knew about his past, and mentions of it were bound to surface sooner or later. "I didn't want to walk into Redcliffe without you knowing; that would have been just awkward. I'm under no illusions about my status, however. It was always made clear to me that I am a commoner, and now a Grey Warden, and no way in line for the throne. And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle… and more importantly, very popular with the people. Though… if he's really as sick as we've heard…" Alistair blinked, and looked out over the village and the distant castle. "No, I don't want to think about that. I really don't. So there you have it. Now we can move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Alistair turned on his heel and began to make his way down the hill when he heard Arthur call out behind him "And what does that make me?"

Alistair turned round to see Arthur staring at him with a questioning expression.

"The reason why I think we have a chance of setting things right" Alistair replied, grinning at the incredulous look on Arthur's face at this.


	24. Chapter 22: The Woes of Redcliffe

_Well, this has been a long time coming! Sorry to keep all of you waiting, but I've been up to my eyeballs in things to do: a dissertation sadly doesn't write itself! I've got exams coming up, so things will eventually slow up, but I've a bit of time to spare now, so hopefully, Arthur and co will soon be done with Redcliffe and onto the next_

_As ever, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed or favourited this: special mentions to __**Zenman, spectre4hire, MysticGohan88, Ygrain333, ethan, InuManKa91, koopatrooper, roxfox 1962, Bobbinforapples and cakeisalie**_ for your entertaining, supportive and great reviews (it always boosts my spirits to read them and know, when I'm doubting this, how much it's enjoyed) and to _**Dandanjr, b5anon, Chaos Storm, taintedlegacy, gta manic, Shadow Master Seek, Infini0n, Michael Collins, LoneWolf-637, Nomad244, Darth Sanctus, 1133ali and Darth Crios**_ for adding this to your favourites: it's a great boost to know my work is enjoyed by so many.

In answer to your question, MysticGohan88, all the DLCS (The Stone Prisoner, Warden's Keep and Return to Ostagar) will all be in this, and yes, Arthur is twenty years old (since I am, it seemed the best thing to base it on, I like to believe we all see a bit of ourselves in the characters of our work).

Will try to have a bit more for you by week's end, while my relatively low work load allows.

'_**Atrast a nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

And as always, enjoy!

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Bann Teagan sighed and ran a hand through his tousled, dishevelled hair, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes and stifle his exhaustion. He was weary beyond belief, the exertions of the nights and the worry of the day over the last few weeks taking their toll. At present, he wished nothing more than to curl up on the floor of the Chantry and sleep, but he knew that was not an option. The air of fear inside was palpable, and the valiant efforts of Revered Mother Hannah to calm the panicking women, children and elderly of the village were not being successful, not that he could hardly blame them; their situation wasn't one that allowed hope to bloom.

He heard footsteps approaching behind him and the sound of someone clearing their throat. Knowing that whatever news he was about to receive wouldn't be good, he reluctantly "Milord, the guard watching the bridge is not at his post" one of the few guards in the Chantry at that moment remarked.

Teagan gave a groan of annoyance._ Another_ deserter. It seemed not even the fate of the last attempt to flee the village could discourage desperate, frightened individuals from trying to make it out. The wrecked wagons and bodies torn asunder left by the slaughter of the handful who had tried to flee the village had been located and torched, for fear they would return come nightfall along with the others that fell upon the village.

"Very well. Tell Murdock to have someone take his place; we don't want to be caught offguard by a surprise attack..."

"No, milord, he's not deserted. He's on his way down...and he seems to have company with him"

"Company? Who?"

"Don't rightly know, my lord. None of them bore any crest or heraldry I could recognise. I don't think they're some of the arl's men, but they don't look like mere passers-by".

"Very well" Teagan muttered, brushing specks of dirt off his worn, but still fine clothing and ensuring his sword belt hadn't slipped too low.

The double doors to the Chantry swung open and Teagan saw one of Murdock's militia leading in a rather strange group of people. At the head of the group, two men with the bearing of soldiers, one with short, spiky blonde hair clad in heavily worn, but still functional splintmail and bearing a curved sword and a wooden shield with no heraldry, the other with long reddish-brown hair, clad in finely decorated armour forged of ironbark, bearing a fine longsword and shield of whitewood. Behind them, an impressive looking qunari warrior, clad in heavy chainmail and bearing a battleaxe that looked like it had seen much use, flanked by a mabari warhound, while bringing up the rear, a tall, blonde male elf in leather armour with a sword and dagger sheathed at his waist strode beside two women, one with dark hair and pale skin, clad in an..._eclectic_ ensemble of clothing and carrying a long wooden staff, the other with short red hair, also wearing functional leather armour with a longbow resting on her back. The group quickly made their way across the room and stopped before the bann, who turned his gaze to the militiaman, expecting him to introduce the new arrivals.

"It's Thomas, isn't it? And who are these fellows with you? They are obviously not simple travellers"

"No, my lord" the militiaman answered. "They just arrived, and I thought you would want to speak to them"

"Very good" Teagan said to the militiaman before turning his attention to their visitors, giving a full bow by means of welcome. "Greetings, friends" I am Teagan, Bann of Rainsefere and brother to the arl".

"I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met, I was a lot younger...and covered in mud" the young man with spiky blonde hair spoke up, a wry grin on his face.

"Covered in mud?" Teagan quizzically asked, scrutinising the young man carefully. '_Come to think of it, he does look familiar..._' Teagan thought. That mischievous smile, those same wide, bright eyes...and then it hit him; the memory of an eight-year old boy, covered head to toe in viscous black mud, grinning happily at the day's mischief in spite of Isolde shouting herself hoarse at him...

"Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!" Teagan cried, a genuine smile crossing his lips for the first time since the chaos engulfing the village had begun.

To his surprise, Alistair's grin diminished a little as he replied "Still alive, though not for much longer, if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it" directing a cold glare at the blonde male elf stood behind him, who looked unabashed at the ire focused on him.

"Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all the Grey Wardens perished at Ostagar, along with my nephew"

"So you don't believe Loghain's lies?" the other young man asked. Teagan turned his attention to the fellow and nearly did a double-take; the youth was the spitting image of the young Bryce Cousland he'd met all those years ago in Denerim, both at Maric's coronation and his wedding to Rowan. _'A relation, perhaps?' _he thought.

In answer to the youth's question, Teagan scoffed and replied "What, that he pulled his men out in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly. I never liked that dour, obsessive bastard even before he showed his true colours; the day I believe the propaganda he and his underlings have been spreading about your Order and my king and kinsman is the day I cartwheel naked through Val Royeaux singing the Chant of Light. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the King. I don't believe it; it is the action of a desperate man".

The young man nodded in relief and Teagan realised then how much of a risk it had been simply walking into the village; if he had been a supporter of Loghain, he could have ordered the militia to round up the group and claim the bounty. Though Teagan suspected this group would have easily killed plenty before being incapacitated, or even managed to fight their way out. The bann also did not fail to miss how the youth had not used Loghain's title, though as far as Teagan was concerned, Loghain had never deserved the terynir Maric and Rowan had bestowed upon him, and he was certainly not worthy of the outrageous title 'King Loghain' that Teagan had heard the teyrn's more fanatical supporters, like that snooty bitch Cauthrien for one, were using.

"So you are a Grey Warden as well?" Teagan asked, receiving a brisk nod in answer. "If I may ask, good ser, have we met before? You look very familiar to me"

"You might have known my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever. I am Arthur, his younger son"

"Ah, that's it. A pleasure to meet you, friend Arthur, though I wish it were under better circumstances. And you have my condolences for what happened to your family. I knew your parents, not well, but enough to respect them. When Ferelden is put to rights, you'll have my full support-and that of my brother, I'd wager- to exact justice on that viper, Howe". The youth gave a brisk nod at the mention of the murdering traitor who'd brought his family low and Teagan chose to let the matter drop; he didn't know if the lad knew Loghain had awarded Howe with the lands and title of the man he'd murdered, and Teagan didn't wish to bring it up, not if he wanted to stay on the youth's good side long enough to procure his help.

"Now if I may ask, what brings you here? While I'm most happy to see you Alistair, and your companions, I don't imagine this is a social call".

"Our duty as Grey Wardens brought us here" Alistair replied. "We are trying to assemble an army, using old treaties our order possesses, to counter the Blight. We have acquired the aid of the Dalish elves already, and we can acquire the loyalty of the Circle of Magi and the dwarves with similar documents. However, we fear that even if we do manage to assemble a sufficient force to combat the Blight, Loghain will simply denounce it as a foreign force sent to invade and will turn all of Ferelden against us. I-that is, _we_ hoped that we could convince Arl Eamon to lend his popularity and support to our cause, in the hope it will convince Ferelden of Loghain's unworthiness to command our war effort and show the Grey Wardens are Ferelden's best hope against the darkspawn".

"So you are here to see my brother? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. Nobody has heard from the castle in days, no guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts. The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil…things…surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

Arthur frowned. "What evil things are you talking about?"

Teagan paused for a moment, trying to think of how best to describe the nightmarical foe they were facing. The enemy was a far more horrific foe than any he'd faced before; not only in their decrepit appearance and unrelenting, unstoppable bloodlust, but the fact that every time he would see a face he recognised-a serving girl here, a knight in service to his brother there, or worse, the face of a man or woman who mere days before had been alive and well in the village-, twisted and reshaped by whatever evil had reanimated their bodies, but still recognisable. And then to see them attack the village, mouths twisted into feral snarls, dead eyes wild with insatiable hunger for flesh, and tear apart men and women who'd been their friends and families with their bare hands and teeth...it had taken all his courage after the terror of the first night to continue fighting such monstrosities, and he knew that not all those in the village were as able to come to terms with the horrors they had witnessed.

"I do not know. They appear to be the walking dead; men with rotting flesh that continue to fight despite the gravest of injuries"

"Undead" the dark haired woman opined, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Spirits possessing the dead. There could be any number of causes for such a thing, none of them pleasant"

"Magic?" the young Cousland asked of the woman. She nodded and Teagan had to suppress a grimace. '_Magic_'; if that was what was behind the dead rising, who knew what else it might do? And more worryingly, what was behind it?

"What happened after that?" Alistair asked, interrupting Teagan's ruminations.

"They hit again, the next night. Each night they come with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war for the throne, nobody responds to my urgent calls for help" Teagan continued, trying to suppress the suspicion he was beginning to form that Loghain was deliberately ignoring him, using the chaos in Redcliffe to his advantage in suppressing another opponent to his tyranny from causing trouble. It would not surprise him, not after the altercation at the Landsmeet and the way in which the regent was terrorising any noble with the temerity to oppose him.

"I have a feeling that tonight's assault will be the worst yet." He turned back to Alistair. "I hate to ask, but we desperately need the help of you and your friends."

"It isn't just up to me" Alistair replied reluctantly "though the Grey Wardens don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon" he added as an afterthought in the direction of Arthur, who was clearly considering his best course of action.

"What say you, my friend?" Teagan asked of the young Cousland, his tone almost begging.

"You wish my help? You don't even know me"

"I know Alistair. And I trust those he chooses to follow" Teagan answered, holding his breath, dreading the answer to come. To his surprise, Arthur extended his hand and offered to Teagan.

"If you need my aid, you have it, and my sword. I will not stand idly by and let whatever evil threatens you do more harm. I've waited more than two weeks to see to Arl Eamon; another night won't do much harm"

The blonde elf, the mage woman and the qunari voiced objections to the youth's answer, but Arthur either ignored or responded to their complaints or disputes with blunt, logical advice. Alistair and the red-head nodded approvingly with the young Cousland's decision, and Teagan darted forward to gratefully shake Arthur's hand, the relief in his voice clear as he joyfully replied "Thank you! Thank you, this means more to me than you can guess!". Withdrawing his hand and hoping the youth wouldn't think less of him for the outburst of emotion, Teagan turned his attention back to the militiaman "Thomas, please tell Murdock what transpired, then return to your post"

"Yes, my lord" Thomas replied, almost bounding out of the Chantry. Teagan smiled at the new-found enthusiasm in the man, mirrored in the faces of some of the women and children: despite the anti-Warden propaganda Loghain had been dispensing wherever possible, a Grey Warden helping them here and now was a much greater help than the absent regent's empty promises and assurances. Putting that aside, Teagan looked up at one of the windows: it was late afternoon and the sun was already beginning to dip in the sky. They would have to be swift if they were to prepare the village for the onslaught by nightfall.

"Now, I've placed two men in charge of the village's defences outside. Murdock, the mayor, is outside with the militia. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is up at the windmill. You may discuss with them preparations for the coming battle".

"Very good. I'm away to it at once" Arthur nodded and the group quickly made to leave, briefly speaking to one woman near to the door-the missionary's wife, Jetta if Teagan remembered- and then they were out of the Chantry door, away to their tasks. For a moment, Teagan wondered if he should tell them what he knew- the location of the secret passage- but dismissed it. He could only imagine how Alistair and Arthur would react to this knowledge- likely, try to storm the castle by themselves in hot-blooded battle lust in an effort to find Eamon- and Teagan knew that the safety of the village and its people had to come first.

If they survived the night, he'd make amends for the deception in the morning.

If not, he could always apologise when they all stood before the Maker.

**####################**

The fearful atmosphere he'd witnessed in the Chantry was mirrored amongst the meagre groups of militia fighters in the village square. Arthur knew that after the fiasco with the Dalish, it would very much be doubtful if any of the allies they needed to acquire against the archdemon would be done easily. Considering what they'd heard back in Lothering, they'd known something was wrong in Redcliffe; the mention of Eamon's illness had been enough to pique his curiosity, but Arthur had hoped the Arl's wife or his seneschal might be able to provide some warriors and political aid to the cause. Still, there was no point in griping about their situation; they would simply have to make the best of it. The discovery of the walking dead was an annoyance, but no more so than the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, and even if there was a way into the castle that could get them to the arl immediately, Arthur's chivalrous beliefs would not condone him abandoning these people to their deaths; he hadn't turned his back on people in need back in Highever, and he wasn't about to start now. The young Cousland allowed himself a nostalgic smile: his father's lessons on the duties and responsibilities of the nobility had stuck well.

For a moment, Arthur toyed with his thoughts on Alistair's revelation of his heritage. Part of him was angry that his fellow Warden had withheld such important information from them, along with fear that if, as he suspected, Loghain knew about this matter, that a child of Maric's blood still lived, that gave the teyrn's enemies a viable heir to the throne instead of Loghain's tyranny, the traitor would likely double his efforts to hunt them down.

Still, he could hardly blame Alistair for keeping his birthright a secret; he could tell from his comrade's tone he cared nothing for who his father had been, and the idea of being put on the throne clearly terrified him, and his compliment that showed just how much faith he had in his fellow Warden somewhat softened Arthur's ire. And besides, they could all likely die in the battle to come that night. For all they knew, by this time tomorrow, Alistair's blood and his claim to the throne could be a moot point.

'_First things first'_ Arthur told himself. Matters of the Theirin bloodline and deciding on a king could wait; for now, their priority would have to be the defence of Redcliffe.

The mayor Murdock, a gruff-looking bearded fellow, possessed of a grim sense of acceptance about what was likely to be the village's inevitable fate, indeed did have some things that he claimed would help prepare the militia, undersupplied and poor in morale, better for the fight. The village's blacksmith, Owen, had sealed himself in his forge, after Murdock had refused to send his men to their deaths on what he deemed a suicide mission, trying to rescue the smith's daughter, a maid likely trapped in the castle. Still, the blacksmith was the only one capable of repairing the militia's arms and armour, so his help was going to be necessary if they wanted to survive the night. Arthur assigned Alistair and Leliana to that task, reasoning that Owen would more likely open up to a templar and Chantry sister than he would to a heavily armoured group of warriors.

The other task the Mayor asked for his aid with was something more suited to him. A dwarven trader by the name of Dwyn was being somewhat recalcitrant in offering aid to the village, particularly when his skill and the mercenary hirelings in his pay would be of use in fending off the undead horde. Instead, he was content to hide in his house and cower in safety while his neighbours died around him.

In Arthur's opinion, that would have to change.

He took Sten, Morrigan and Edward with him; he imagined a qunari warrior, apostate mage and snarling mabari should be sufficient to coerce the dwarf into changing his mind. Zevran had wandered off after they had exited the Chantry; Arthur couldn't think of anything to make use of the elf for, and so long as the Crow kept his nose out of trouble, that was enough for Arthur.

The dwarf's house was close to the lake shore, and upon finding it, Arthur loudly slammed his gauntleted fist three times against the wooden door. There was no answer. Deciding that the time for treading softly had passed, as the sun was sinking ever lower, Arthur took a step back, and then smashed his foot into the lock. With a loud, splintering crunch, the door swung back from the force of the kick, opening the way in. An angry dwarf, flanked by two seedy-looking thugs stood inside, glowering at the group who'd forced their way in. Their weapons and armour were of fine make, particularly a greatsword clearly forged by a master smith strapped to the dwarf's back.

"Wonderful. Intruders" the dwarf groused. "I hope you've a good reason for breaking and entering into my home."

"Sorry about your door," Arthur replied nonchalantly, "but I _did_ give you the chance to open up"

"Apology accepted. The name's Dwyn, pleased to meet you. Now get out" came the sarcastic reply.

An awkward silence settled on them, as both parties glared at each other, both of their hands snaking for weapons. The two hired thugs warily eyed the companions flanking Arthur, eyes either leering with lascivious interest at Morrigan or warily glancing at the hulking figure behind the Warden or the snarling war dog at his side.

"You have my sword" a voice as cold and hard as stone rasped from behind.

"What?" Arthur asked, caught offguard by the interruption.

"That dwarf has my sword" Sten intoned in a voice more menacing than any shout.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Sten angrily snapped. "I would know my Asala anywhere!". Turning his gaze back to Dwyn, the qunari held out a hand demandingly and growled "Surrender the blade before I lose patience, dwarf!"

"So it's _your_ sword?" Dwyn replied, a look of surprise and unease on his face. "Funny, that cowardly weasel Faryn didn't mention he'd taken it off a live giant when I bought it"

"Why don't you give him the sword before this gets ugly?" Arthur suggested quietly; he had no wish for Sten to start another massacre over the blade.

"You know something; that sounds like a very good idea" the dwarf agreed, quickly unbuckling the belt holding the blade on his back and passing the sword and its scabbard to Arthur. "Now why don't you take your sword and leave?"

"Not quite. I'm told Murdock wants your aid for the militia?"

"So what? You're recruiting for him? I'll tell you what I told Murdock; I'm not risking my neck for this town"

"Surely, there must be some way to change your mind?" Arthur offered in a diplomatic tone; he had no wish to start a fight with the dwarf, not when it would likely mean he would be exhausted and unable to fight against the coming foe as effectively as he could. The dwarf idly toyed with the knots of his beard; for all his grouchy bluster, the dwarf was a merchant and a miser at heart, and the chance to enrich himself would always be at the forefront of his mind.

"Maybe, let's hear what you've got" the dwarf muttered.

"You help out now, I'll tell Bann Teagan to put in a good word for you with his brother. The gratitude of a powerful arl, surely that'd be a good thing for a surface dwarf to have?"

The dwarf twisted his beard around his fingers, no doubt wagering the benefits of getting in Arl Eamon's gratitude against the risks of putting himself at risk fighting a horde of undead monsters. After a few moments, greed won out over caution, Dwyn no doubt lured by the prospect of chests brimming with gold sovereigns and lucrative trade contracts, and he reluctantly nodded "You might be able to pull that off. Fine, we'll throw in with the militia,_ for now_. But you'd better be out there too when the sun goes down!" he added as an angry afterthought. "I'm not fighting for a lost cause, you hear me?"

With that, the dwarf and his underlings headed for the village square to speak to Murdock, the hired thugs glaring at Arthur as they passed him. With nothing more to be said, Arthur and the others made to follow, to head back to the village square and report to Murdock when they saw that the square was empty. A large crowd of the militia, along with a few braver villagers who'd emerged from the Chantry, were gathered in a circle at the foot of the small hillock atop which sat the village tavern. Arthur and the others headed over, trying to see what all the fuss was about. In the centre of the circle of people, he could see two slight figures grappling and throwing punches at one another.

The landlord, a corpulent fellow with sweat streaking down his jowls, was angrily staring at the spectacle, a pretty red-haired barmaid at his elbow looking rather nervous, the big man angrily shouting "That's the _last_ time I let knife-ears through the door!"

The words 'knife-ears' caught Arthur's attention; pushing though to the front of the crowd, he looked onto the brawl and sure enough, saw Zevran viciously pummelling a dark-haired male elf in splintmail armour. Snarling in anger, the other elf drew a sword and slashed out at Zevran's head, but the Crow ducked under the attack and with a deft motion, scythed his opponent's legs from under him. The other elf went down, landing heavily on his back; he tried to roll over and get back to his feet, but before he could, Zevran had pinned his opponent to the floor with a foot on his back, seized a handful of the elf's hair to pull his head back, and placed a dagger at his throat.

"ZEVRAN!" Arthur angrily bellowed, furious at the elf for flouting his wishes so brazenly. "What did I say about keeping out of trouble?"

To his annoyance, the elf didn't look remotely chastened, but defiant. "You should be thanking me, Warden. I've found a viper in your midst and pulled him from his lair by the tail!"

"What do you mean?" Arthur snapped, looking down at the prostrate elf. He didn't look particularly dangerous or threatening, but as Arthur had come to learn, one should not judge individuals by their appearance alone, as Leliana, Zathrian and Howe had proven.

"I don't know what he's talking about: he just jumped me for no reason while I was trying to mind my own business" the other elf tried to protest but Zevran cut him off by pressing the dagger closer to his opponent's throat, drawing a thin line of blood along the side of the other elf's neck.

"Bullshit!" Zevran snapped coldly. "We both know you're lying through your teeth, now why don't you tell us all what you were really doing before I chop you into fish bait?"

"The blonde one's right, I knew there was something off about this one!" the redhead tavern wench piped up, glaring at the elf suspiciously. When Arthur turned his gaze on her, the girl's face blushed as red as her hair and she stammered "He-he said he was waiting for his brother, but that was nearly three weeks ago. And all that time, he kept bugging the castle guards, trying to get information about the arl and his condition..."

That was enough for Arthur; drawing his sword, he placed the blade to the elf's throat and spoke in a voice little louder than a whisper, but resonant with menace "This will be _much _easier if you simply tell us what you're hiding..."

The elf paled with fright at the drawn sword held so close and swiftly he started whimpering "Alright, just-just don't hurt me! This is more than I bargained for! Look, they just sent me to watch! Maybe they knew the arl would get sick, I don't know! But they never said anything about monsters! I haven't been able to report anything since this whole mess began! I'm stuck, same as you, I swear!"

"Who's they?" Arthur snapped. "Who hired you to do this?"

"A tall fellow" the elf blabbered. "He said he was working for Howe; Arl Rendon Howe. He's an important man, Teyrn Loghain's right hand. So I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You're a spy, working in the service of a pair of traitors who've usurped power from the rightful king! I think your definition of doing wrong differs somewhat from mine" the young Cousland sneered at his captive.

"What's going on here?" a familiar voice asked. Arthur could only assume one of the onlookers had informed Bann Teagan what was going on. Alistair pulled the captive elf to his feet by the scruff of his neck and held him up for the Bann's pleasure.

"A spy, one of Loghain's creatures, no doubt trying to find out if Arl Eamon was dead or not" the former templar snapped. Bann Teagan glowered at the elf with great dislike, then turned to two of the militiamen and ordered "Take him away! Lock him in the Chantry cellars; if we survive the night, I'll decide what to do with this infiltrator in the morning!"

"Wait, my lord!" Arthur interjected. "You need all the fighters you can get: put the elf in the front lines, where he can be of use. If he survives the night, deal with him then. If not, the monsters will have carried out justice".

"Fitting" Sten murmured behind them.

"Very well" Teagan agreed. "Take this wretch up to Ser Perth and his men, and make sure he doesn't escape!" he demanded of the two militiamen, who began dragging the protesting elf up the hill to the position closest to the castle, held according to the Bann by a number of Arl Eamon's knights, returned from their quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Arthur made to head up there as well, but before he could, a frightened young woman, about nineteen years old, ran up to him and grabbed the front of his ironbark armour, desperation clear in her pleading gaze as she piteously sobbed "Grey Warden, please help me!"

"Kaitlin" Murdock began, prising the young woman's grip off Arthur's armour "The Wardens are needed right now; they can't waste their time on minor errands..."

"It's alright, Murdock" Arthur cut across the Mayor's well-meaning, but unnecessary interruption and turned his attention back to the girl, her blonde hair a mess and tears trailing down her cheeks. "What seems to be the trouble, my lady?"

"My brother's gone missing" Kaitlin wept. "Those monsters dragged my mother off yesterday, and now I'm afraid my brother's gone after her. He's just a little boy, he doesn't understand she's gone!". Unfortunately, her tears rendered her incoherent from that point on.

"When did you last see your brother?" he asked, waiting for the girl to regain herself. When she'd managed to regain control of herself, Kaitlin wept "I don't know; I thought I saw him near our house, but I can't remember!"

"Well, what are we waiting for?" a familiar voice called from behind him; he looked round to see Leliana rejoining them. As she passed Murdock, the bard told the Mayor "Owen says he'll get to work on the militia's gear right away, but he suggests you all hurry up about it!"

"Come on, girl! We'll help you find your brother. Edward!" Leliana called out. To Arthur's amazement, the warhound came loping over to her, and patiently waited as Kaitlin, at Leliana's suggestion, provided a belonging of her brother's. Once the mabari had gotten the scent, he quickly raced off, followed by the trio in the direction of the houses nestled by the shore of Lake Calenhad. As they followed the dog's trial, Arthur turned to Leliana, curious to know how she and Alistair had convinced the grief-stricken blacksmith to help the militia again.

"So, how did you convince Owen to return to work?" Arthur asked. To his surprise, Leliana looked rather awkward.

"You may not like what I'm going to say next..."

##################################

Once they reached the brow of the hill, Alistair took a moment to enjoy the view: the endless expanse of water below, the castle looming over them atop the plateau on which it sat and because the day was so clear, squinting into the distance, Alistair saw he could still make out a faint vertical line on the horizon; the distant Tower of the Fereldan Circle of Magi. The nearby windmill, a familiar sight from his childhood days, was still relatively intact, and once again Alistair allowed himself a brief moment of nostalgia. "Just like coming home...except with more undead" he muttered to himself.

Alistair chanced a look behind him as he trudged up the hill: no sign of Arthur, Leliana or the dog returning from their sojourn after the lost boy. Considering his companion's fondness, or weakness depending on who one asked, for chivalry, he didn't doubt his fellow Warden, just as he was sure Arthur wouldn't be adverse to what they had promised the blacksmith to get him to work on the militia's arms and armour. Even if he didn't appreciate Alistair and Leliana making promises in his name, he very much doubted Arthur would willingly leave a young woman to die in that castle. '_If she isn't already' _a darker voice in the back of his mind muttered, considering the realistic chances they had of finding the blacksmith's daughter alive after so long trapped in the castle. Still, he was more than happy to let Leliana tell his fellow Warden that particular task.

Alistair hung back from the quartet of knights, clad in finely forged suits of red-steel plate armour and armed with an assortment of weapons, talking quietly among themselves besides the great oak tree next to the windmill, waiting for them to finish their conversation before introducing himself, but to his surprise, one of the knights-a tall fellow with copper-coloured hair and a greatsword sheathed on his back, whom Alistair vaguely remembered as Ser Perth, waved him over, a surprised expression of relief on his face.

"By the Maker, is that you, Alistair? Andraste's Blood, it is good to see you're alive! Many of us who remembered you...well, we feared the worst when we heard about Ostagar".

Alistair was amazed that Ser Perth had recognised him: when Isolde had had Eamon pack him off to the Chantry, Ser Perth had still been Squire Perth, in the final years of his apprenticeship to one of the arl's knights of the time. He'd hardly have expected the highest-ranking of the arl's surviving knights to remember him, let alone so warmly. Still, he remembered the squire had been quite friendly towards him, not one to look down on him because of the damned rumours.

"It's good to see you again, though I imagine this isn't quite the homecoming you would've had in mind. Still, I'm as grateful as Bann Teagan is to see you and your friend here: with a pair of Grey Wardens aiding us, perhaps all is not lost".

"We'll see when tomorrow comes" Alistair replied dryly. "Perhaps, if possible, you could tell me what ails Arl Eamon? All I've heard were rumours..." he asked nervously, fear gnawing at him regarding what he might hear.

"We were never certain. He thirsted for water, and then grew weaker and weaker. We brought in a mage but even that did nothing. The arlessa believed he was cursed and that we needed the power of Andraste herself, or he would surely perish."

"And so she sent you all chasing after a myth?" Alistair asked.

"I'm not sure I would have put it like that, but yes. The Arl once funded the research of a scholar in Denerim; he had proof the Urn was in Ferelden, or so I am told. We knights volunteered to seek it out." Ser Perth answered.

Alistair nodded; this was in keeping with his knowledge, gleaned from the years of teaching in the Chantry, of how Andraste's surviving disciples had smuggled her remains out of Minrathous after her execution back to her homeland. But even given Arlessa Isolde's great piety, Alistair doubted sending all of her lord's knights in search of a long-lost relic. Surely there were easier ways to heal the arl of his sickness than chasing down legends?

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of heavy boots trekking up the hill. Looking round, Alistair and the others saw Arthur, accompanied by Leliana and Edward, reaching the top of the hill. Arthur looked very satisfied; carrying a sword Alistair swore he had not moments before, a curved veridium blade that looked to be of Dalish make, and the mark of what looked to be lips on his cheek. Leliana, by contrast, looked very strange, as though she were torn between respect and extreme annoyance for his fellow Warden.

"You find the kid, then?"

"Oh aye. His sister was very grateful; she offered me her grandfather's sword, by way of a reward" Arthur replied, holding up his new weapon.

"Among other things" Leliana muttered sullenly. Arthur rolled his eyes "It was an innocent peck on the cheek, Leliana! I did find her little brother and give her enough coin to reach her family in Denerim to repay her for such a fine weapon. It seemed like the easiest thing to say; I could hardly ask her for coin as a reward, could I?"

"If you say so" Leliana muttered in a rather blasé manner, though the sullen glower on his face made Alistair suspect Arthur was going to have to do some serious grovelling to get back on the Orlesian's good side. Fortunately, the reality of their situation returned in the form of Ser Perth, who interjected into their conversation with an extended hand to Arthur.

"Ah, greetings to you, Grey Warden. As I was saying to your compatriot, I am as relieved as Bann Teagan to see you here. I must admit, I do not know how to address a man in your position. Is 'My Lord' sufficient?" Ser Perth asked, uncertain.

Arthur nodded at this. "That would be proper; I am the son of a teyrn."

"Very well, my lord. I am humbly at your service. I am Ser Perth, charged with defending the village against these evil assaults, though perhaps you are aware of this" .

"Ser Perth, have you considered using the oil in the village store?" Arthur asked.

"Oil, you say?" Ser Perth, an eyebrow raised in surprised interest, questioned. "No one told me of this. How much, would you say?"

" Enough to set many monsters aflame"

"A fine tactic, provided it doesn't backfire and we end up having to deal with flaming undead!" the Antivan elf snickered from behind him, but Ser Perth clearly liked the idea and, clicking his gauntleted fingers, sent two of his fellow knights running down the hill to recover the barrels, followed by Sten. A few minutes later, they returned, each rolling a large wooden barrel up the slope. Once they reached their former position, the two knights and the qunari opened the barrels and began to liberally douse the path leading from the bridge across the lake to the castle to the windmill and down into the village. A single torch or flaming arrow would set the oil, and anything unlucky enough to be standing in it, ablaze at the right moment.

"Murdock says his militia are ready for battle, as am I. I and my companions will take our position here, and await the coming assault" Arthur informed the knight beside him. Ser Perth took this news with a curt nod of the head.

"Very well, my lord" Ser Perth answered. "Let us wait, and may the Maker watch over you"

"May He watch over us all" Arthur replied.

#################################

It was the last few moments before sunset. The motley band were mostly gathered around the windmill, along with Ser Perth and his knights, Dwyn and his hired thugs, and the miserable-looking elf spy, who clearly wished to be anywhere else. Arthur had divided the party into two groups; Alistair, Sten and Edward would fight with him on the ground, going hand-to-hand against the monsters, while Leliana, Zevran and Morrigan were perched on a balcony on the first level of the windmill, where they could rain down arrows and magical blasts relatively safe from attack by the enemy. Arthur had been surprised to discover the elf was quite a competent archer; of course, it was hard to argue when Zev's demonstration of such skills was shooting an arrow into the ground a hairsbreadth from the Warden's groin. Arthur had wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn't; despite their somewhat rough start, the elf had proven he did have uses-rooting out Loghain and Howe's spy had raised him up in Arthur's estimation- and so long as the elf remained true to his oath, and showed he had no loyalty to his former employers, he had nothing to fear from the Wardens.

An uneasy silence fell as all present waited for the inevitable to become. Alistair was stood beside the knights, all silently muttering prayers to the Maker. Sten, however, was sat on an overturned barrel by the windmill, sharpening his newfound sword with a whetstone, Edward staring intently at the qunari.

"Yes, you know what it is like to have a weapon that is part of you" Sten murmured to the dog as he continued to sharpen the blade to his satisfaction. "Few others do". Once that was done, Sten idly spun the blade in his hands, checking the balance, trying a few experimental swings before spinning the blade back into its scabbard, gently fingering the gold-leafed pommel.

"Strange. I had almost forgotten it...completion". Holding his sword out towards Arthur, Sten fixed the Warden with an incredulous look of respect and admiration. "Are you sure you're a Grey Warden? I think you must be an ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war!" If Arthur hadn't known better, he would have sworn the qunari's tone was one of joy. _'But surely qunari don't express happiness...do they?'_

"What will you do now?" Arthur asked. The qunari's smile only widened.

"My sword is in my hand: I should put it to use. And I could deliver a more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely" was the reply.

"Then lead the way".

"Here they come!" he heard Leliana shout from her perch atop the windmill, disrupting any further chance of conversation. For a moment, Arthur couldn't see what she meant, but then he realised what the bard was talking about; emerging from the castle was a thick, pestilential green mist, cloying and sickly, and in the mist, he could see figures moving, shrieking wilding and running across the bridge from the castle, straight towards the village...

"Looks like you're about to get a chance to put your sword to use again" Arthur muttered to Sten as he, the qunari, Alistair and the other defenders of Redcliffe took their positions at the foot of the slope. Arthur drew his new sword, named 'The Green Blade' according to the words engraved on the curved veridium blade, and waited for the enemy to come close enough to put it to use.

'_Let the fun begin'._


	25. Chapter 23: The Truth of Matters

The first of the walking dead appeared at the top of the hill leading down to the windmill, emerging from the mist like ghosts, and Arthur gagged in shock at the sight of them, not that he was alone in so doing. The sight of the undead in the tunnels of the Lady's lair had been horrifying, but at least they had been no more than walking skeletons. The undead sprinting down the hill towards them were somewhat more frightening in that, despite their horrifically butchered and maimed forms, there was still signs of individuality, traces of the people they had been in their clothing, appearance and possessions: the way an elven serving girl braided her hair, the scuff marks on a knight's armour made by polishing, the fine brooch one of the arlessa's maids used to fasten her dress. But looking into the eyes of those people racing down, one could see that any such individuality was gone from them. Whoever they had been, they were now just puppets of flesh and bone, dancing on the strings of whatever foul power had breathed life back into their corpses and stripped them of everything but the urge to kill.

Arthur allowed himself a reluctant sigh at what had to be done, but put it aside as he raised his sword. There was nothing that could be done. These people could not be saved; only put out of their misery. Killing these poor souls would be like amputating a gangrenous limb: painful, but unfortunately necessary.

"Light the fires" he heard Ser Perth cry out, and a pair of flaming arrows from the windmill slammed into the oil-soaked ground, igniting it and setting the frontrunners of the pack ablaze. Horrific screams split the night air as the fire hungrily began to chew at oil-soaked flesh, but the undead kept coming, disregarding the flames eating them as the mindless urge to kill ingrained into them drove them on. As the first of the undead staggered out of the fire, the warriors were on them. Arthur hacked the Green Blade down on the arm of a burning male elf, slicing it off at the elbow. The monster snarled angrily and swung out at him with a meat cleaver in its remaining hand, completely unhindered by its injury. Arthur blocked the blade's path to his head with Swiftrunner's shield, the crude iron axe unable to make a mark on the whitewood, and then slashed low; the Green Blade easily hacked through the flesh of the creature's knee, weakened by necrosis and fire damage, sending the burning elf crashing to the grass. Before it could recover, the Green Blade came down, severing the undead elf's head from its shoulders. Arthur looked up in time to block the descending hack of a carving knife and took off the hand wielding it with his return blow. Before the creature-which from the look of it had been a pretty arlessa's maid, her once-long blonde hair lank and matted and her throat half-torn out by a vicious bite- could do little more than hiss in pain, Arthur spun on his heel, the Green Blade slicing into the already weakened flesh of the girl's neck. The severed head fell to the ground, the wretched creature put out of its misery.

Looking round, Arthur saw his companions were managing to hold their own: Zevran and Leliana were dropping undead from a distance, the creatures falling with arrows punching through the eyes or the brow into the brain. Sten was surrounded by a number of corpses, all severely mangled, limbs and heads cast about him like some twisted vision of a butcher's shop. A slavering corpse that had once been a scullery maid threw itself at the qunari, but Sten slashed Asala through the monster's midsection, and its bifurcated form collapsed, its torso landing a short distance from its legs. The creature continued to try and attack, snapping angrily at Sten's ankles as it dragged itself by its hands across the ground, but Sten dodged back from the creature vainly biting at his feet and stamped on its head once, twice, thrice, smashing the fiend's head to pulp with every blow.

Ser Perth and his knights were clearly well-versed in how to bring down the monsters; the previous skirmishes having taught them to bring down the undead. Alistair fought beside them, he and the knights using their shields to fend off the circle of clawing hands and blades around them. The knights fought back in tandem, one using his shield to smash one of the undead to its knees, the other taking off its head. Their attacks, coupled by arrows and magical attacks from above swiftly began to thin out the undead battling with the defenders at the base of the slope. As Arthur watched, a stream of magical ice streamed from Morrigan's hands, turning a number of the creatures into frozen statues. Before the spell could wear off, Ser Perth and his knights smashed the frozen undead into smithereens.

A high-pitched scream from behind caught Arthur's attention: a small group of the undead had gotten past Perth and his knights, and were trying to break down the door to the windmill. The scream had come from the captured elf spy; a trio of the undead-two elf serving girls and a cook- had set upon him. The fool's attempt to defend himself had ended with his sword uselessly embedded in the gut of one of the elves, and the undead monsters tore the spy apart before he could draw his weapon free. Dwyn and his men hacked the monsters to pieces as they gorged themselves on the spy's still-warm flesh, before turning their attention to those trying to hack down the windmill door to get at Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran.

Arthur made to join them, but before he could, he heard running footsteps behind him; he whirled round, sword raised, but the intruder was not another slavering walking corpse, but one of Murdock's militia, the terror in his voice clear even muffled as it was by the full helm he wore.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades; we need help!"

Stopping for only an instant to order Ser Perth and his men to hold their position, and commanding Alistair, Sten and Edward to follow him, Arthur took off at a run down the slope after the militiaman into the village, where the militia were gathered in front of the Chantry, desperately trying to prevent a seething throng of undead villagers from overrunning the meagre wooden barricades and getting to the doors of the Chantry and the defenceless people inside. Looking closely, Arthur could see every one of the creatures hurling themselves at the barricades was soaking wet, as though they'd hauled themselves from the depths of Lake Calenhad, which in all honesty, they probably had. '_But then how did they get from the castle to here? Unless...they jumped from the battlements?'_

As one of the monsters saw him and the others approach and let loose a screech of feral hunger that alerted the rest of the pack, Arthur put the question to the back of his mind. They could unravel the mystery of how the undead had gotten from the castle after they were no longer trying to slaughter the villagers.

The creature that had roused the others- a burly man in tattered scraps of red-steel chainmail, missing its eyes, nose and most of its lower jaw, dragging a large maul behind it- staggered towards the approaching group, swinging its weapon with wide, scything motions that had the power to smash a man to pulp if they connected, but more often missed. Sten bellowed a challenge and made to counter the monster, ducking under the swing and slamming the pommel of his sword into the creature's head. The monster recovered more quickly than expected, recoiling from a stab of Asala and moved to confront the qunari. However, Sten's distraction was sufficient to keep the hulking undead brute distracted, allowing Alistair and Arthur to join with the militia's efforts.

A volley of arrows from the militia slashed into the undead like a swarm of hornets, dropping a few, but most were not even slowed by the missiles slamming into them. The creatures began to assail the barricades the militia had assembled in a semi-circle around the entrance of the Chantry. At least two dozen of the things were throwing themselves at the barricades. The militiamen were desperately fighting back, avoiding the grasping hands and stabbing blades and trying to make attacks of their own, but their own inexperience and fear of their unnatural enemy was hindering them just as much as the undead were hindered by their own decrepit bodies. The spectacle might have been amusing in a macabre way if it weren't so dire. As Arthur watched, one militiaman staggered back, howling and clutching a deep cut in his arm, made by an undead serf's knife, creating a gap in the defender's line. The creature shrieked triumphantly and tried to get in among the defenders, but Arthur seized a hand axe that one of the creatures had discarded in its haste to try and get over the wooden fences and hurled it, splitting the undead man's cranium into pieces. The militia closed ranks and the fighting continued, Oathkeeper and the Green Blade taking their fair share of heads.

A scream from behind caught Arthur's attention; despite the best efforts of Murdock and his men to hold them off, a number of the monsters had gotten over the barricades to the right, knocking aside the men trying to hold them off and were hacking at the doors and windows of the Chantry, trying to find a way in. Arthur looked round, but no one could move to stop them: the militia were overwhelmed trying to stop more from getting past their defences. Sten was still locked in combat with his colossus of an opponent, ducking back from the brute's maul, and Alistair and Edward had their own opponents to fight. With a weary sigh, Arthur raced to the defence. '_Looks like it'll have to be me'_.

Three opponents stood before him; two of the walking corpses who had once been men hacking at the barred doors of the Chantry with heavy axes in a futile effort to break down the doors. Both undead were so engrossed in their task, they didn't realise the danger to them until it was too late; the first one fell when the Green Blade stabbed into the back of its head and emerged from the top of the skull. The second saw its ilk fall, but could do little more than scream before the sword's next slice cleaved its skull into two pieces, the head severed raggedly above the jaw.

The final walking corpse, which from the looks of it had been a woman in her mid-forties, had had better luck, managing to smash one of the small windows by the door, and was now trying to grab at anyone she could reach inside. Screams of terror came from inside the building at the sight of the monstrosity trying to force its way in, along with Bann Teagan ordering everyone back away from the door, but one voice was not overcome by horror.

"Mother?" he heard a boy's voice ask. '_Bevin?_' he thought.

The creature's only response was to howl in deranged hunger, clawing wildly at the nearest victim, completely uncaring of the fact the victim was her son. Arthur heard a girl scream that could only be Kaitlin, and reacted quickly; seizing the undead woman by the back of the ruined dress she wore, Arthur pulled the woman, screaming hatefully, away from the window and threw her to the floor, pinning the woman to the ground with his foot. Looking up, he could see Kaitlin and her brother at the window, the girl trying to pull her brother back even as she stared at the scene in mute horror.

"You don't want to see this" he told the girl, who nodded and covered her brother's eyes as she turned her head away: they didn't need to see him kill their mother, even undead as she was. A brief flare of pain cut through Arthur as the undead woman managed to partially worm her way free and sank her teeth into the back of his leg; Arthur gave a gasp of shocked pain, but wisely kept the living corpse pinned down. Before the ghoul snapping at his feet could pull herself free, Arthur brought the curved sword down, easily carving through the woman's neck and sending her head rolling away. Removing his foot from the decapitated corpse, gingerly feeling the back of his leg to see the damage the dead woman's bite had done, Arthur took a quick look of the battlefield.

The hulking undead soldier was down, his maul cut in two halfway along its length and his body decapitated. The soldier's head lay in pieces on the blood-soaked ground, each piece closely resembling a crushed tomato. Sten was victorious, but the qunari was in a bad way; his left arm was red with blood and the heavy chainmail armour covering the limb appeared crushed. The qunari had been hit by the undead warrior's maul, and judging from the blood and the unnatural angle at which his arm hung, the limb was clearly broken. Alistair had fared little better: Murdock was standing beside the former templar, a drawn sword ready, while another militiaman held a wet cloth to a wound at Alistair's head, which looked to have been inflicted by a mace. Despite the injuries of his companions, the militia looked to be in good shape- a few minor injuries but nothing serious- and Edward seemed unharmed, the mabari lifting his head from the body of an undead manservant, having crushed the thing's skull between his jaws, the corpse's black ichor dripping from his fangs.

As Arthur took stock of the situation, he heard more running feet approaching. "Here they come again!" he roared as more ungainly human shapes began to approach.

What seemed like minutes, but was in truth hours, passed in the same interminable manner; the undead continued to emerge from the lake and charge at the barricades assembled, but with every new attack, their numbers decreased and the militia fell into a routine, loosing volleys of arrows that dropped a good number of the attackers, before blades finished them off. Arthur and Alistair hanged back, loosing arrows and crossbow bolts along with the militia, not wanting to chance further injury. Many of these undead monsters were in even worse condition; missing limbs and carrying deep wounds that hindered them, forcing the walking corpses to limp or even drag themselves into combat, only to be hacked down by the militia. A number of other attackers also stumbled down the hill, bearing the mark of Leliana and Zev's arrows or the blades of Ser Perth and his knights; these creatures fell even more easily than those emerging from the dark waters.

Finally, after a night that seemed to have lasted forever, as the first signs of dawn began to crest the horizon, the first light of the sun beginning to appear above the top of the distant Frostbacks, the battle ended. The last of the walking corpses toppled, a well-placed arrow embedded between the eyes, and silence fell upon the village for a moment as the survivors scanned their immediate surroundings for any more undead. Then one man let loose a jubilant cry of victory, which the rest of the militia took up, overjoyed at their triumph. His companions seemed relieved, but as for Arthur, he stalked to a wooden post by the door of the Chantry and sank to the floor, too tired to move further. The cheering of victory continued, but exhausted beyond measure, Arthur Cousland was asleep long before they fell silent.

#############

When Arthur woke, it was long after sunrise, and he was now inside the Chantry; someone must have dragged him inside. Nor was he alone: the rest of his companions were also present. Alistair was propped up against a wall beside him to the right; Edward was curled up at his master's feet and Leliana had fallen asleep at some point with her head resting on Arthur's shoulders. Morrigan and Sten, however, were awake; the qunari had removed his armour and the witch was tending to the wounds the undead had inflicted, closing up the minor wounds with healing magic. She had also managed to form a crude sling for Sten's arm; the witch's skill for healing, while sufficient for minor to moderate injuries, were no use for something that severe.

Zevran, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, but there would be time enough to ponder the elf's whereabouts later; a shadow fell over him and the others, diverting his attention. Looking up, Arthur saw it was Hannah, the Revered Mother of the Redcliffe Chantry. She gave him a "Bann Teagan asks that you and your companions join him outside the Chantry as soon as you can; there is something he wishes to say to you"

Gently shaking Alistair and Leliana awake and murmuring his thanks to the Revered Mother, Arthur relayed to his awaking companions what had been said. Alistair quickly got to his feet, smoothing his hair down, pulling his sword belt up more securely, while Leliana rearranged her armour and collected her weapons. For a moment, Arthur wondered if Sten should join them, but the qunari clambered to his feet, showing no discomfort for his arm.

"I will come, if only because it will be an interruption to the saarebas poking me for hours on end" Sten muttered.

"Oh the gratitude!" Morrigan sniped sarcastically. "Next time, I'll wait for the gangrene to set in before I heal you, and see how you enjoy the pain! I suppose I had best come too, lest these superstitious fools forget the part a mage played in saving this dunghill and decide to tie me up and burn me for raising the dead. After all, while we've destroyed these undead, we still need to find and deal with whatever raised them in the first place" the witch added. No one could argue with that.

As the group approached the front doors, Arthur asked "Has anyone seen Zev?"

Leliana replied "He did survive the battle. When I last saw him, he'd gone with some of the militia to the tavern to help themselves to whatever supplies of liquor were left while the tavern keeper is locked in his cellar. I imagine they've been drinking most of the morning".

Arthur pulled open the doors of the Chantry as he took this information in, blinking in the bright sunlight that met them as the doors opened, only to be caught offguard by a sudden cheer that, in the early silence of the morning was near deafening. Looking round, Arthur saw to his amazement that what looked to be the entire surviving population of Redcliffe-militiamen, women young and old, children and Ser Perth and his fellow knights- were either cheering, clapping loudly or in the case of the knights, beating their swords on their shields.

"Dawn arrives, my friends, and all of us remain. We are victorious!" Bann Teagan cried out, eliciting another cheer from the villagers. Teagan allowed himself a small grin and then gestured to the new arrivals. "And it is these good folk you see beside me that we have to thank for our lives today. Without their heroism, surely we would all have perished."

The crowd continued to cheer as Teagan turned his full attention to the group and inclined his head to Arthur. "I bow to you, good ser. The Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour." Arthur likewise gave a brisk nod of his head, but Teagan had already turned away, taking a cloth-wrapped bundle from Ser Perth. The bann opened it to reveal a steel helm of fine make, its visor and circumference adorned with engravings of warhounds and other Fereldan iconography, which he took in both hands and extended it to the Warden.

"Allow me to offer you this: the helm of Ser Ferris the Red, my great-uncle and hero of Ferelden. He would approve passing it to one so worthy"

"Thank you, Bann Teagan. I am honoured." Arthur replied gratefully, gently taking the helm. His own ironbark armour was still sufficient but Alistair would no doubt desire it for its weight and heritage.

"Take it, then, and use it in good health."

Revered Mother Hannah came forward, addressing the gathering. The crowd calmed down to listen. "Let us bow our heads and give honour to those who gave their lives in defence of Redcliffe. Now they walk with He who is their Maker. Long may they know the peace of His love." Arthur intoned the traditional response, "So let it be" along with the others, though he felt little enthusiasm for it-after all, the Maker had hardly intervened in the chaos engulfing Ferelden so far-and then Bann Teagan spoke once more to the people of Redcliffe.

"With the Maker's favour, the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek your arl. Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack. We shall return with news as soon as we are able." He looked over at his guests as the crowd began to disperse, speaking in an undertone "Now, we've no time to waste. Meet me at the mill. We can talk further there."

Ten minutes later, Arthur and the companions he had chosen- Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan- were traipsing up the slope to the windmill. Arthur had flatly refused to let Sten go with them; with a broken arm, the qunari would be of no use to anyone, so Arthur had had Sten sit with the healers where his wounds could be better tended; Morrigan had done her best, but the witch's magic was better suited to destruction than restoration.

Zevran had offered to come, but the elf's clearly inebriated state, not to mention the looks he and the tavern girl Bella were shooting at each other-along with her simple dress looking a little dishevelled and hanging off one shoulder- made Arthur insist that the elf remain behind. Grinning from ear to ear, the elf had given a drunken Antivan toast, not that he was the first in the tavern. The militia had all tried to ply him with coin, free ale and other rewards, and the tavern girl Bella had also been quite friendly, though her idea of a hero's welcome had been to throw her arms around his neck and try to pull his tongue out. He would never know what possessed him to offer the woman enough coin to get her to Denerim; maybe it was just a whim, maybe he wanted to help her better her life rather than languish in a tavern where her boss groped and paid her next to nothing, maybe to help her escape from the coming Blight, or simply another taste of her gratitude, but he still gave her the sovereigns. The approving nods of his companions were proof enough that he had done the right thing, though Leliana's glower at the woman's 'gratitude' was still boring into Arthur's back as they headed up to the windmill.

Exiting the tavern, and stopping just long enough to refill their supplies with food and medical poultices, the quartet had quickly moved up the hill, Edward eagerly following at their heels, where Bann Teagan and the Arl's knights stood beside the windmill, relatively undamaged by the night's attack, staring up at the high battlements in the distance.

"Odd how quiet the castle looks from here. You'd almost think there was no one inside" Bann Teagan muttered, half to himself, before ceasing his ruminations and turning his attention to the others. "But I should not delay things further. I had a plan...to enter the castle once the village was secure" At the confused look on the faces of the Wardens and the women, Teagan continued "There is a secret passage here in the mill, accessible only to my family"

This knowledge did not surprise Arthur; like the Couslands, it made sense the Guerrins would have a secret escape passage from their castle for use in times of war and strife; such a thing had likely been built during the Orlesian occupation and the rebellion. What did annoy Arthur was the fact that Teagan had withheld that information from them; though he would not have stood by and let the undead destroy the village, a small party could have snuck in and liberated Arl Eamon from the castle.

Teagan contritely replied "I knew you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village… and we needed warriors. I'm sorry if I- Maker's breath!" Teagan's eyes widened at something behind Arthur. The Warden spun round to see, approaching them at a steady jog, a women in her thirties with slightly unkempt brown hair pulled into a bun and wearing a slightly tattered but still fine dress, a soldier of Redcliffe following at her heels. Edward growled at the approaching noblewoman, but she paid the mabari no heed.

"Teagan! Thank the Maker you yet live!"

"Isolde!" Teagan replied, clearly overjoyed and astounded by his sister-in-law's survival. "You're alive? How did you-what has happened?"

"I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly." Her face twisted into a rather curious expression as she looked at the other onlookers, clearly not wanting to speak in front of them. After a few moments, she was forced to overcome her reluctance and, trying to speak as quietly as possible, muttered "And I… need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."

"We will need more of an explanation than that, I think" Arthur replied curtly; it was all very well and good for the arlessa to show up and ask for help now the fighting and dying was done, but the fact she hadn't given them any information about what was going on in the castle and yet wanted them all to risk their necks in a place where all manner of dangers lay in wait sat ill with the youth. She glowered at him with a look of condescending superiority, clearly appalled at the notion that one of inferior station had the temerity to speak to her without the proper respect.

"What? I… Who is this man, Teagan?" Alistair stepped forward at that point, looking as clearly unhappy to see her as she would likely be to see him.

"You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?" he asked with a sigh. She stared blankly at him for a moment before his identity fell into place.

"Alistair?" The arlessa spat his name like a curse; her expression only soured ever more, her dark brown eyes overflowing with disdain. "Of all the… why are _you_ here?" Bann Teagan rested a calming hand on her arm.

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde, both Alistair and his companion, Arthur Cousland, son of the teyrn of Highever. I owe them my life," he added sternly. The arlessa's eyes went wide with shock as she realised the disrespect she was showing to her guests. She quickly curtsied and adopted a sweet smile that grated on Arthur's nerves as much as her earlier bluntness.

"Pardon me, I… I would exchange pleasantries, but… considering the circumstances…"

"Please, Lady Isolde," Alistair tried again. "We had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers!"

"I know you need more of an explanation," she conceded, darting eyes betraying her discomfort, "but I… don't know what is safe to tell." She turned to Teagan once more. "Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think…" She glanced around, clearly uncomfortable about talking in the presence of anyone but her brother-in-law. "Connor is going mad. We have survived but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death!" She grabbed the bann by the front of his jacket, tears starting to run down her face. "You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle, you could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully, uncertain what to make of all this. _'Her distress seems real, but still… there's something she's not saying'_.

"What of Arl Eamon? Is he still alive?"

"He is. He is being kept alive so far, thank the Maker" the arlessa replied to Alistair's blurted question.

"Kept alive?" Teagan asked, clearly confused by her choice of phrase. "Kept alive by what?"

"Something that the mage unleashed. So far it allows Eamon, Connor, and myself to live," she said, staring at the ground. "The others… were not so fortunate. It's killed so many, and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village! It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help!" the arlessa sobbed, the terror in her voice real.

"Tell us about this mage," Arthur demanded.

"He is an infiltrator, I think- one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill."

"Eamon was poisoned?" gasped Teagan, horror-struck.

"He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain's hired him! He may be lying, however- I cannot say"

Arthur took this in, thinking to himself. If a mage was involved, then he had a strong suspicion as to what this 'thing' the arlessa seemed beholden to was...

"So why must Teagan go alone?" asked Alistair, clearly uneasy at the thought. Arthur had to agree with his companion; if Arl Eamon and his son were indisposed, he was not comfortable with sending Teagan into the same danger; if all three of them were to perish, the Guerrin line would be destroyed, and any chance of getting help from Eamon or Teagan against Loghain and the Blight would die with them.

"For Connor's sake, I promised I would return quickly and only with Teagan," Isolde sobbed desperately. "Teagan, I know you could order your men to follow me when I return to the castle. I _beg_ you not to, for Connor's sake!"

"Am I the _only_ one who gets the feeling she isn't telling us everything?" Morrigan suddenly accused dryly, her hawk-like eyes narrowed suspiciously. The arlessa whirled round to glare at the younger woman, the haughty disdain she had displayed earlier returning to her gaze.

"I- I beg your pardon!" She gasped through her tears, revolted by the witch's audacity. "That's a rather impertinent accusation!"

"Not if it's true." Arthur retorted. The arlessa shook with outraged grief as she sobbed "An evil I cannot fathom holds my son and husband hostage! I came for help! What more do you want from me? Teagan, I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill Connor! Please come back with me- must I _beg_?"

"Could this evil she mentions be a demon?" Arthur asked of Morrigan. The witch shrugged her shoulders and replied "We are too far from the castle for me to tell just how strong or weak the Veil is there, but such a creature would be a good culprit behind the mayhem that has afflicted this hovel"

"_Demon_?" Isolde whimpered, her eyes widening in terror. "Maker's mercy! Could it truly be a demon?" Fresh tears began to stream down her cheeks and she turned her desperate pleas back to her brother-in law.

"I can't let it hurt my Connor!" she sobbed. "You must come back with Teagan! _PLEASE!_"

Teagan gave a weary sigh, but spoke with a resolute determination "The king is dead, and with Cailan gone, we need my brother now more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde."

"Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan! Bless you!"

"This is a mistake" Arthur asserted. "You're going to get yourself _killed._"

"I cannot let Isolde return alone. Perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon. Perhaps this is really a trap, but this is my family. I must try. I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone. You, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable. Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you."

"Please do not take too long!" She said, wiping away her tears and beginning to walk away. "I will be by the bridge." The moment she was out of earshot, Teagan began to speak hurriedly with the Wardens.

"Here's what I propose: I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle using the secret passage. My signet ring unlocks the door. Perhaps I will… distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?"

"What exactly are we supposed to do in there?"

"I wish I knew," Teagan admitted, pushing his hair out of his eyes wearily. "I don't know any more about this 'evil force' than Isolde seems to. Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance. If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you. I don't think there's anyone else who can help you. If you choose not to go, then it's up to me to do what I can. Here is my signet ring. It will open the lock on the door in the mill."

He pulled a gaudy gold ring, engraved with the Guerrin 'G' off his ring finger, and dropped it into Arthur's palm. He quickly looked to make sure Isolde couldn't hear, then whispered in a conspiratorial mutter. "Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, and anyone else… we're expendable."

"I understand. We'll do our best"

"You are a good man. The Maker smiled on me indeed, when He sent you to Redcliffe"

"So we're just going to send him with that woman?" Leliana asked, clearly not pleased with such an idea. "It seems so dangerous..."

"I've no doubt it is, dear lady, but I can delay no further. Allow me to bid you farewell… and good luck." Teagan inclined his head to them, clapping a hand on Alistair's shoulder as he passed, and then began to trudge up the hill after the arlessa.

"Well, are we going to stand watching the fool go to his death, or are we going to try and save him from whatever lies in wait within?" Morrigan demanded.

"But of course," Arthur murmured, ushering the other Warden, witch, bard and mabari to the mill door. The door swung open and they stepped into the mill's interior. They quickly found, covered by straw and sacks, a simple stone trapdoor with a depression in it the same size and shape as the ring. Inserting the ring into the depression and twisting elicited a soft click; pulling the stone hatch up, Arthur looked down to see a stone staircase descending into darkness.

"Well...ladies first" Alistair remarked dryly. Morrigan and Leliana both directed withering looks at him, and the templar, muttering darkly to himself, set off down the stairs. The staircase descended to a cold, dark tunnel, devoid of light and warmth. The only sounds emanating were the periodic dripping of water and the scratching of what was probably rats in the distance. With a click of her fingers, a ball of luminous blue flame erupted to life in Morrigan's palm, bringing welcome illumination to the tunnel.

The witch took the lead, the others trailing behind them. They walked in silence, any thoughts of conversation overcome by wonderings of what they were going to find inside the castle. Time was immeasurable; they could have been walking for ten minutes or an hour, they wouldn't have known. After an indeterminate amount of time, the light in Morrigan's hand illuminated a large, iron-bound oak door. Inserting Teagan's signet ring into a hole in the metal where the lock would have been and twisting it caused the door to swing open.

They appeared to be in a branch of the dungeons that had been long out of use; dust clung to nearly every surface and cobwebs hung in the corners of the walls. Bones festooned the floors of the long-unoccupied cells, rats openly gnawing on them in some cases.

"I locked myself in a cage, once, when I was a child. For an entire day. Ahh, good times." Alistair muttered to himself. Morrigan immediately leapt on the bait.

"More and more, I see why you were raised away from the courts. It must have been _sooo _hard for King Maric, trying to decide which of his dullard sons would embarrass him less as heir!"

Before Alistair could think up a suitable reply, a low hiss came from behind the door directly ahead of them. Arthur pulled the door open, to be greeted by a familiar sight; three more walking corpses were trying to smash down the door to another dungeon cell, a man's voice screaming in terror from within. "Get away from me!" the prisoner yelled.

The companions reacted immediately: Leliana quickly notched and loosed an arrow from her bow, the missile slamming into the head of one of the creatures with such force that it punched out the other side. The two remaining undead howled furiously at the intrusion but before they could do more, the sphere of blue fire in Morrigan's hand erupted into a stream of flame that engulfed both of them. As the two creatures screamed piteously and tried to put out the flames engulfing them, Arthur and Alistair drew their swords and hacked the undead apart.

"Hello? Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?" the man in the cell called out weakly. The party approached the cell and took a close look at the captive. He was wearing the robes of a mage of the Circle, though stained with blood and in some places little more than rags, and sitting feebly at the floor of his cell. His dark brown hair was overgrown and matted; his hands had been manacled together and chained above his head and his wide eyes regarded the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "You don't look like the arlessa's guards. Are you from outside the castle?"

"And who are you supposed to be?" Arthur snapped, though he had a strong suspicion. Edward growled angrily at the man, who kept one eye closely on the mabari's bared fangs before replying:

"My name is Jowan. I'm a mage Lady Isolde hired to tutor her son, Connor. Until they threw me in the dungeon here."

"You're the one who poisoned the arl" Alistair spat, the hatred in his voice clear. The mage's eyes went wide with fright, especially as he considered the drawn sword in Alistair's hand.

"I'm not proud of it!" he pleaded desperately. "The arlessa had no idea what I was hired to do when she took me in to tutor Connor. I… I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe." He scoffed, as if he found the idea ridiculous, but his expression grew sombre. "She… she had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they… left me to rot."

"If you're not proud of it, why did you do it?" Arthur asked, deciding to get some answers before Alistair killed the man out of hand.

"I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain" Jowan replied simply.

"Loghain! Why am I not surprised?" Alistair roared behind him, and Jowan retreated even further back into his cell, away from the enraged former Templar and the blade in his hand.

"I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden; that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. You see," he said, glancing anxiously up at them, "I'm a maleficar: a blood mage."

"You? A blood mage? _Truly?"_ Morrigan enquired, a look of incredulity and amusement on her face at the very notion. "I would never have guessed."

"A blood mage!" Alistair exclaimed, his expression of dislike only growing stronger. "Well, _that_ isn't good…"

"I dabbled in the forbidden arts, and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to… redeem myself…" The man's head sank despairingly. "But he's abandoned me here, hasn't he? Everything's fallen apart, and I'm responsible! I have to make it right somehow, I have to!"

"So Loghain himself hired you?"

"Yes, when the templars caught me, they brought me to Denerim to await trial and execution. Eventually, someone came to see me. Alone. It was the teyrn; I'd seen paintings of him, so I knew. I thought he'd have me executed right there, but he said I could make up for my crime. He said I would be helping Ferelden..."

"And you _believed_ him?" Alistair snapped.

"He only said Arl Eamon was a threat to the nation. Why _wouldn't_ I believe Teyrn Loghain?" Jowan protested earnestly.

"But why did the arlessa need a mage to tutor her son?" Arthur asked.

"Connor had started to show… signs," Jowan explained rather worriedly. "Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training. It scared her because, as you know, a mage can't inherit a title, even the son of a powerful arl". That much Arthur knew to be true; he remembered back in his adolescence, near puberty, when his parents had at times watched him closely and on occasion, demanded to know if he had done anything that he couldn't explain. At the time, only a child, he hadn't understood it, but as he'd gotten older, Arthur had realised what his parents were doing; looking out for any sign or any action that would indicate the manifestation of magic, the threat of losing their pup to the Circle.

" She's also a pious woman. Her son having magic was...humiliating" Jowan concluded solemnly.

"Connor?" Alistair marvelled, eyebrows raised in incredulity. "A mage? I can't believe it!"

"She sought an apostate," Jowan continued, watching Alistair warily. "A mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea."

"Arl Eamon truly didn't know his son had magic?" Arthur questioned, surprised that the Arl would take so little interest in his son's upbringing; Bryce and Eleanor had made sure old Aldous kept them well-informed of his and Fergus's progress at their lessons growing up.

"No, the Arlessa was adamant he never find out. She said he would do the right thing, even if it meant losing their son. That infuriated her" Jowan confessed.

"How much magic did you teach Connor?" Arthur demanded; with the knowledge that Connor possessed magic, pieces were beginning to fall into place with worrying certainty...

"Some. But he's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell- never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally." He paused, as if debating with himself, and then continued: "I have thought about it, and it is possible Connor could have inadvertently done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses."

"We know; you don't need to be a mage to work that out, any fool with half a brain could work it out!" Morrigan snapped. "Well, maybe not _any_ fool..." she added with a grin at Alistair, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to hear her.

"I never meant for it to end like this, I swear!" Jowan insisted suddenly, bolting to his feet with a look of determined zeal entering his eyes."Let me help you fix this."

"I say this boy could still be of use to us," Morrigan commented airily. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?" Alistair glared at her, horrified and outraged at the very notion.

"Hey, hey! Let's not forget he's a blood mage! You can't just… set a blood mage free!"

"Better to slay him?" snapped the witch, stepping confrontationally towards Alistair. "Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?" Alistair scowled at her.

"I'd say it`s common sense. We don't even know the whole story yet."

"He wishes to redeem himself. Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?" Leliana argued.

"Like yourself, you mean?" Morrigan sneered, the condescending look on her face saying clearly she'd heard everything Arthur and the bard had discussed that night in camp. Arthur sighed to himself; the witch's habit of eavesdropping was starting to get annoying. Leliana angrily puffed out her breast and curtly replied in a rather imperious tone "Everyone deserves to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes; this man no less than any other!"

"Give me a chance, please!" pled Jowan desperately.

"So how will you make things right?" Jowan seemed surprised by the question.

"I'd… well," he stammered, "I'd try to save anyone still up there. There must be something I can do."

"And after that, what happens?"

"Afterwards?" The mage thought for a moment. "I assume I'll be arrested. Or executed. Or… whatever people like me get. I'm tired of running from the Circle. I need to account for what I've done."

"So if I were to just let you go…?"

"I'd stay and try to help, if I could," the mage told him, a note of determined certainty in his voice that Arthur was almost inclined to believe him...almost. "Perhaps I can help deal with whatever's been unleashed here."

"That's commendable, if it's true," Arthur muttered.

"I'm glad you think so" Jowan retorted curtly. "So now what?"

By way of an answer, Arthur strode up to the door, and slammed a booted foot into the lock; already partly damaged by the undead, the door swung open and Arthur strode into the cell.

"Don't try anything" he snapped at the shackled mage. Jowan looked at him with a look of astonishment.

"You're letting me out? Then what?"

"You're coming with us to put this mess right" was Arthur's cold reply. With that, the Warden drew his sword and struck at the chains binding the mage; Jowan flinched as the Green Blade passed within inches of his arms and head, but there was a loud crash as the iron links parted against the veridium blade. Before Jowan could protest or react, Arthur had pulled him to his feet and shoved him out of the cell. Leliana and Morrigan both gave him approving nods, but before anyone could react, Alistair, who'd been glaring at Jowan as though the mage were something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his boot, seized him by the scruff of the neck and growled in his ear in a deadly voice:

"Listen very carefully, blood mage. I'd happily kill you for what you did to the arl, if not for the fact my companion seems to think you're more use alive than dead. But be warned; you betray us, or give me the slightest reason to be suspicious, you'll be dead so fast, you won't have to time to breathe! Understand?". Taking Jowan's shocked nod for an answer, Alistair shoved the blood mage away from him and indicated the staircase out of the dungeons to the others.

"Let's go. We still need to find the arl and figure out what's going on here".

####################

Half an hour later found the group standing in the courtyard of Castle Redcliffe, watching the portcullis rise. The upper levels of the castle had been even more nightmarish; the castle chapel, the barracks, the armoury, the kitchens, the servants' quarters; all overrun by walking corpses who had once been the vassals of the house. And other dangers beside; Arl Eamon's personal complement of mabari warhounds, gone feral and rabid after so long trapped inside with nothing but the flesh of the dead to feed on. Shades and wraiths, twisted spirits of the Fade, hungry for the life force of mortals, prowled about; many foes lingered within the castle that refused to die until they'd been hacked to pieces. '_When all this is over, Arl Eamon will probably need the Grand Cleric to give this place an exorcism_!' Arthur half-joked to himself, trying to distract himself from the fear that they were only going to find corpses as far as the arl, his brother and his wife were concerned.

For all of Alistair's fear, Jowan had not given them reason to distrust him any further; he'd even proven his worth when they'd heard a scream coming from one of the larders and gone to investigate, to find a girl in the garb of an arlessa's maid trapped in a corner, being menaced by two of the walking dead. The mage managed to cadge a lyrium potion from Morrigan and put it to use, conjuring a cone of frost that paralyzed the undead long enough for the others to destroy them. The girl turned out to be Valena, the blacksmith's daughter they'd been asked to find. Her relief at being alive only doubled when she learned that the village, and in particular her father Owen, were still alive and there was a way out of the castle to safety. Arthur sent Edward with her, the girl more willing to risk the tunnel through the dungeons with the protection of a mabari.

Before she departed, Valena directed them to a door through the kitchens that could lead them into the great hall, where she said she'd heard raised voices coming from. The door, unfortunately, turned out to be locked and barricaded from the other side, Morrigan concluded, by very powerful magic, thus necessitating a detour through the castle's cellars and into the courtyard, trying to allow Ser Perth and his men, who were standing beside the gatehouse, entry while holding off a revenant and its skeletal cohorts emerging from the castle grounds. However, the portcullis, clearly in need of repair, was slow to ascend, preventing the knights from moving to assist until after the undead were destroyed.

The portcullis completed its ascent and Ser Perth and his fellow knights stepped into the courtyard, their leader hailing the Wardens and their companions as the two parties met. "It's good you opened the gates; my men and I are anxious to see our arl again. Shall we enter the hall together? It must be taken and held if we are to regain control of the castle" Ser Perth questioned. With a nod from Arthur, the knights began to advance into the castle, the Wardens and their companions following behind.

Pushing open the castle's main doors, the companions and the knights quickly followed Ser Perth's lead into the main hall through a door directly ahead. The group entered the main hall and Arthur covered his nose and mouth with a choke of disgust, as did many of the others; several of Eamon's knights covered their faces, and Morrigan and Leliana wrinkled their noses in disdain: the ever-present stench of rotting flesh that hung within the interior of the castle was overpowering here. But the stench was nowhere near as disturbing as the strange spectacle at the far end of the hall. On the other side of the room, Isolde stood cowering, silent tears running down her cheeks, next to a boy of about ten or eleven that could only be her son, Connor. And before them, Bann Teagan was prancing around, cart-wheeling and back-flipping like a jongleur, a moronic grin plastered on his features. All around the chamber stood a number of the arl's surviving men-at-arms, their eyes glazed and unseeing, still and emotionless as statues as the intruders made their way to stand before the dais at the room's end.

The boy looked away from his uncle's impression of a jester to observe the interlopers and Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. There was something wrong in Connor's eyes that set his nerves on edge; a predatory scrutiny that was observing him, looking for weakness. A malevolent grimace contorted the boy's lips, a scowl of annoyance at the intrusion as the group stopped before him, and looked up at Isolde, who was silently weeping. With a wave of the boy's hand, Teagan stopped his antics and sank to the floor by his nephew's side.

So these are our visitors?" Connor growled in a voice far rougher and deeper than anything a boy of his age should sound like. There was also a rasping echo to his words, as though two voices were speaking simultaneously.

"Y-yes, Connor," Isolde was saying between sobs, clearly terrified of her own child.

"And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?" Connor pointed a claw-like hand in accusation at Arthur, his blue eyes narrowed. "And now it's staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can't see it well enough." Isolde looked almost apologetically at the Wardens before she responded, her eyes downcast to the floor.

"This… this is just a man, Connor. Like your father…"

"Oh, I'm tired of hearing about him!" the boy, or whatever he had become, rasped in a voice that was more a reptilian hiss. "Besides, he's nothing at _all_ like Father. Look at him! Breathing and not dying in the slightest! I could change that, mind you," he added as a malevolent afterthought, still glaring angrily at the intruders.

"C-Connor, I beg you, _don't hurt anyone!_" Isolde pleaded, dropping to her knees and seizing her son's hand in desperate entreaty. The boy turned his cold gaze on her, and then blinked. As he opened his eyes, Arthur saw the malevolent look in the boy's gaze fade away, and something human returned to those bright blue eyes, wide with fright and confusion.

"M-Mother?" he asked uncertainly, "What… what's happening? Where am I?"

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Isolde cried, joyfully enfolding her son in her arms "Connor! Connor, can you hear me?" Suddenly, the boy blinked again, and when his eyes reopened, the foul gleam in them had returned. With an angry snarl, Connor struck his mother a vicious blow, sending her sprawling to the floor.

"Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me!" he bellowed at her, the arlessa clutching the vivid red handprint on her cheek, her face slack with horror.

"Maker's Breath! What has happened here?" Ser Perth demanded, the uneasy fear in his voice clear.

Isolde unsteadily got back to her feet, clutching her slapped cheek. She turned to the Wardens again, face soaked with tears.

"Grey Warden," she pleaded to Arthur. "Please don't hurt my son! He's not responsible for what he does!"

"_H__e_ is the evil force you spoke of?," Arthur asked incredulously, feeling more sick and astonished than ever. Alistair and Leliana gave him questioning looks at the accusation, but Arthur ignored them, trying not to collapse or vomit, because both seemed apt reactions to this insanity. This was like Highever all over again; the life and soul of an innocent child taken by some foul evil. Connor was only a few years older than Oren, and Arthur had a terrible feeling that Connor's fate would be like his poor nephew's, only this time it would be him, not an anonymous thug wielding the executioner's blade...

"No!" Isolde screamed piteously. "Don't say that!"

"So the boy has become an abomination and sundered the Veil?" Morrigan asked rhetorically, caught between disappointment and amusement.

"C-Connor didn't mean to do this!" Isolde insisted, trying vainly to staunch her tears. "I-It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon- he started all of this! H-he summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!"

"And made a deal with the demon to do so? Foolish child" the witch sighed, shaking her head ruefully. Arthur could understand her logic; every day of Morrigan's life back in the Wilds had been lived with a perfect example of how trying to cut deals with demons never worked out well.

"It was a fair deal!" the possessed Connor snarled, fists clenched. "Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's _**my **_turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"

"Nobody tells him what to do!" echoed Bann Teagan loudly. "Nobody! Ha-ha!" Connor's eyes narrowed maliciously, before the boy darted forward and dealt his uncle a hefty clout round the back of the head, who was sent sprawling, the same moronic grin plastered on his features.

"Quiet, uncle. I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes, I did." The baleful glare of the entity staring from behind Connor's eyes turned back to Arthur. "But let's keep things civil. This man will have the audience he seeks. Tell us… what have you come here for?"

"We need to see Arl Eamon" Arthur replied, hoping his response would provoke an aggressive response from the possessed child; '_Surely it can't find fault with that, not after all the trouble it's gone to saving the man's life?' _he thought hopefully.

"So you're a concerned well-wisher. Why didn't you just say that in the first place? All this sneaking around and killing is so unnecessary! But…" Connor sighed, followed by a malevolent snicker "…Father is so very ill. We really shouldn't disturb him. Isn't that right, Mother?" His attention suddenly returned to Isolde, who jumped with fright at being addressed again.

"I… I don't think…"

"Of course you don't!" the abomination snapped dismissively. "Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it's getting dull. I crave excitement! And action!" he exclaimed, clawing at the air with outstretched hands and a terrible enthusiasm. "This man spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now he'll repay me!" With that, the boy bolted for a nearby door. As he ran, Morrigan shot an arcane bolt of magic at him in the hope of stopping Connor before he escaped, but she missed; the abomination gave an all-too human scream and ran for its life out of the room.

But Connor's scream seemed to have been a command for the guards to attack; coming to their senses, the soldiers around the room drew their swords and leapt to the attack, as did Bann Teagan. "Don't kill them!" Alistair yelled as he, the others and Eamon's knights drew their own weapons. Arthur didn't know if anyone had heard him until he saw Ser Perth and his fellow knights were using their shields and the pommels and flats of their blades to subdue the men-at-arms. Leliana, likewise, used her daggers to inflict crippling, but non-lethal wounds to the guards, severing hamstrings and tendons, while Morrigan conjured more ice magic to freeze and paralyze any that tried to attack her. By contrast, Isolde cowered in a corner, whimpering in fright, while Jowan, who'd been trying to stay out of sight the moment they entered the great hall, had disappeared into a side room and shut himself in the second violence erupted.

'_Not that I expected any different'_ Arthur thought as he blocked the blow of a mindless guard with his shield, before deciding to deal with the mage afterwards, as he slammed the pommel of the Green Blade into the man's forehead, resulting in near-immediate concussion. A second blow completed the transition to unconsciousness.

The man toppled to the floor, and Arthur saw all the other guards were also down, either unconscious or feebly clutching at crippling wounds. The only combatants remaining were Alistair and Bann Teagan, their blades locked as each tried to overcome the other.

"Come on, Teagan!" Alistair cried desperately, blocking a second blow with his shield, unwilling to fight back for fear of hurting the other man. "Come to your senses!". There was no response from the Bann, other than to increase the speed and ferocity of his blows; however, the Bann had his back turned to the others, and Ser Perth took advantage of this to slam the pommel of his greatsword into the back of Teagan's head. Teagan hit the floor with a loud thud, limp as a rag doll. Isolde gave a scream of horror and ran to her brother-in-law's side.

"Maker's Blood! Is he-?" Alistair blurted, dreading the answer. Arthur dropped beside Bann Teagan and put a hand to the man's neck. Instantly, he could feel a pulse, strong and steady. "He's alright" said Arthur, and Alistair and Isolde both let out sighs of relief. Bann Teagan gave a weary groan as he came to his senses, groggily shaking his head and rubbing the back of it where he'd been struck; there would be a fine lump there by tomorrow. Isolde held out a hand for the man to help himself to his feet, fretting all the while.

"Teagan! Teagan, are you alright?"

"I am… better now, I think. My mind is my own again." He rubbed the spot on his head the blow had landed, and then gave orders for Ser Perth and his knights to move the defeated guards into another room and lock them in for safety, until they could be certain the men were once again in their right minds.

"Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here. What a fool I am!" Isolde murmured, eyes downcast, before desperately turning her attention to the Wardens. "Please! Connor's not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!"

"You knew about this all along," Arthur accused quietly: the arlessa's idiot ambition and refusal to own up to her mistakes had caused this, caused all the death and horror that plagued the surrounding land.

"I… yes. I didn't tell you because I believed we could help him. I still do" Isolde reluctantly confessed.

"I am sorry, my lady," Jowan surprised everybody by saying, stepping out from the side room where he had been cowering "but Connor has become an abomination. He's no longer your son." The arlessa's face contorted with rage, and Jowan cowered away as she pointed a condemning finger at him.

"_YOU_! You did this to Connor!"

"I didn't! I didn't summon any demon, I told you!" Jowan defended himself, trying to duck behind Alistair, who grabbed him by his bloodied robes and pulled him back into view. "Please, if you'll let me help-"

"_Help?_" Isolde shrieked like a banshee, her pretty face a mask of venomous hatred. Her hands clenched into fists and Teagan wisely moved his sword out of the arlessa's reach, lest she try to draw it on the mage. "You betrayed me! I took you in when no one else would! I sheltered you from the Circle! I brought you here to help my son and in return you poisoned my husband!" Teagan frowned, and his gaze switched rapidly between his sister-in-law and Jowan.

"This is the mage you spoke of? Didn't you say he was in the dungeon?"

"He _was_. I assumed the creatures had killed him by now. He must have been set free," she spat, directing a withering look at Arthur. The youth evenly held her gaze, refusing to look away.

"I thought he'd be useful, seeing as he helped start this."

"Useful?" the arlessa sputtered, clearly outraged by the very notion. "After everything he did, he should be executed! Without him, none of this would have happened!"

"Your secrecy made his actions possible, Isolde" Teagan interjected in a rather cold tone of voice.

"But I…" Isolde's anger faded into shock, astounded by Teagan speaking against her.

"I know… what you must think of me, my lady," Jowan continued, bowing his head and clasping his hands behind his back. "I took advantage of your fear. I am sorry. I… never knew it would come to this."

"Well," Teagan sighed "I shan't turn away his help. Not yet. And if Connor is truly an abomination…"

"He is not always the demon you saw!" Isolde protested, disliking the way the conversation was going. "Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through. Please, I just want to protect him!"

"Isn't that what started this?" asked Teagan, exasperated. "You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret… to protect him."

"If they discovered Connor had magic, then they'd take him away! I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then…"

"So you had no idea the mage you took in to tutor him was an assassin?" Arthur cut across her whimpering protests.

"No, I trusted Loghain. Why wouldn't I? How could I have known the mage he sent would be a murderer?" she asked.

"Aside from the fact he never bothers to hide the fact he holds anything remotely connected to your homeland in contempt? The implications he murdered your nephew by marriage?" Arthur snapped, shaking his head at Isolde's foolishness. Surely she should have suspected something was amiss when Loghain, a man whose hatred for anything remotely Orlesian was legendary, had come to Isolde, offering her the one thing she wanted more than anything?

It seemed Teagan was of the same mind as Arthur. "And Eamon knew nothing of your plan? Isolde, do you not realise what you've done?"

A portion of Isolde's earlier stubbornness returned to her as she angrily retorted "Eamon would only demand we do the right thing! I was not going to lose my son! Not to...to _magic_!" she spat, making the word a curse.

"Would that have been so terrible?" Arthur asked. _'Surely, losing him to the Circle is better than losing his life?'_

"Magic...runs in my family" Isolde sobbed regretfully. "The ones who had it were all wicked, sinful men. I, I didn't know what to do when I found out!"

"And so you brought doom to us all, and death to your own son!" Teagan angrily snapped. Isolde's face blanched white with terror as she shook her head, desperately pleading "NO! There must be another way! There must be some way we can save him!"

Where did Connor go?" Leliana questioned. "Why did the boy run?"

"I think he ran upstairs, to the family quarters" Teagan supplied.

"Violence...scares him" Isolde added. "I know that sounds strange. He may have run upstairs to his room, or..."

"He might be lying in wait?" Arthur tentatively offered.

"I don't know. The fighting may have scared Connor into coming out, and so he ran" said Isolde.

"So you're saying he may be vulnerable?" Teagan asked, a grim finality in his words.

"Perhaps" Isolde agreed reluctantly, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. "Is-is there no other way?"

"Where is my brother? Where is Eamon?" Teagan asked, cutting her off. Arthur and the others paid close attention at this, fearing that they would hear the arl was dead, and with him, any chance of aid against Loghain.

"Upstairs, in his room. I think the demon has been keeping him alive," she said, crying again.

"So," postulated the bann, pushing his hair behind his ear, "if we destroy the demon, then…?"

"Then my husband may perish, yes"

"What are our options?" Arthur asked. Alistair cleared his throat.

"I wouldn't normally suggest slaying a child, but… he's an abomination. I'm not sure there's any choice," he said, clearly loathing himself for his response, particularly at the pitiful expression on Isolde's face.

"We can't kill a young boy, demon or no demon! Please tell me we're not considering this!" Leliana angrily interjected.

Teagan spoke up, his face sorrowful but determined. "Connor is my nephew, but..."he paused, with a sad look at the boy's mother "He is also possessed by a demon. Death would be...merciful".

"There is… another option," Jowan spoke up again, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "Though I… _loathe_ offering it. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself."

"What do you mean? Is the demon not within Connor?" asked the bann. Jowan shook his head.

"Not physically. The demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon."

"You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my boy?" Isolde asked, her tears stopping and a hopeful light entering her eyes.

"No, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages, but I have… blood magic." Immediately, Arthur and Alistair took a step away, a grimace of distaste on their faces.. Seeing the bann and arlessa's uncomprehending expressions, Jowan quickly launched into an explanation.

"Lyrium provides the power for the ritual. But I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of it, however. All of it, in fact," he finished softly.

"So… someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?" asked Teagan, quietly horrified.

"Yes, and then we send another mage into the Fade. I can't enter because I'm doing the ritual. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," he discredited himself, stepping down. "It's… not much of an option…"

"Blood magic is forbidden; it is _not_ an option _at all!_" Arthur curtly snapped; his last encounter with such dark arts, of what Zathrian had done with such, did not leave him with a good opinion of what could be accomplished with such. Jowan nodded and sighed "I know, I just thought..."

"I disagree. Let it be my blood. I will be the sacrifice," Isolde volunteered out of nowhere, catching them all off guard. Teagan was the first to regain his capacity for speech.

"What?" Teagan blurted, staring at her in disbelief. "Isolde, are you mad? Eamon would never allow this!"

"Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him or I give my life so my son can live. To me, the answer is clear."

"Blood magic," Alistair spat distastefully. "How can more evil be of any help here? Two wrongs don't make a right."

"It does seem like a sensible choice," Morrigan disagreed calmly, "with a willing participant."

"Connor is blameless in this," Isolde went on, entreating to them all. "He should not have to pay the price."

Teagan gave a sigh of exasperation, and then reluctantly turned to Arthur. "It… it's up to you, my friend. You know more about such things than I do, and it's your companion going into the Fade. The decision is yours."

"Are you truly prepared to give up your life, Lady Isolde?" Arthur asked.

"If there is even a chance to save my son, then I am" she replied resolutely.

"You are willing to trust this young mage?" Teagan asked incredulously. "He poisoned Eamon, and for all we know, he could take your life power and attack!". But Isolde merely placed a placating hand on his arm and solemnly answered "He would be a fool to try. No, I am willing to take him at his word. I will give my life to undo what I have done"

"I still don't think this is a good idea..." Arthur muttered, his misgivings about using the services of a maleficar returning.

"Save my son and you will be rewarded" Isolde added desperately. "His life means more to me than _anything_, even my own"

"You can't keep your promises when you're dead, woman..." Morrigan coldly pointed out.

"Teagan will know the promise I have made, and he can convince Eamon to uphold it"

"I'm not certain my brother will be happy to learn we sacrificed his beloved wife to blood magic" Teagan muttered angrily under his breath. Isolde heard him and whirled round to face him, her face stern and determined.

"You are mistaken. He will see that we saved his son. If Connor dies, he is left only with a wife who...lied to him".

Frustrated by the weight put on his shoulders, Arthur turned away, rubbing his temples to alleviate the stress of having to decide the fate of hand. "There _must_ be another way to enter the Fade."

"You can find lyrium and more mages at the Circle of Magi- if they would even do it," Alistair suggested half-heartedly.

"The Circle tower at Kinloch Hold is not far from here," Arthur mused.

"That is an excellent point," the other Warden noted. "One of the treaties is also for the Circle of Magi, after all." Arthur rubbed his chin in deep thought, mulling the benefits of killing two birds with one stone against the risk of leaving Redcliffe in its current state with the demon's still-present threat looming over the village.

"The tower is about a day's journey across the lake," Teagan added. "You could attempt to get the mages' help."

"But what will happen here?" Isolde put forward. "Connor will not remain passive forever!"

"I will take that risk" Arthur replied. "Bann Teagan, we will need three days worth of supplies and the fastest horses in Redcliffe's stables".

The Bann nodded "Very well. I will keep Jowan here as a precaution; he says he wishes to help, so he will help keep an eye on Connor for us".

"I will likewise leave Morrigan and Sten here to assist your efforts; another mage will no doubt be useful in keeping the demon in check".

"And the qunari?"

"If the demon re-emerges and poses a threat before we return from the Circle, then...I am sorry, but Connor will have to die; it will be the only way to end this. If that happens...the task will be Sten's to perform". Isolde whimpered fearfully but Teagan silenced her: he understood that if the Wardens failed to return with aid from the Circle in time, there would be no other alternative.

Teagan clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You're a good man for trying this. Go to the tower then; the longer you are away, the greater the chances of disaster".

In less than half an hour, Arthur and the companions he'd chosen to follow him to the Circle: Alistair, Leliana and Zevran, were on the Imperial Highway leading out of Redcliffe, heading north towards the only crossing point he knew between the mainland and the island in Lake Calenhad's centre that housed the Fereldan Circle of Magi. Edward ran alongside the black warhorse Arthur sat astride, the warhound having refused to stay behind upon recovering him from the village. The other three also rode upon fine horses taken from the stables of Redcliffe castle; the undead that had prowled the castle seemed to have only been interested in human prey, leaving the castle's animal inhabitants unharmed. Along with their riders, the horses carried in their saddlebags enough supplies to last three days; hopefully enough time to get to the Circle, convince the mages to return with them to Redcliffe and get back to the arling before it was too late.

The decision was a gamble, to be sure, but Arthur was willing to take it. In his opinion, this option was the only option. Arlessa Isolde had been right about one thing: her son did not deserve to pay the price for her stupid mistakes. The boy's only mistake had been in turning to the demon, and while it had been the wrong thing to do, Arthur couldn't fault Connor's reason for doing so. '_Could I honestly say I would not have done the same if it were _my_ father's life on the line? Or Mother's, or Fergus's? Could anyone honestly say they wouldn't do the same, to save the ones they love?'_ No, Connor didn't deserve to die for trying to do the right thing, no matter how misguided.

As for the second option, while Arthur could not deny there would be poetic justice in using Isolde's life to restore the mess she had created, his newfound distaste for blood magic would not allow him to agree to such, and despite Jowan's seeming earnest desire to make amends for his actions, it could as Teagan suspected all be an act to help him escape, either simply to freedom or back to his master. Better to keep the mage weak and unable to do harm, rather than give him the power to perform this ritual and discover too late that the blood mage never meant to keep his word.

If they succeeded, they would save the life of an innocent child, nullifying the evil that threatened the village below, and as a bonus, they would have accomplished another part of their mission and claimed the loyalty of the Circle to the Grey Wardens' cause.

If they failed...well, it would be one more thing he would have to answer to the Maker for.


	26. Chapter 24: The Circle is Broken

_Wow, over 100 reviews! I must be doing something good! _

_Sorry this took so long, I know many of you have been waiting patiently for an update. I've been very busy of late; real life has been a nightmare-exams, birthdays and other problems, as well as a really bad problem with writer's block. Hopefully the next one won't so long; I'm away for a couple of hours, but hopefully, I'll have the section in the Fade done by tonight, tomorrow at the latest._

_As always, thank you to all who review, read or subscribe; thank you to __**InuManKa91,**__**koopatrooper, ethan, MysticGohan88, spectre4hire, cakeisalie, sova and bobbinforapples for**__ your reviews, and to __**juraijin1, Megatoast, Razzorzful, TheManApart, FlamingWolf, nogard265 , 21komando, lerac, dio96**_, and _**dorawarrior**_ for subscribing or adding to favourites; it's always a pleasure to remember so many enjoy your work.

Since I haven't said it in a while, I don't own Dragon Age (unfortunately!); with the exception of my embellishments, all content belongs to Bioware.

'_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"I want two men stationed in front of the doors at all times. Do not open them without my express consent! Is that understood?"

"Yes, Knight-Commander!"

Greagoir ran a gauntleted hand through his short, grey hair, wincing as another periodic scream came from the upper levels of the tower. The few remaining templars stationed in the atrium of the tower also looked up, uneasily fingering the hilts of their weapons and keeping a close eye on the barred and locked steel doors leading to the mage quarters. It had been two weeks since the chaos that held the Circle firmly in its grasp had erupted, and though things had quietened down, he would not be tricked into lowering his guard. While he was not as vociferous about keeping the mages locked away as some in the Order, like that paranoid authoritarian Meredith Stannard, a single lapse in vigilance now could result in the unleashing of a threat to Ferelden as great as the darkspawn horde amassing in the south, and Greagoir was not going to allow that to happen.

The sound of the storm raging outside suddenly grew louder and Greagoir spun round to see Carroll, the young templar he'd stationed back on the mainland holding the door open and ushering a rather unusual group of people inside; two young men, one in a suit of scale armour made from ironbark, carrying a curved veridium sword and a shield of whitewood, the other wearing heavily used splintmail and a fine steel helm, bearing similar arms of battle, though his shield was made of yew. A full-grown mabari followed at their heels, while bringing up the rear, a blonde male elf, clad in leather armour with a sword and dagger at his waist, and a young redheaded woman in studded leather armour with a longbow and quiver on her back and two daggers at her hip. The group were soaked to the bone, judging from the brief glimpse Greagoir could see of the pelting rain and brief flash of lightning, and he didn't envy the newcomers crossing over the lake in that weather, followed by a surge of annoyance that Carroll, in direct contravention of his orders, had knowingly brought these people into the danger they were trying to contain.

"Who are you?" Greagoir snapped at the interlopers, before turning his ire on the templar who let them in. "Carroll, I explicitly told you not to let anyone across the lake!"

"This one said he had business with the tower" Carroll protested. "I thought it best for the decision to be left to you"

"Knight-Commander Greagoir, I presume?" the man in the ironbark armour asked, removing his helm to reveal a handsome, if weary face, framed by long reddish-brown hair, pale skin marked by a prominent tattoo around the right eye. His face was set in an ingratiating smile and he extended a gauntleted hand by way of introduction, but the Knight-Commander was in no mood.

"I do not have time for pleasantries, young ser!" Greagoir snapped. He sighed, trying to rein in his anger and continued "I am sorry, but I have a great deal of matters to attend to. We are dealing with a very delicate situation. For your own safety, you must leave immediately!"

"I cannot" the young man replied, pulling something out of his pack: a parchment scroll marked with the signature of a long-deceased First Enchanter and Knight-Commander of the Ferelden Circle and stamped at the bottom with a wax seal marked with the emblem of a griffin. Looking at the date written on the parchment, Greagoir could see that it had been signed in the year 1:96 of the Divine Age, one year after the end of the Second Blight. "The Circle has an obligation to the Grey Wardens".

Greagoir let out a growl of exasperated frustration; this was nothing new. The Grey Wardens had come to the tower several times over the years, searching for recruits. The last time had been in the months just before Ostagar, when that grizzled old fellow, Duncan, had shown up searching for potential recruits among the mages. Greagoir knew the Warden-Commander had had his eye on the First Enchanter's protégé, the Amell girl, not that the Knight-Commander would let the Wardens have her after her part in that debacle involving Jowan's phylactery, and so Duncan had left the tower empty-handed.

"I grow weary of the Grey Wardens' ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn, but it is their right, particularly at a time such as this. Sadly, I fear you will find no allies here" Greagoir sighed, earning himself a reproving glare from the Grey Warden. "The templars cannot help you, and the mages are...indisposed". The nonplussed looks on the newcomers' faces elicited a weary groan from the knight-commander. "I shall speak plainly; the tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons freely stalk the tower's halls".

"Oh dear, this doesn't sound like the vigilant, overbearing watchfulness of the templars I had come to expect was customary, based on what I saw in Antiva" the elf glibly replied. Greagoir growled angrily at this, furious that the elf could make light of the crisis.

"They took us by surprise, you impertinent wretch!" Greagoir protested, irked by the elf's ignorant impudence at the situation. "We were prepared for one or two abominations, not the horde that fell upon us"

"And you're just sitting here?" the other Grey Warden, who looked familiar with his short blonde hair and mischievous face. Greagoir scrutinised him closely, before a name fell into place; _'Alistair'_ he realised, one of the templar novitiates serving under the Grand Cleric back in Denerim before Duncan had taken him. Greagoir, even at a time like the present, had to suppress a smile at the memory of the Grand Cleric, scowling with furious indignation, her acolytes trying to decide what she was angrier about; that she was begrudgingly being forced to give the lad up, or that the darkspawn were now more likely to kill Alistair than her.

"I would destroy the tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot order my men to their deaths. The doors still hold and while they remain, we wait"

"Doors can be broken down" the other Warden replied, with a wary nod at the two templars stood beside the door, blades drawn and ready for any sign of trouble.

"We do not mean to remain here forever" Greagoir countered. "This situation is dire; everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again. To that end, I have sent word to Denerim, asking for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment".

"The Right?" the young woman, Orlesian by her accent, blurted out, clearly horror-struck at the notion. It always amazed Greagoir to see the sympathy mages elicited, in spite of the dangerous powers they possessed and the havoc they could wreak. "What good will that do?" she protested.

"The mages are probably already dead" the former templar Alistair replied fairly. "Any abominations in the tower must be dealt with, no matter what"

"The mages aren't helpless" the Orlesian woman protested, turning towards the other Warden. "Some of them might still be alive. Arthur, please, we can't abandon them!"

The other Warden, Arthur, considered his companion's impassioned outburst and then turned his attention to the templar commander "Leliana is right, we need the mages, and we cannot simply leave them to their deaths. We will enter the tower and investigate what has happened"

"I assure you, an abomination is a force to be reckoned with, and you _will_ face more than one!" Greagoir argued, but the Warden was determined, the Knight-Commander had to give him that.

"I am confident in my abilities. Besides, we cannot abandon the innocent to whatever horrific fate those monstrosities would inflict upon them". There was an uneasy silence, but Greagoir finally gave a sigh of exasperation.

"I should refuse, but I do not have the luxury of turning aside help when it is offered" Greagoir answered. _'With the civil war raging, I have no way of knowing when the reinforcements I requested will arrive, or if the Chantry even knows what is happening here!' _he thought. Besides, he didn't wish to pursue the Right unless there was no alternative; there were good people among the mages, and from the screams he'd heard during the retreat back to the atrium, there were still a good number of children within the tower_. 'I don't want to slaughter them out of hand...'_

"What do you propose?" the old templar asked with weary resignation.

"We will investigate what has happened in the tower and resolve the matter if we can. In return, the templars assist in the war effort against the darkspawn" was Arthur's reply.

"Done" Greagoir replied immediately, taking the youth's proffered hand and shaking it. "If, by some miracle, you destroy the abominations, the templars will join the Grey Wardens' army. Without word from Denerim, I must determine our course. Surely, destroying darkspawn is a worthy goal"

"Then we have an accord" the Warden Arthur replied. He and his companions made for the barred doors leading into the tower, but Greagoir seized the youth's wrist. "A word of warning; once you enter the tower, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain sealed, and they will be opened for no one. I will only accept this is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen...then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed".

The Warden gave a brief nod and headed for the barred doors, his companions following behind. The templars on watch by the door quickly unbarred and held them open at a brief command from Greagoir. The group were through in a second, and with a resounding clang like the tolling of a funeral bell, the great doors sealed closed behind them.

"May Andraste lend you her courage and the Maker watch over you, Wardens" Greagoir muttered to himself. He'd seen enough of the horrors lurking in the tower during the retreat to the lower levels-abominations, undead, blood mages, unbound demons- to know their odds of success were slim. Greagoir knew the quartet of brave, but foolish heroes were likely to meet their ends in the tower's cloisters and halls.

He could only hope their deaths were clean, but knowing what the foes above were capable of, his hopes were not high, tempered by a fear that when the Right arrived and the time came to storm the tower, he would find the army of monsters above had acquired four new recruits to their ranks.

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Just like Redcliffe Castle, the stench of blood and rotted flesh was near-overpowering. Corpses bestrewed the halls, both of mages and templars, lying where they had fallen, arms outstretched in a vain effort to defend themselves, staffs and swords clutched in the dead grips of corpses, eyes staring widely in horror at the sight of the last thing they had seen, whatever beast had. Blood spattered nearly every wall, arterial spray having drenched the stone.

"How did this happen?" Leliana choked, aghast at the sheer level of carnage displayed around them.

"Well, we won't find out by standing here..."Arthur began, before falling silent as he saw Edward was alert, his ears pricked up, growling at a door ahead of them. "Looks like our canine friend has gotten the scent of something. Survivors, perhaps?" Zevran observed.

"Well, let's find out" Arthur replied, opening the door, and looking in to see utter chaos within.

A pulse of fire at the far end of the room; children screaming, running for their lives as a strange creature, sinuous and serpentine, looking as though it were formed from living magma, glaring out at the world through eyes that were blazing red pinpricks of rage and hatred, looking for fresh victims, howling in deranged joy as all fled in terror before it...

All except one, that is.

A single mage, a woman of about sixty, clad in robes the same fiery red as the rage demon, stood between the monster and the crowd of children and teenage apprentices running from it. The demon gave another roar, charging towards the older woman standing before it, clawed hands forming from its lava-like body, reaching towards the mage, eager to rend and tear. But before it could, the mage incanted a phrase and waved a hand commandingly at the advancing demon, who shrieked in agony as a thick layer of ice and frost smothered its fiery form. The demon's shrieks grew weaker and weaker as the flames of its existence were slowly put out, and the mage pressed her advantage; with a final blast of cold magic and an agonised wail of anger, the demon was gone, banished back to the Fade.

Exhaling a relieved sigh and wiping sweat from her brow, the older mage turned round...

And both she and the Warden started in shocked recognition.

"It's you! Arthur!" Wynne cried, before a suspicious look crossed her face and she raised the staff threateningly. "No, come no further! Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down!"

"Wynne? What are you doing here?" Arthur replied, an incredulous tone in his voice.

"I am a mage of the Circle" she replied curtly, misunderstanding the question.

"No, I mean how did you survive Ostagar?"

"I could very well ask you the same question! But I suspect that like me, yours is a long story, and one told in better circumstances. But you haven't answered my question: why are you here? The templars would not just let anyone through!"

"I came here seeking the Circle's aid against the Blight..." Arthur began, but Wynne cut across him with precise annoyance at the circumstances. "And you were told that the Circle was in no shape to help you, I presume? So why did the templars let you inside now? Do they plan to attack us?"

"No, the Right of Annulment hasn't arrived yet. They're still waiting for reinforcements"

The children and younger mages all let out whimpers of fright and terror at the mention of the Right-some even burst into tears- but Wynne's only reaction was to nod wearily, as though the answer was what she had anticipated. "They sent for it, then. I feared they would. So Greagoir believes that the Circle is lost; he probably assumes we are all dead. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Rite, however, we will not be able to stand against them".

"How did this happen?" Leliana asked, shocked at the miniscule number of surviving mages, most of them youths barely out of their teens or children. A handful of more senior mages remained, but most were injured or comatose, requiring time to heal their injuries and recover their strength...time they didn't have.

"Let it suffice to say we had...something of a revolt on our hands, led by a mage named Uldred" Wynne spat the name as though it were something foul on her tongue. "When he returned from Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see" she gestured to the blood-spattered walls and corpse-strewn halls "it did not work out as he planned. I do not know what has become of Uldred, but I'm sure this is all his doing. I will not see the Circle destroyed because of one man's pride and stupidity!"

"But then why are you still here?"

"I tried to get the children out, but the templars had already locked the doors. I erected a barrier so that nothing could get through to harm us; you won't be able to pass through it, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save the Circle"

"But the templars could attack at any moment!" Alistair added. "Trust me, I know the kind of people they'll send from Denerim, and they won't hesitate to kill everyone in their path because the Grand Cleric told them to!"

"True, we do not have much time, but once we secure the tower, I trust Greagoir will tell his men to back down" Wynne reasoned. "He's not unreasonable".

"The Knight-Commander will only accept the First Enchanter's word that it is over" Arthur replied, eliciting a resigned sigh from Wynne, before the old woman looked up, a resolute gleam in her eyes.

"Then our path is laid out before us. We _must_ save Irving". Turning her attention to several of the younger mages, she quickly issued commands for them to stay behind and protect the others unable to join their entry to the tower. At this, one of the mages she'd addressed-a young woman with red hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing vivid yellow robes- piped up "Wynne, are you sure you're alright? You were so badly injured; maybe I should come along..." but the older woman shook her head.

"The others need you more. Stay here and guard the children". Turning her attention back to Arthur and the others, she calmly spoke up "If you are ready, then let us go end this".

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Arthur Cousland was beginning to get annoyed. '_Would it be too much to ask to go to one of the places we need to, show the treaties, get the pledges of support and leave?'._ First the Dalish, then Redcliffe and now the Circle; he could accept the necessity of helping resolve their problems, but he could still resent the delay it caused. The only ones who benefitted from such were Loghain and the archdemon.

"Look after her, please?" a female voice behind him asked, interrupting his mental diatribe. Arthur turned round to see the redhead mage who'd offered to go with Wynne. Up close, she looked barely older than seventeen and nothing short of afraid. Her eyes kept darting to Wynne, and Arthur could see the mage was deeply concerned for her senior counterpart.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know if she's up to this, not after...what happened" the girl replied. "Wynne's the strongest person I know, but she's only human".

"What aren't you saying?" Arthur asked. The girl's look of unease only intensified.

"I was on my way to the library, when a demon appeared; its eyes were aflame with evil, I was certain it was my death come upon me. And then Wynne was there; it was light, and fire, and chaos. And then the demon was gone. But Wynne wasn't moving...I was so certain she'd died"

"Well, she seems to be ok..." Arthur reasoned, but the girl shook her head.

"Just be careful? She might be fine, but then she might not have come away from that unscathed..."

"Come on, we're wasting time that the Circle does not have" Wynne cut across the conversation. Arthur traipsed over to the doorway where Wynne stood with Leliana, Edward and Alistair. Zevran was staying behind to help protect the surviving mages, though Arthur suspected his desire to stay behind had something to do with the dark-haired, pretty mage praying fervently to the Maker in the corner. Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. '_Does he ever stop?'_

At a snap of Wynne's fingers, the glowing, translucent wall of blue energy dissipated and the group stepped through the doorway into the library. The second they were through, Wynne again snapped her fingers and the barrier reappeared. "That should protect them, should any demons or other fiends get past us" Wynne explained.

"You think such a paltry blockage will stop the likes of us?" a vicious voice snarled.

Emerging from hiding behind a bookcase, a twisted and bloated beast came before them. Arthur had laid eyes on darkspawn and demons, dragons and the living dead, and yet this monster was the most disgusting, disturbing thing he had ever laid eyes upon; the first true abomination he'd seen. The corrupting influence of the demon possessing whoever this poor individual had been had twisted their shape beyond all possible recognition; the flesh of the torso and shoulders had expanded to immense size, and taken a foul, cancerous look to it, goitres and tumours protruding at various points on the flesh. The mage's spine and ribs were visible through its distorted flesh- in some places, the bones even protruded through the skin-, its hands and fingers distended into long, skeletal claws and its head...its head was the worst, twisted and mutated out of shape, only one eye, bloodshot and jaundiced, visible, the other hidden behind a growth of bloated muscle, a mouth distorted into a leering grin that stretched far too wide, baring teeth like a shark's; curved, jagged and far too many crammed into one mouth.

"Sweeny, is that you?" Wynne whimpered. "Oh Maker, I am so sorry!"

"Sweeny? He is gone, and so shall you be soon!" the abomination roared, breaking into a run, claws outstretched. Wynne reacted quickly, shooting a bolt of arcane power at the beast, which staggered but continued to charge. As the creature's claws came within reach of Wynne, Arthur acted; he slammed his shield into the creature's side, sending the abomination crashing to the ground. Before it could recover, Arthur brought the Green Blade stabbing down into the abomination's heart.

"We've got more company!" Alistair yelled as two more abominations emerged from a side chamber and attacked. The first abomination hit Alistair like an avalanche, slamming the templar to the floor, but Alistair recovered more quickly, rolling aside as the creature stamped its foot down where his head had been, and blocking a downward swipe of the thing's claws with his shield. Before it could attack again, Alistair stabbed out, driving Oathkeeper clean through the abomination's chest; it screamed and fell to the floor with a spurt of dark blood. The second abomination duelled with Leliana, the beast raking its claws across the bard's side. She staggered, but as the possessed mage pressed its advantage, Leliana ducked under another swipe of its hands, stabbing one dagger into the abomination's chest, before bringing the other to slash across the beast's throat as its bloodshot eyes stared at her in shock. The abomination fell to its knees, its hands clutching its opened neck, energy curdling in its hands as it tried to heal its injury, and Leliana reacted swiftly, driving the dagger in her hand into the back of the abomination's head, ending its existence.

Drawing his sword from the bloated corpse at his feet, Arthur scrutinised the creature he'd just slain. As death claimed it, the demon's influence faded away, the creature shrinking and regressing until the abomination was gone, and in its place, the corpse of a man of about sixty. Looking round, Arthur saw the other abominations had returned to the people they had been before the demons took them; Alistair stood over the corpse of a man in tattered robes with black braided hair and dark, Rivaini skin, while Leliana crouched beside an old female elf with sandy-blonde hair slowly turning scarlet from the mortal wound at the back of her skull. Wynne fell to her knees beside the body of the elf woman, regretful tears forming in her eyes.

"Sweeny, Leorah and Torrin" Wynne sighed. "I knew them; they were my friends and contemporaries. They were some of the best, most talented mages I ever knew; they deserved better than this, than to be hacked down like rabid dogs". A single tear rolled down her cheek, but then she wiped it aside, her grief replaced by a look of steely determination. "This will not go unpunished". Looking up at the ceiling, Wynne growled "I'm coming for you, Uldred, and when I find you, I will blast you and your master into the darkest pits of the Black City for what you have done to the Circle, I swear it!"

Getting back to her feet, Wynne looked the others straight in the eye, all of them feeling the fire burning in her eyes, as she turned and took the lead up the stairs to the next floor.

#################

They had reached the second floor of the tower when Arthur heard a noise; drawing his sword, he called out "Whoever's there, come out now!". At this, a mage emerged from hiding behind a column and spoke in a plaintive voice "Please refrain from going into the stockroom; t'is a mess and I've not gotten it into a state fit to be seen"

"You're cleaning? At a time like this?" was the incredulous reply. The mage seemed completely unconcerned by the situation, the spatters of gore and the corpses lying about the chamber, picking up a crate of deep mushrooms beside him and placed it on top of several others in a corner.

"The stock room is my responsibility; I must keep it clean" was the blasé reply. Arthur made to make another comment about this when a restraining hand placed itself on his shoulder. "He's one of the Tranquil" Wynne murmured. "The Tranquil don't have emotions", though at that point, the mage made what would perhaps be considered an emotional outburst, for a Tranquil at least.

"I would prefer not to die. I would prefer for the tower to return to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all"

"Niall? He's still alive?" Wynne asked, a hopeful note in her voice. "What's he trying to do, Owain?"

"I do not know" the Tranquil replied "but he came here with several others, and took the Litany of Adralla".

"But that protects against mind domination" Wynne questioned, a curious look on her face. "Is blood magic at work here?". The Tranquil shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not know" he repeated, but Wynne was not listening, muttering to herself. "Niall was at the meeting where this all began, he would know. Blood magic...I was afraid of this". A moment's silence followed before Wynne took charge again. "We should find Niall; the Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter. Owain, go downstairs to the Apprentice Quarters, the survivors are gathering down there. Petra will let you through the barrier"

#################

The group stood over the corpses of the trio of blood mages who'd ambushed them as they'd left Niall and his stock room behind. Two men and one woman, the blood mages had been caught as much by surprise at the group's intrusion as they had been, the Maleficarum having been arguing amongst themselves about their next move. Before they could react, one of the blood mages- a man with short brown hair and beard- stabbed his hand with a knife and drawing on the new-found power, blasted the group with a wave of power that brought them crashing to their knees, clutching at their limbs and screaming in pain.

"My arms!" Leliana screamed. "Maker, stop! It's like they're being crushed in a vice!"

"My legs! I can't feel my legs!" Alistair yelled, clutching his right knee as though it were broken. Wynne was lying on her back, clutching her ribs while Arthur tossed aside his helm, both hands clutching his head which felt as though it were burning inside. "Make it stop!" he yelled, desperate for the pain to stop before he blacked out.

Suddenly, one of the mages, the woman, shoved her male counterpart torturing the group, her pale face red with anger, almost as bright as her ginger hair, as she yelled "What are you doing, Severus? They're not templars, we don't have to kill them!"

"I don't care, Arabella!" the man bellowed back, his concentration broken, the spell disrupted. "Why else would they be here? Maybe Greagoir's using mercenaries to do the Order's dirty work now!"

"They're not here for us!" the woman snapped. "We're wasting time here, time we need to get out!

With a roar, Alistair drew on his training and unleashed a powerful blast of energy, dispelling the blood magic. The trio of mages were caught offguard for a moment...all the group needed to counterattack. Leliana, the pain gone from her arms, seized her bow, notched and loosed two arrows together; they flew straight at the mage who'd been torturing them, slamming into his eyes and punching out the back of the man's head. The second male mage tried to defend himself, but before he could cast a spell, Wynne shot another arcane bolt at him; the magical missile hit the man in the face, reducing his skull to a jelly-like consistency that splattered across the rear wall. The woman could only stare in shock at the demise of her companions, before a crossbow bolt loosed by Alistair struck her in the hip, pitching her onto her back, coughing up blood as she landed heavily on the stone floor. Arthur charged forward, his sword raised for a killing stroke, but as he made to deal a death blow, the woman threw aside her magical staff and abased herself at Arthur's feet, sobbing desperately as she pleaded "Please, please don't kill me!".

"The people you murdered didn't want to die either, blood mage!" Arthur replied coldly. At a gestured command from him, the mabari came forward, pressing a clawed foot on her chest to keep her from getting up, bared fangs hovering inches from the woman's quivering throat.

"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but-but I didn't mean for all this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves! Uldred told us that the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry! You don't know what it was like; the templars were watching, always watching..."

"And you thought turning to blood magic and murdering any who stood against you would improve things?" Arthur spat in outraged incredulity at the woman's foolishness. "What you have done here will only make things worse for future generations of mages, not better!"

"The magic was a means to an end!" the woman snapped despite her fear, a spot of defiance entering her cobalt-blue eyes. "It gave us, gave me the power to fight for what I believed in!"

"Fighting for what you believe is commendable Arabella Amell, but the ends do not always justify the means!" Wynne snapped curtly. "You were First Enchanter Irving's most promising student, his protégé, you should have known better!"

"You don't honestly believe that, Wynne?" Arabella sneered at the elder mage. "Change rarely comes peacefully; Andraste waged war against the Imperium, she didn't write them a strongly worded letter. She reshaped civilisation, freed the slaves and gave us the Chantry, but people died for it...we thought someone has to take the first step, force a change...no matter the cost" the woman trailed off, her earlier guilt reasserting itself.

"_Nothing_ is worth what you have done to this place" Wynne intoned angrily. Arabella flinched at her superior's harsh tone, speaking more to herself than anyone else as she continued "And now, Uldred's gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs..."

"And all you can do is wallow in self-pity. Pathetic".

"What else can I do? I'm trapped here"

"What would you have me do? You know the laws regarding blood magic..." Arthur snapped. Wynne nodded in agreement "It took all of Irving's influence to save you when you got yourself mixed up in that scandal with Jowan. I very much doubt he will be able to convince Greagoir to be merciful a second time; at the very least, you'll likely be made Tranquil..."

The younger woman went white with terror at the thought of being stripped of her identity, either by death or tranquillity, and tightened her grip around Arthur's armoured leg, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, if you let me go, I can escape and, and seek penance at the Chantry...!"

"They'll never take you, you know. They're very picky about who they let in: murderers, harlots, yes. Maleficarum, oh no!" Alistair glibly replied, earning himself an angry glare from Leliana.

"Your comments betray your ignorance, Chantry accepts all, regardless of what they've done". Alistair scowled at the tone of her rebuke.

"Well, it seems you're familiar with a whole other Chantry, because the one_ I_ know wouldn't hesitate to shove a sword of mercy right through her heart."

"I feel inclined to agree with Alistair..." Arthur muttered to himself. The woman's eyes widened ever further in her terror as she clung even more closely to Arthur's leg.

"I just want my life..._Please!" _the mage sobbed in her fear.

Before Arthur could say anything more, Leliana intervened; kneeling beside the girl and prying off her grip on the Warden's leg, she turned to Arabella and said simply "Redeem yourself"

"Redeem myself?" the mage woman replied, confusion overcoming terror. "How?"

"Do as the Wardens do. Fight darkspawn. Save lives" was the reply.

"Fight darkspawn? But I'm...I'm a..."

"The offer can always be withdrawn if you would rather die" Arthur interjected coldly, and Arabella desperately shook her head. "No, no, don't kill me. I'll help you, I'll do anything you ask. Just let me live"

"This is unwise; she is a blood mage, she has turned twice against the Circle" Wynne protested. "You would be wise not to trust her, so why do you suggest we let her go?"

"Because the Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could be found. And because she's not a threat; if she was, she'd have attacked us, and fought and died with the others. A lie now would gain her nothing" Leliana replied. "Everyone deserves a chance to make amends"

Wynne sighed "I suppose it is not my place to question the needs of your cause" shaking her head disapprovingly as she turned away.

"What now?" Arabella Amell asked, getting to her feet and recovering her staff. "Am I to follow you?"

"Go downstairs to the Apprentice quarters; the survivors are gathering down there. Tell no one who you are. When this is over...I'll decide then" he replied curtly.

The mage nodded, tears of gratitude now staining her makeup. "Yes. I will serve your cause in exchange for my life. Thank you, the Maker will surely turn his gaze on you for your mercy!" Arabella Amell called out as she ran for the staircase downstairs.

####################

They stopped inside First Enchanter Irving's office to rest for a moment and patch themselves up; more abominations, walking corpses and other horrors had blocked their path and though the fiends had been destroyed, it hadn't been without cost. As Wynne worked her magic, fingers expertly pouring healing energy into their wounds, Arthur turned his attention to the older woman as she closed up a row of jagged teeth marks where an abomination had bitten through his bracer into his sword arm.

"How did this happen?" he asked, gesturing at the carnage outside. "I know you told me this Uldred is at the core of it, but what did he do?" he asked.

"Ah, that is a long story, child" Wynne answered "and like so many things happening in Ferelden at this moment, it has its origins in what happened that night at Ostagar. As you know, I was at that ill-fated battle, and I survived barely. I managed to escape with a handful of other survivors; the fact we made it out of the Wilds alive was due to the skill and bravery of a handful of people; those Hawke siblings, and that brave woman, Sergeant Valiant, Vallen...ah!" Wynne cursed. "Her name escapes me. But that is another matter. We made it to Lothering, but I was in no state to travel further, so I stayed behind to recuperate, tend to the wounded and help those still present evacuate the village before the horde descended upon it. Uldred, however, got away much quicker; he was assigned to Loghain's forces before the battle, and so he departed Ostagar when that traitorous cur left us and Cailan to die. He set off for the Circle immediately, to parrot the message his master had given him. By the time I returned, I discovered Uldred had all but convinced the Circle to join Loghain, the man who nearly destroyed us all!" Wynne spat angrily, before taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"No, I cannot blame the Circle. Uldred had a persuasive argument, and how could they have known what Loghain did at Ostagar?"

"What did Loghain promise the Circle in exchange for their aid?" Alistair asked.

"According to Uldred, the alliance with the new regime would be to the Circle's advantage; once Loghain was in power, he would order the Chantry to give us more freedom". Arthur exchanged significant looks with Alistair and Leliana; '_No wonder the Circle turned so willingly'_ Arthur thought to himself. Freedom from the overbearing oversight of the Chantry, released from the presence and the threat of the templars; Loghain had tempted the Circle with the best he could offer. This knowledge only increased Arthur's certainty that everything the teyrn had done, both before and after Ostagar, was not the actions of a greedy man seeing an opportunity to advance himself and taking it; this was a well-thought out, fully planned scheme created months, if not years in advance.

"Perhaps Loghain and this Uldred were in cahoots from the very beginning" Alistair suggested.

Wynne nodded in agreement "That is my suspicion; Uldred always desired power. He never mentored the apprentices, never taught. He never cared much for the Circle, only his own advancement. It would not surprise me to learn that Uldred had a deal with Loghain that would benefit himself; perhaps Loghain promised him the position of First Enchanter, once the Blight was dealt with. Not that any such deal will do him much good now!" Wynne finished rather smugly.

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Uldred's plans unravelled. When I got back and found out what was going on, I told First Enchanter Irving what Loghain did on the battlefield. I revealed the 'Hero of River Dane'" Wynne sneered derisively, making Loghain's _nom de guerre_ a curse "for the traitorous bastard he is! Irving said he would take care of it; he called a meeting to deal with Uldred, but something...something must have gone wrong" Wynne trailed off, an apprehensive look of regret crossing her face.

"What happened at the meeting?

"I do not know, I wasn't there; I was still meant to be recuperating. I emerged from my quarters when I heard the screams. They were coming from the meeting room, and it wasn't long before I saw the first abomination, running down a mage. It deteriorated quickly after that".

"And what about Irving?" Arthur pressed.

"I found Petra, and we were trying to fight our way to the meeting room, when we saw Irving. He was battling a terrifying abomination; as he and that beast battled to the death, he told me to get as many as I could to safety. That...that was the last time I saw Irving..." Wynne trailed off sadly.

"So he could be dead, and with him, any chance of the Circle's support?"

"I refuse to believe that" Wynne replied, a fiery look entering her eyes. "If _anyone_ could survive this, it is he!"

Arthur barely heard her, taking an angered kick at a heavily damaged wooden chest in a corner to alleviate his frustrations. The force of the blow toppled the chest, sending its contents spilling across the floor; parchment scrolls, treatises and studies, all manner of papers related to the business of the Circle...and half-buried under all the debris, an ornate tome, bound in black leather. The words **'Liber Magus'** had been engraved into the front cover, beneath the image of a leafless tree. The sight caused him to remember something...

'_I have a thought' the voice of the woman who'd pulled him into Arl Eamon's study moments before he departed the castle spoke._

'_Just the one?' he asked._

_A sarcastic laugh escaped the witch's lips. "Such wit, truly! You and Mother should form a troupe of jesters and tour the countryside!". The smile disappeared and Morrigan swiftly became all business. "To the point, my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire of hers by a rather bothersome templar. It happened long before I was born, but to this day, Flemeth speaks of the loss with great anger. T'is most likely that such an object ended in the possession of the Circle, and it seems to me we have an opportunity to recover it"_

"_What is this grimoire?"_

"_T'is a book of spells, collected by my mother over her long lifespan. T'is not the sort of thing that would benefit a mage of the standard variety; they were taught a different path. I however, know my way around the wards my mother will have placed upon such a tome. I know the arcane language in which she will have written it"._

"_And what do you want with this thing?"_

"_It would be useful. Useful in the sense that it would increase my power. Useful in the sense that I would become more useful to you, does that not follow?" Morrigan snaps as though, once again, talking to a dull-witted child._

"_And how do I know such a thing isn't dangerous?" Arthur asked, a fair question in his opinion, considering the witch was asking him to obtain a tome of powerful and potentially lethal magic written by an insanely powerful and vengeful sorceress who would likely want the thing back._

"_Dangerous? All knowledge is potentially dangerous" Morrigan replied rather huffily. "If you have some fear of me that you would wish to deprive me of it, then by all means do so. I have no ulterior motive for seeking it, however" the scowl on her lips rather undermining that claim._

"_Fine" Arthur finished with a reluctant sigh. "If I come across the damn thing in the Circle tower, I'll bring it back for you..."_

Shaking off the memory, Arthur gingerly picked up the heavy tome, rewrapping it in the simple cloth that half covered the book and after looking round to make sure the others weren't looking-Alistair was turned away, using a whetstone to repair the cutting edge of his sword, while Wynne was attending to Leliana's injuries, both women distracted- Arthur quickly deposited into his backpack before the others could see it; he didn't expect they'd look kindly on riffling through the First Enchanter's chest. Getting to his feet, Arthur cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked. Receiving nods from the others, Arthur slung his pack back on his shoulders and replied "Then let us finish this".

#####################

Racing up through the upper levels of the tower, the grotesque spectacles only grew worse. Uldred and his cronies had left no part of the tower untouched; the evidence of their handiwork was everywhere. Packs of abominations roaming the tower at will, shades and spirits and worse, unbound demons hungry for the life force of mortals to gorge themselves upon. Even more horrifying were those who'd given in to such predations willingly; templars who came to arms, defending the demon in their midst as though it were a wife or child. "Poor souls" Leliana murmured "They could not resist whatever temptations the demon presented them with"

"Great irony; the templars go on about mages being unable to resist the temptations demons offer, only to succumb themselves" Alistair muttered. "Morrigan would have had a field day with this!"

"We must hurry" Wynne desperately exhorted, gesturing to the door ahead of them. Through there are the creature containment pens and the Harrowing Chamber; those are the only possible places left where Uldred and his lackeys could be hiding..." her voice faltered as Wynne and the others realised their path forward was blocked.

"Oh look, visitors" a thick, burbling voice rasped. Another of the abominations haunting the tower, another bloated hulk of exposed muscle and twisted bone, stood before them, glowering at them through one jaundiced, slit-pupilled eye, the other hidden behind a growth of twisted, cancerous flesh. A mage, a man of middle years, lay at the creature's feet, whether unconscious or dead they couldn't tell, a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand.

"I'd entertain you, but" the creature gave a weary sigh "Too much effort involved".

"Good" Arthur snarled at the monster "That should make you easier to kill!". He raised his sword and made to charge forward...and came to a juddering stop. He was suddenly so tired; his arms felt like lead, and his sword... _'Andraste's ass, when did this thing get so heavy?'_

"But why?" the creature asked plaintively. "Aren't you tired of all the violence in the world? I know I am..." it said with another weary exhalation. The little of the thing's mouth they could see curved into a devious smile, baring yellowed, blood-spattered teeth that clearly belonged to whatever demon had possessed the mage and it raised a clawed hand. "Wouldn't you like to just lie down and forget about all this? Leave it all behind?"

A nimbus of light formed in the creature's palm but before any of the companions could react to it, the light leapt from the abomination's hand and fell to the floor, spreading into a thick miasma that began to slither across the floor towards them. Arthur had no idea what it was, but he could tell it would be nothing good.

The thick smog reached Edward first, and the dog keeled over with a loud thud. As it reached Arthur's legs, the feeling of exhaustion that had stopped him from cutting the demon down where it stood only intensified, and judging from the reactions of his companions, he wasn't the only one affected. "Can't keep eyes open" Alistair said, sliding down the wall and vainly trying not to yawn "Someone...pinch me..." his voice trailed off as he fell to the floor in a sitting position, eyes closed.

Leliana was trying to back out of the room, her hands over her eyes, trying not to breathe in the soporific fog. "I'll not listen to your lies, demon. You have...no power over me" the bard snapped, but before she could escape, Leliana inadvertently backed into and tripped over the prone form of Edward. The Orlesian went down, out before she hit the ground, lying in a tangled heap atop the sleeping mabari.

Wynne was the only one besides him left on her feet, and even then only barely, using her staff to stay upright and desperately projecting a shield of arcane energy against the magic spilling from the demon's claws. "Resist, you must resist, else we are all lost!" she cried. The demon laughed mockingly at this, shaking its head sadly as though amused by their foolishness.

"Why do you fight? You deserve more. You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you"

Arthur, trying desperately to overcome the tiredness coursing through him, raised the Green Blade and charged, roaring an exclamation that was half battle cry, half yawn. The demon didn't even move to defend itself, merely stepped out of the path of his charge, chortling softly to itself as he went hurtling past the creature. Before the Warden could turn for another attack, a soft blow struck him on the back of the head. Arthur toppled forward to land face down on the bloody floor, out before he hit the ground.


	27. Chapter 25: Lost in Dreams

_Ok, this took a bit longer than expected, but here we are; this took a bit more thought to write, but hopefully I've given a good depiction of the group's sojourn in the Fade. I agree that most of the dream sequences in the game were a bit weak, so I have made some changes; arriving in Weisshaupt was unexpected, but I think I've managed to make it work. I loathe Alistair's dream (I mean, would your ideal dream be spending eternity with a woman you've never met before?) so I've put Alistair in a new setting. Leliana and Wynne's dreams work fine so I've left them more or less untouched. I also tweaked the ending so it looks like the sloth demon is actually making an effort to get them to stay._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or favourites my work; it gives me the impetus to keep going against the odds. Special thanks to_ **spectre4hire, Ygrain333, MysticGohan88 **and **cakeisalie**_** (**__hope this offering makes you happy, writing romance is a new challenge but I try to keep my readers happy!) and to __**Dragon Void, Avatar 101 **__and__** amac1688**__ for adding to favourites_.

_Couple of story notes: if you're wondering who Niamh is, re-read Chapter 5. She's a character of my own creation-the idea to make her a Tabris really came out of nowhere, but I thought why not? Like Arabella, she may make a few more appearances, since the City Elf and Mage Origins are my favourites after the Human Noble, so why not? After all, that's what fan fiction is for!_

_Hopefully have more soon._

**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_##################################_

"Well, that was certainly memorable!"

"Niamh Tabris, you really are incorrigible!" Arthur chuckled as his old friend, elven maid and first love pulled on the simple dress she wore for her duties, securing the shoulder straps against Arthur's teasing attempts to get it off again. The dress was made from simple wool, with the only embellishment being the griffon heraldry of Weisshaupt on the breast. Arthur got up from the bed, pulling on the shirt and trousers he'd been wearing before their tumble, also marked with the Grey Warden emblem.

Suddenly for a moment, confusion ruled Arthur's mind._ 'I haven't seen Niamh since I was sixteen. What's she doing here?'._ But then he remembered; he'd found Niamh in Denerim after the Blight and offered her work in the wake of her husband's death. She'd come with him to the Anderfels when the Wardens asked him to go to their headquarters, and he'd been able to provide her with safe employment and the chance to rekindle their old romance.

'_The Blight still rages'_ a dark voice at the back of his mind whispered.

Niamh must have seen his confusion at the newest thought because she placed her hand on his cheek and pulled his face to hers, a look of concern on her pretty face. "Is something wrong, Arthur dear?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'm fine" Arthur replied, giving her a soft smile. "So, is there anything important happening I should be aware of?"

"A letter arrived for you; looks to be from Highever. Oh, and Ser Duncan said he wished to see you in the Great Hall as soon as possible"

"And you're telling me this _now_?"

"Well, I was rather distracted" she replied with a sultry smile, planting a kiss on Arthur's cheek. "Now I have duties to attend to, but I'll see you tonight, my lord"

"Niamh, we've known each other since we were kids, so why do you insist on calling me my lord?" Arthur groaned. "This isn't Highever, and you know how much I hate it, especially since the other Wardens never let me live it down"

"Why do you think I do it?" the elf teased. "I promise I'll make it up to you tonight" she smiled "but I must insist tonight; if I'm any later getting to work, Mistress Woolsey will have my hide!". Niamh blew Arthur a kiss and quickly scurried out. Arthur watched her go, and then turned his attention to the mahogany desk where the letter Niamh had mentioned rested. Picking up a letter opener from his desk, Arthur swiftly broke the wax seal on the letter and opened it. His brother's handwriting greeted him as he quickly read the letter's content.

'**Dear Arthur,**

**I hope life in the Anderfels is treating you well. Sometimes I find it a bit hard dealing with the fact my little brother is halfway across Thedas when so much of our youth was spent together, but considering it was the Grey Wardens who helped us stop Howe's treachery, and then with your help, won the great battle at Ostagar and saved Ferelden from the Blight, asking you to remain at Weisshaupt for the time being is the least we can do'.**

'_Howe's treachery has not been answered, and Ostagar was a massacre, not a victory; the Grey Wardens were annihilated, remember?'_

Arthur shook his head; why in the Maker's name would he think that? Disregarding the thought as a trace of that weird dream he'd been having, he turned his attention back to the letter.

'**Oriana sends her love, as do Mother and Father. I have wonderful news; Oriana is with child again. She's gone home to see her family in Antiva and tell them the good news, and Mother and Father have gone with her; apparently, they've always wanted to see Antiva, and Mother feels a change of scenery might do Father good (he's been ill lately-nothing serious, but he is getting on, which is why I find myself serving as acting teyrn, trying to lighten the load).**

**Oren's also well; he's gone to squire in Redcliffe under Ser Perth. Letting the lad serve under him is the least Arl Eamon could do, considering you're the one who saved his arling from those walking corpses. Apparently, he's progressing well with his studies and swordplay comes naturally to him. He's really excited; he knows that the knighting ends with him getting a real 'Sword of Truthiness'!**

'_Mother and Father are dead, as are Oriana and Oren, and Eamon may soon follow them, remember?'_

More madness from that crazy dream, Arthur concluded as he dismissed the thought and finished reading the letter.

**Send our family's continuing gratitude to Commander Duncan when you see him, and give our best to Niamh as well (did you **_**really**_** think we wouldn't discover why you went to Denerim before heading for the Anderfels?)**

**Hope to see you home soon,**

**Fergus**

Putting the letter to one side, Arthur quickly donned his ironbark armour, repaired from the many battles it had endured and embellished with greater detail-the vine decorations on the bracers and pauldrons edged with gold filigree and a rampant griffon engraved on the breastplate- as well as the sword belt in which the Green Blade was sheathed, before leaving his quarters and heading down the winding corridor to the Great Hall. The white stone of the corridors gleamed in the sunlight let in through the arched windows, which also gave a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Braziers set periodically released incense placed in vases periodically down the hall released a wonderfully intense scent, and the wall was hung from one end to the other with an ornate tapestry created by the master artisans of Orlais, depicting Garahel's triumph over the archdemon Andoral, omitting the fact the hero of the Fourth Blight died seconds later.

As he walked towards the main hall, other Wardens passed by him in the corridor, hailing him cheerfully. Most were natives of the Anderfels, but not all; an elf with an Antivan accent nodded in greeting, and he saw two knights wearing armour that bore the mark of a smith from West Hills; Grey Wardens from Ferelden.

_Loghain's treachery destroyed the Grey Wardens of Ferelden; there's none left but me and Alistair…_

Why would he think that? There was Duncan, for a start.

The large wooden doors of the hall stood open, revealing the great chamber where the Wardens dined, drank, celebrated and convened. The ceiling was high and vaulted, adorned with frescoes and paintings of great victories against the darkspawn. Statues of Andraste and other figures of Thedas history lined the walls and the floor of the great hall was decorated with a great mosaic, depicting the final moments of the Battle of Silent Fields; a half-dozen warriors mounted on griffons surrounding the archdemon Dumat, the dragon's jet-black hide rent with deep wounds, his head thrown back in an agonised howl as one Warden drove a lance into the archdemon's heart.

'_Truly a magnificent piece of art. Sten would really appreciate it'._

_Who the hell is Sten?_

An image of white braids and violet eyes slipped into his mind, but it faded before he could make any sense of it.

_I think I need something to eat. _

Several long tables were laid out within the Great Hall, a number of Wardens taking a morning repast, but the figure he was looking for was sat at the far end of the table to his left. The Warden Commander of Ferelden smiled in acknowledgement as Arthur approached, and gestured for the youth to take a seat beside him. Arthur sank into the high-backed chair to Duncan's right, helping himself to toasted bread and honey. Duncan smiled pleasantly as the younger Warden broke his fast, and Arthur had to admit, he had never seen the Commander so relaxed. The tension that had furrowed his brow the last time he had seen him at Ostagar was gone, and he looked years younger. His feet rested on the table, and a wan smile crossed his lips as he sipped what looked to be freshly squeezed orange juice from his goblet.

"Good of you to join us, Arthur. I trust my summons hasn't distracted you for your important affairs?" Duncan questioned, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. Arthur felt himself redden with embarrassment; nothing got past Duncan-of course he'd have figured out the real reason Arthur had brought Niamh to Weisshaupt.

"Well, well, well" a familiar voice from behind him spoke in a jovial tone. "What have we here?"

"Alistair!" Arthur joyfully crowed, leaping to his feet and pulling his friend into a crushing bear hug. "When'd you get here?"

"Less than an hour ago; business in Denerim went smoothly, and Cailan's as happy to see me as ever, but it's good to be back somewhere they don't look at Wardens with suspicion. I'll say this for the Anderfels; at least us Wardens always get a good reception here!" Alistair joked.

'_Cailan is dead, and Loghain has condemned the Grey Wardens for his death, remember_?' the voice in the back of Arthur's mind insisted. Fortunately, Duncan and Alistair were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice the confused look that crossed Arthur's face.

"It's good to see you again, Alistair. I'm sure you'll come to enjoy Weisshaupt as much as Arthur does" Duncan smiled placidly, turning his attention back to the Cousland youth. "You've been here for a good few months, haven't you, Arthur? You like it here, don't you?"

"Aye, it's a beautiful fortress" Arthur agreed, but a thought then occurred to him; he could use some action. "Not that I'm eager to leave this place, but when will I be assigned back to active duty? I've never been one to sit idle for any length of time, and I imagine there are still darkspawn out there in need of a sword through the heart!" he joked. But his smile faltered as he saw all present were staring at him as though he'd just said the sky was green and the grass purple.

Duncan looked at him askance and spoke in a concerned tone "Arthur, are you feeling well? You must remember the darkspawn are gone"

"They...they're gone?"

"You were there at the last great battle" Duncan insisted. "Surely you must remember? The great victory at Ostagar? Ah, that was a triumph for us all" Duncan smiled, admiring the mosaic of Dumat's death "bringing down the archdemon, chasing those vermin back into the Deep Roads and setting their underground lairs ablaze once and for all!" Duncan concluded, turning his attention to Alistair. "Help me, remind him what happened"

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, and then fell silent, looking utterly confused. "That's strange...it's really fuzzy".

Trying to come to terms with this rather strange turn of events, Arthur pressed on. "But what will become of the Grey Wardens now?"

"The Grey Wardens shall be keepers of history." Duncan's gaze had returned to him, the tone of his voice firmly indicating that Arthur should already know the answer to his question. "We shall tell tales and sing songs of a more tumultuous time, that others may rejoice in knowing that time is past."

Now Arthur was really starting to get suspicious, and judging from Alistair's expression, he wasn't the only one. He had not known Duncan very long, but from what he could remember, the Warden Commander was a warrior and a crusader who would never willingly set aside his charge. The idea of Duncan sat idle did not sit well with him.

"The Duncan I know would not rest upon his laurels."

The Warden-Commander sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. His expression was now benevolent and amused, like a father watching his son trying to play at grown-ups. "The Duncan you knew was a man forged in the fires of war. I am different now, at peace. I have learned to be tranquil."

There were a great many words Arthur knew he could use to describe Duncan, but tranquil was certainly not one of them. The Duncan he knew, the one who had constantly reminded all of the threat posed by the Blight, would never simply assume the threat was over. Even if the Blight was ended and the darkspawn were pushed back, he would remain vigilant, ever wary that they might return and ready for the day that they did. The Duncan Arthur knew would never dismiss the threat in so blasé a manner.

"The darkspawn will never truly be gone; two more Old Gods remain, and while they live, so too will the threat of the Blights. It is reckless and arrogant to assume the darkspawn are gone; the kingdoms of Thedas did that after the Fourth Blight, and look what came of it!"

At this, Duncan looked round and actually glared at him. Arthur took an involuntary step back at the baleful look in the older Warden's eyes, and that was when he saw it; Duncan's eyes had acquired a malevolent gleam that looked all too familiar...

'_Connor...the sloth demon...the Circle tower!'_

"Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

It was no longer Duncan speaking, but something behind him, operating the Warden like a puppet. The voice had taken on the familiar echo and Arthur's hand quickly moved to the Green Blade's hilt.

The memories came pouring back as the false ones began to fade, and Arthur felt the familiar regret as those of Niamh and his family still alive evaporated, replaced by the grim truth. He looked Duncan in the eye. "You offer complacency, not peace."

The hall shimmered as Duncan got to his feet, a look of fury on his face. The mask the demon wore was slipping; Duncan's brown eyes had become cold black orbs, devoid of pupil or iris, and his teeth had become jagged and curved, more like those of a shark...or an abomination. The demon-Duncan spat hatefully at Arthur's feet and rasped hatefully "It seems only war and death with satisfy you. So be it. Have your war and your darkspawn – may they be your doom!"

Duncan's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and Arthur prepared himself for the attack. But before either of them could move, the blade of a sword erupted from Duncan's chest. The older Warden gasped in shock, choking up blood that spilled down his beard and chin and spreading across his armour like a blooming rose; he and Arthur looked round, both stunned to see that the sword was in the hands of Alistair.

"Why?" Duncan, or the thing pretending to be Duncan, spoke in a weak voice. "Why would you do this?"

"Because you're not Duncan" Alistair replied in a flat voice. "I remember now. Ostagar, Cailan, Loghain...Duncan. Duncan is dead. _You_ are not Duncan" Alistair spat at the demon "just an empty, horrid thing wearing his image!"

The demon-Duncan snarled angrily and tried to turn on Alistair, but before it could, the Green Blade slashed out and severed the fiend's head. The decapitated body remained upright for a moment, then it and Duncan's severed head collapsed into dark mist that quickly dissipated into nothing.

Reality began to shift; the ceiling collapsed and faded away, the walls began to crumble into nothing; before long, the illusion of Weisshaupt Fortress was gone, and a new, far more unsettling landscape had taken its place; an endless expanse of sickly green sky, broken only by islands floating in the sky, crowned by what looked to be towers, buildings, structures...

'_The Black City...sweet Maker, this is the Fade!'_

"Are you going now?"

Alistair's voice interrupted Arthur's reverie; he spun round to see his fellow Warden was fading away, his form becoming more and more transparent.

"Where are you going? What's happening to me? Hey!" Alistair called out, but Arthur had no time to reply or help his friend before Alistair vanished altogether.

He was standing on an island floating in the endless green sky. There was nothing but a few obscene statues, crumbling walls and a doorway engraved with runes that the demon had used to conjure the illusion of Weisshaupt. Judging from the multitude of islands around him, Wynne, Leliana and now Alistair could be anywhere, trapped in any manner of illusion concocted to keep them trapped, and he had no idea of how to find them.

He was alone.

'_Well, not quite'_ he thought as a familiar huffing grunt came from behind him, and he looked round to see a familiar furry lump fast asleep behind him. Kneeling down beside Edward, Arthur smiled as the mabari occasionally growled or twitched his limbs in his sleep; his dreams probably consisted of nothing more than running through endless green fields, burying bones and chasing cats up trees. Gently shaking the dog awake, Arthur shook Edward back into wakefulness. "Come on, boy, time to get up". Edward grumbled, clearly annoyed at having his sleep disturbed, but Arthur was having none of it.

"Hey, you can't sleep all day; we've got work to do! Alistair, Wynne and Leliana are somewhere here; we need to rescue them from wherever the sloth demon's keeping them, kill the demon and then find a way to get out of the Fade and save the Circle! That's the plan, okay?"

As if in response to his remark, the runes around the doorway began to glow a luminous blue. He had no idea where the door would lead, but it was a start, and in his mind, it was better than sitting around doing nothing and waiting around to die. Sheathing his sword, Arthur gestured for Edward to follow; at least he'd have some help to find the others. As they approached the doorway, Edward gave another grumbling growl.

"I don't know how we're going to do all that; I'm making this up as I go along!"

###############

He was standing on the island in the middle of Lake Calenhad. The rain was pouring down heavily as it had been before, and the tower loomed overhead. Arthur had a strong suspicion who he would find trapped here.

But as he began to approach the tower, Arthur could clearly see something was very wrong; the tower was a ruin. The upper levels of the tower were gone, ripped away by something of incredible strength and power and burning, even in the pouring rain. The words '_Dragon fire'_ came to Arthur's mind. As far as he could see through the rain sheeting down, bodies littered the ground; the armoured and robed corpses of templars and mages, the malformed bodies of abominations and lifeless bodies just as unnerving and familiar; the corpses of genlocks and hurlocks. And even though it was raining, the sky above was the deep red of an open wound.

In its present state, the Circle had never stood a chance against the Blight.

The Circle had been destroyed.

That was when Arthur realised the demon hadn't trapped Wynne in a dream involving her fondest wishes; she was trapped in her worst nightmare. At that, Arthur quickened his steps; '_I have to find Wynne and get her out of here as soon as possible'_.

It didn't take him long to find Wynne, alone outside the main entrance to the tower, on her knees, surrounded by the bodies of several young mages. The corpses of several templars also lay ranged outside the entrance, surrounded by the bodies of a score of darkspawn, though whether the templars had cut down the mages and then been set upon by the darkspawn, or died trying to protect their charges from the monsters, Arthur couldn't tell. Sat alone in the middle of the carnage was Wynne, on her knees in the mud, her hair wet and dishevelled, tears streaming down her face as she cradled the body of a young male elf in her arms, rocking the body and sobbing quietly to herself.

"Maker, I failed them. They died and I did not stop it"

"But they're not dead, Wynne. The Circle can still be saved" Arthur reasoned, but Wynne would not be comforted.

"What about all this? How can you say that when you are faced with all this?" she sobbed. "Death. Can't you see it? It's all around us. Why was I spared if not to help them? What use is my life now I have failed in the task that was given to me?" she murmured to herself, ignoring the Warden as she shifted through the detritus, shifting aside weapons and corpses until she found a shovel. Getting to her feet, ignoring Arthur, Wynne began to dig into the wet earth.

"Leave me to my grief" she said over her shoulder, not bothering to look at him. "I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes and mourn their passing until I too am dead".

"Oh for the love of the Maker, this pity for demons is really starting to get tiresome" Arthur snapped, hoping to get a reaction out of the old mage that might snap her out of her self-pity. At this, Wynne whirled round, a look of outrage in her eyes and magical power coalescing in her hands. Arthur felt a little unease at the sight but he couldn't back down; to do so would leave Wynne to the demon's mercy.

"Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as utterly inappropriate. And where were you when this happened?" she snapped as an afterthought. "I trusted you as an ally and you were nowhere to be found!"

Arthur took a deep breath and placed a hand on Wynne's shoulder. "Forgive me for what I do now" he said, and then abruptly slapped Wynne across the face with the back of his hand. The old mage was pitched to the floor, landing heavily in the mud. From where she lay, Wynne looked up, fury in her eyes, her hands raised to launch a spell, and Arthur placed his last card.

"SNAP OUT OF IT! Can't you tell this is the Fade? Are you a mage or not?"

This time, Arthur could see his words had had an effect; the anger on Wynne's face faded, replaced by uncertainty. She began to look around her surroundings, examining them as though she had never seen them before.

"The...the Fade? I had not considered that; I have always had an affinity for the Fade, and I assumed I would be able to recognise it". The old mage placed her hand to her brow, as though suffering a severe headache. "It is...difficult to focus...I've never had such trouble concentrating...it's as if something is blocking me...perhaps some time away from here will do me good".

At this, the young elf mage whom Wynne had been holding sat up, in spite of a gaping wound in his chest. His eyes were pleading, but Arthur could see they were pupil-less black orbs; this was no innocent apprentice.

"Don't leave us, Wynne!" the apprentice whimpered, extending a hand in entreaty. "We don't want to be alone!" gesturing to a number of other apprentices, getting back to their feet in spite of the fatal wounds they had suffered.

"Holy Maker! Stay away, foul creature!" Wynne yelped in horror, holding her staff in a threatening manner but the demons masquerading as her former charges didn't heed the warning.

"Stay, Wynne. Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it, you belong here...with us..." the demon-elf finished with a sad, pitying sigh.

"No, my task is not done...it is not yet my time!" Wynne yelled as she shot an arcane bolt at the elf, blasting the creature into pieces. Arthur drew his sword and motioned Edward to attack. "Let us finish this and be done"

It was over in less time than it had taken to convince Wynne to leave; the demons were as adept at combat as the apprentices they had impersonated, and could only use the most rudimentary magic. Wynne summoned torrents of ice and frost to entrap the demons, long enough for Arthur and Edward to sever heads, tear out throats and pierce hearts. Soon enough, the demons were destroyed. As the last of the demon-apprentices fell, its body dissipating into black mist, Wynne fell to her knees, sobbing in relief.

"Thank the Maker it is over " Wynne gasped in relief, before confusion entered her voice as her form became more translucent. "Wait...where are you going?"

She was gone before he could answer.

The illusion of the destroyed tower evaporated, replaced by another island floating in the endless green sky. Racing towards another door illuminated by luminous blue runes, Arthur hurled the door open and stepped through, eager to find the others.

#################

The smell of incense hung heavily in the air, a heady mix of vanilla and myrrh adding to the holy air projected to those within the Lothering Chantry. Leliana made her way to the pews before the statue of Andraste behind the altar, smiling and inclining her head to the people within the Chantry; her fellow lay-brothers and sisters, the ordained priestesses tending to the need of the villagers, the few templars. Revered Mother Jessica was knelt before the statue, silently praying; she looked up as Leliana approached, gave her a soft smile and motioned for the lay sister to join her.

No words were needed; Leliana joined the Revered Mother in the pew, knelt and clasped her hands together, accompanying Revered Mother Jessica in her intonation of the Chant of Light. Once again, the peace and contentment the Lothering Chantry had brought into her life filled her, and Leliana was glad of it. Here she had a chance to repent for all the evil things she had done, in the safety of strong walls that had been her refuge from the storm and the company of good people, friends who had shown her nothing but kindness, understanding and a chance to obtain the forgiveness she so desperately desired gladly accepted the peace that filled her heart. It was a reassuring feeling. She was safe, inside strong walls that had never failed to protect her, amongst those who had shown her nothing but kindness and a grace bestowed by the Maker.

A noise disturbed her praying; the sound of armoured boots crossing the stone floor. Ignoring the intrusion as probably little more than one of the templars on patrol, Leliana returned to her prayers.

"Blessed art thou who exist in the sight of the Maker. Blessed art thou who seeks his forgiveness, blessed art thou who seeks his return..."

"Leliana?" Out of politeness, she lifted her head to acknowledge the speaker, and was surprised to see a young man wearing a suit of scale armour made from a material she didn't recognise standing before her, a mabari warhound sat at his side. At a guess, she would have thought him a landless knight or a wandering adventurer, but she didn't know him, even from her time in Orlais, so the look of relief in his eyes was most surprising.

"Oh, thank the Maker you're safe" he exclaimed with a joyful smile.

"Who are you?" Leliana asked, nervous. The man's smile dropped, a confused expression replacing it on his face. Before she could respond, Revered Mother Jessica put a hand on her shoulder, speaking firmly.

"I beg you, good ser, please do not disturb the girl's meditations. She is trying to find peace." To Leliana's shock, the man glared malevolently at the Revered Mother. The older woman, caught a little offguard, stepped aside, annoyance at the disrespect shown flaring in her eyes.

"Revered Mother," Leliana said nervously, "I do not know this person." There was something about the man that made her extremely uncomfortable, as though his very existence was a violation of what should be.

"We're friends? Don't you remember?" the man pressed, confusion replacing anger.

"I-I'm sorry…I don't know what you are talking about…" Leliana replied in a placating tone, trying to make the poor fellow understand. She could not fail to notice the sword sheathed at the man's waist, and she got the feeling this was not a man she wanted to provoke to violence. Fortunately, the Revered Mother stepped in to try and help her before the man sinfully brought violence into the Chantry.

"Please, do not vex her. She needs quiet and solitude, to calm her mind and heal her heart." Leliana relaxed as the older woman placed a soothing hand on the young ser's shoulder. This instantly became panic as the man angrily slapped the hand aside and, whirling around, seized the Revered Mother by the throat and slammed her into the wall.

"Be silent, demonic filth! I wasn't addressing you!" the young man bellowed in her face, but Revered Mother Jessica's reaction was something none of them expected; with strength no-one her age could feasibly possess, she threw off the man's hand and hit him full in the face, sending him flying across the Chantry; he landed heavily on the floor, looking up at the Revered Mother, and it was hard to tell which of them was looking at the other with more hate.

"How dare you! How dare you compare me to those monstrous things!" Revered Mother Jessica shrieked, apoplectic with fury, her face red with anger as she raised her hand to take another swing at him.

"Please, Revered Mother" Leliana pleaded; after all, did not the Maker say to be merciful to the less fortunate? "This young man is clearly not in his right mind, perhaps we should take him somewhere he can recover himself"

Revered Mother Jessica sighed and clapped Leliana on the shoulder. Nodding, she snapped her fingers; two of the templars on duty picked the fellow up and began to drag the man towards the exit, but the man struggle against them all the way.

"Take your hands off me, you demonic brutes! Leliana, listen to me please! This isn't real!"

"I don't understand…" Everything still looked solid, and the pressure of the woman's hand on her arms was strong enough, but his outburst had seemed to make everything seem unclear, even wrong. Her mind was rebelling against something she could not comprehend, and she attempted to push Arthur out of her mind.

…_How do I know his name?_

As the templars reached the door with their struggling burden, the man caught Leliana's eye; looking straight at her, he yelled at Leliana "Don't you remember why you left the cloister?"

The shout stopped the templars in their tracks and silence fell. Leliana was about to reply that Arthur was mistaken, that she had lived in the Chantry all her life, when something pushed into her head. It sat at odds with what she thought she remembered, and despite herself visions of an impenetrable darkness, the beating of leathery wings, a ghastly screech of rage and hate, and a rose came into her head.

"I remember…there was a sign…" she murmured. It seemed so far away, like a dream she could barely remember... Leliana wanted nothing more for Arthur to go away. He was disturbing her now, disrupting what she thought to be real, and she didn't want to think about whatever he was trying to convey to her was. Revered Mother Jessica spoke to her, gently with a sympathetic, almost pitying smile, although she kept shooting venomous looks at the fellow.

"Leliana, we have discussed this…sign of yours. The Maker does not care to interfere in the affairs of mortals. This 'vision' was likely the work of demons."

"Do not listen to her! Trust in what you believe!" Arthur pleaded, prying off the templars' grip on him. Revered Mother Jessica glared at him, but Leliana somehow could not deny the truth of his words.

"The Maker cares for us. I believe He misses his wayward children as much as we miss Him. My vision may not be from Him, but it urges me to do what is right. _My_ Revered Mother knew this. I don't know who you are, but you are not her." Stepping away from the Revered Mother's side, she took a step towards Arthur.

"We need to go" Arthur said simply "soon as you're ready".

"Let's go," Leliana said, slowly. "My head has not yet cleared, but there is something familiar about you and I...I think I can trust you." But before she could take a step towards the door, the Revered Mother's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, speaking in a pleading voice.

"This is your home, your refuge. Stay and know peace."

"There is no need. I carry the peace of the Chantry in my heart." She tried to ease her grip from the Revered Mother's grip, but the old woman's grasp tightened into a painful vice. Leliana gasped in pain, and saw to her horror, the Revered Mother's fingernails lengthening into yellowed claws. She looked up and screamed in horror at the sight; Revered Mother Jessica's face was altering horrifically. She no longer possessed warm, sympathetic brown eyes, but orbs of jet, devoid of mercy and her face was set in a foul grimace, baring a mouth full of snake-like fangs.

"You are going nowhere, girl," the Revered Mother snarled, and her voice sounded strange, suddenly, as though there were two people speaking at once. "I will not permit it." Leliana tugged uselessly against the vice-like grip, and Arthur drew his sword.

"We are leaving whether you like it or not, fiend" he said, pointing his sword at the Revered Mother's chest. "Now release her or die!"

"No," the Revered Mother cackled. "She is ours, now and forever!" Leliana's fingernails scrabbled at the woman's hand, watching in horror as the familiar features contorted, elongating and sharpening, and then she was looking into the slavering face of something more horrible than her mind could comprehend, and it was hurting her, determined not to let her go – any moment now her wrist would break and the demon would gorge upon her mind, leave her nothing but a twisted and broken husk…

The demon suddenly shrieked as the mabari at Arthur's side lunged and seized its other arm, fangs sinking deep and claws raking its side. The demon howled, desperately shaking its arm, but it still refused to release Leliana as it tried to throw Edward off. Had it released Leliana to free its other hand to fight, it might have succeeded, but with both of its arms out of use, the demon was helpless.

"BEGONE!" Arthur roared as he lunged forward, and his blade pierced the demon's chest where its heart would be. The fiend shrieked in pain, releasing Leliana as it desperately tried to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. Its twisted shape began to break apart, its limbs, torso and finally its head dissolving into black mist that swiftly dissipated into nothingness.

Leliana barely paid the demon's destruction and the dissolution of the Chantry any heed. Her memories were flooding back in a dizzying rush, and she felt sick as some were restored that she had never wanted to think of again. Every mistake, every callous and cruel thing she had done, all the pain, the misery, the betrayal…

Leliana didn't know when she started sobbing; all she knew was that when she did, she heard a clatter as the sword fell to the ground, and she found herself enfolded in Arthur's arms. The Warden, who moments before had been a wrathful destroyer, held her as gently as if she were a porcelain doll, rocking her and stroking her hair to calm her. "Sssh .Sssh, it's alright. It's alright, you're safe now".

"She – she was a…"

"That was not your Revered Mother, Leliana," Arthur said steadily. "That was just a demon."

"I know…I know." Leliana struggled to calm herself. "The real Revered Mother probably…died…at Lothering…". She began to calm herself, wiping away the tears and looking up at Arthur as she still remembered they had much to do; to confront the sloth demon and save the Circle, but there was something else she wanted to do first...

"This is the second time you've saved me from fates worse than death..." she whispered. Arthur smiled and "I promised you I always would, and I try to keep my promises..."

"Thank you" she whispered, and both of them felt something electric pass between them. Looking into those deep blue eyes, Leliana edged forward. She had never known anyone who had pledged such willingness to help her, not even Marjolaine. She didn't know if it was too bold, but at that moment, she wanted nothing more than for him to know this expression of her feelings.

Their lips edged ever closer, Leliana reaching out a hand, wanting to stroke that handsome face...and saw her fingers becoming translucent.

"What's happening to me?" she cried, trying to suppress a note of hysteria in her voice. Arthur said something she couldn't hear, and then she was enveloped by the thick green mists of the Fade, and knew no more.

**#######################**

Arthur felt uneasy. He was standing before another stone doorway ringed with glowing blue runes, invitingly held open. There was no certainty, he was being led. What lay beyond the doorway was almost certainly a trap, but did he have a choice? They needed a way out of the Fade, and the only certain way was to kill the demon.

For a moment, Arthur thought about his companions. With the exception of Edward, he had no idea where the others were, and how they felt about him interfering in their dreams, their visions of peace. Part of him felt like a voyeur, intruding in their most intimate desires, but the more rational part of his mind knocked sense into him; the dreams were lies conjured to imprison them and if he left them to it, they would all die. He needed them.

The door opened before him, and he stepped into the demon's inner sanctum.

What he saw both astounded and revolted him.

Before him lay the great hall of Highever Castle, exactly as he remembered it; the opulent chamber hung with trophies and paintings illuminating the illustrious history of the Cousland family; a sword taken from the grasp of an Orlesian chevalier killed at the Battle of White River, a painting of his parents clad in the wonderful finery they had worn at their wedding, a shield used by his grandfather, Edward Cousland during the rebellion against the occupation. Only one thing was out of place; sat in the high-backed chair where his father had held court sat a foul creature; it resembled the rotting corpse of a mage, clad in red and gold finery in the style of Tevinter, a gold diadem perched upon its decrepit brow, long claws idly tapping the wood of the chair's arms.

The sloth demon looked up at his approach, burning red lights gleaming in its sunken eye sockets. If it felt any fear at the armed warrior advancing on it, sword drawn, it showed no sign.

"Well, what do we have here?" the creature sat on his father's chair burbled. "A rebellious minion? An escaped slave? My, my, but you have some gall!". The thing's condescending smile fell away, contorting into a rictus grimace, the red lights that served it for eyes narrowing angrily. "But playtime is over now. You _all_ have to go back now!"

'_All?_' Arthur thought, confused, before he heard a loud crack and he looked round to see familiar faces taking shape.

"Oh, here I am. And there you are. You just disappeared!" Alistair pouted, before taking in their surroundings and the demon before them, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh well, no matter"

"You tried to keep us from each other" Leliana snarled angrily, her bow drawn and an arrow nocked to the string. "You kept us apart because you fear us, don't you?"

"You cannot hold us here, demon! We found each other in this place, and you _cannot_ stand against us!" Wynne bellowed. The demon got to its feet and circled round Arthur, placing its clawed hands on his shoulders, smiling indulgently.

"If you go back quietly, I'll do much better" the demon whispered. "I'll make you much happier..."

The creature clicked its fingers, and a shimmering haze surrounded them. Looking round, Arthur saw the demon's skeletal form was gone; it had taken a far more horrifying form. The sloth demon smiled indulgently at Arthur in the form of Bryce Cousland, just as Arthur remembered his father; whole, hale, full of life and joy, those bright eyes gleaming with paternal warmth and pride.

The demon-Bryce clicked its fingers again, and other figures began to join them; Mother, Fergus, Oriana, Oren began to approach him, while the others found people they held dear advancing on them; a vision of Duncan stood beside Alistair, Leliana found herself in the embrace of a creature in the form of a beautiful brunette woman of middle years who Arthur assumed was the infamous Marjolaine, and Wynne was in the company of two figures Arthur didn't recognise; a young man in the robes of an enchanter and a young male elf clad in the robes of an apprentice. Arthur didn't know who they were, but assumed they were of importance to Wynne.

"You see, I can give you your every wish. All I ask is that you stay..." it spoke softly, but Arthur brushed aside the comforting embraces of his loved ones, threw aside the demon's hands and spat in its face.

"You think a crude mockery of what I hold dear will convince me to let you sap the very life from my flesh? I want nothing from you but my freedom, now release us or die!"

The demon-Bryce's indulgent look faded away, as did the images it had conjured for the others, replaced by a look of fury. "I made you happy and safe. I gave you peace! I did my best for you and you say you want to leave?" the demon snarled.

"Yes, now either release us or I'll carve my way to freedom through you!" Arthur roared.

"You won't strike me..."

"You are not my father, just a foul thing wearing his face! NOW DIE!"

"You wish to battle me? So be it...you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!"

The demon roared, conjuring a jet of flame that it let loose at Arthur; before the fire reached him, Wynne incanted a single word and a torrent of ice leapt from her hands, pushing back the demon's fire. The demon roared and angrily increased the power of its spell, but Wynne didn't cease her efforts, keeping up the spell. Leliana yelled a battle cry in Orlesian and loosed her arrow; it flew straight and struck the demon in its eye; the fiend howled in pain and its concentration lapsed. Two more arrows from Leliana struck it in the chest, staggering the demon, but it managed to recover itself and fend off Wynne's attack. The ice was barely inches from the demon's torso when suddenly, the flames dissipated. The demon-Bryce's eyes went wide with shock as it looked round and saw Alistair, his hand raised, a sphere of energy disappearing as his templar training kicked in. The ice conjured by Wynne quickly enveloped the demon, trapping it before it could recover. Desperately trying to break free, its magic stymied by Alistair's templar abilities, the sloth demon was reduced to begging for its life against those it had underestimated. Its eyes went wide, desperate with fear as its captive advanced on it.

"Please pup, don't do this..." the demon-Bryce pleaded.

"Shut up! You are not him!" Arthur bellowed in the face of its begging, raising his sword.

"I can give you whatever you want...anything you wish" the demon made one last plea, but Arthur was unmoved.

"What I want back, you cannot give me" the Warden spat, and then whirled on his heel. The sloth demon gave a final shriek before the Green Blade beheaded it.

A blinding flash of light erupted, enveloping them all as they...

#########################

They woke up.

They were lying where they had fallen when the demon had ensorcelled them. Edward gave a loud yawn, as did Alistair, the group gingerly getting to their feet. The sloth demon lay dead at their feet, its severed head lying a short distance from its body, which lay on top of the dead mage.

"Are we back? Is this the real world?" Leliana asked. Wynne nodded "Even in its current state, I have never been so glad to see the tower".

Leliana smiled and nodded "I know. Now I believe you and I left something unfinished" she said to Arthur, before seizing the front of Arthur's armour and pulling his lips down to hers. The kiss was brief, but at that moment in time, it was what they both wanted. Leliana pulled away first, her lips lingering against Arthur's for a second, and she looked up at him, her green eyes locked with his blue ones, his gaze marked with surprise and not a little enjoyment.

"After what we've just been through, should the worst happen, I don't want to die with that undone" Leliana smiled.

"Ah, good to see you're hard at work saving the Circle" a familiar voice chirped. The group whirled round to see Zevran entering the room, daggers drawn.

"Zevran, what are you doing here?" Alistair asked. "I thought we told you to stay behind and protect the mages?"

"You were gone for over twelve hours; I feared something had happened to you and it was up to me to save the Circle. I decided to see if I could find you or if there was anything I could do. Sadly, Arabella here was the only one to come with me". Zevran gestured to a figure behind him who stepped into the chamber; it was Arabella Amell, the blood mage they had spared. Her ginger hair was out of its bun, now falling to her shoulders and tied back at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were firmly downcast to the floor, not looking at the others, still fearful that the offer of mercy might have been temporary.

"Uldred and his remaining allies are holed up in the Harrowing Chamber" Arabella murmured. "We should hurry; I can feel the Veil shifting up there, even worse than here. Something powerful and terrible is happening up there".

"Then let's go" Arthur commanded, but Wynne stopped, kicked the sloth demon's headless body off the dead mage and pulled the scroll of parchment from his grasp.

"May the Maker guide you to rest, Niall" she whispered, standing up with the acquisition. "The Litany of Adralla" Wynne explained as she held out the parchment. "It should avail us much in the coming battle"

"Then let us go and end this" Arthur replied simply as Arabella led the way forward.


	28. Chapter 26: On the Road Back

_Sorry to keep you waiting; have had major problems with writer's block of late, and running around nearly all day every day job-hunting doesn't leave much time for writing unfortunately! Still, I've got a bit of time to spare at the moment, so I should hopefully have some more for you by next week._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes. As ever, particular thanks to __**Ygrain333 **__and __**Kazic **__(both for your reviews and for pointing out a big editing cock-up on my part!), __**ethan89, spectre4hire, cakeisalie, MysticGohan88, strifeandpestilence**__ (I'll admit the last chapter may have been a bit rushed on my part, but I'm not a big fan of any Fade sequences, so I figure it's best to get them done asap)and _**Chewin3** _for your great reviews, since they give me the impetus to keep going! Also, thanks to __**Tikitorch559, Tempest86, shackenberg**__ and __**Sir Omega**__ for adding my humble work to favourites._

_For those of you who haven't read or played them, this chapter includes spoilers from Dragon Age: The Calling and the DLCs 'Warden's Peak', 'Return to Ostagar' and 'The Stone Prisoner'._

As always, I don't own Dragon Age (unfortunately!); with the exception of my embellishments, all content is Bioware's.

**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_##################_

Irving rapped on the steel doors still locked and barring entrance to the tower's atrium. The crowd gathered behind him-a combination of the Wardens and their companions, the surviving mages, full enchanters, youths, children, and the sole templar to survive being sealed in the tower, and keeping a good distance from the mages- watched with bated breath, uncertain whether the templars would greet them with open arms or drawn swords. Wynne felt that the answer might be a foregone conclusion, considering the murderous glare Cullen was directing at Arabella Amell's back, but the Grey Wardens had done what was asked of them when they entered the tower, and now Wynne could only hope Greagoir kept his side of the bargain.

"Greagoir" Irving called in a weak voice "open this door!"

Silence followed, and no answer. Cullen stepped forward and called out "Knight-Commander, it's me! It's Cullen! Open the door, it's over!"

More silence followed, and then finally, muffled through the steel portal, they heard Greagoir shouting "Open those doors, but be ready for anything! For all we know, it could be demons impersonating our colleagues behind them!"

There was the sound of locks turning, and with a great creak, the steel doors swung open, revealing the sight of Knight-Commander Greagoir and a handful of templars crowded around the door, swords drawn and ready. The only emotion displayed was by Greagoir, the only man not wearing a full helm, whose face changed from suspicious wariness, to astonishment as he saw the tired, weary, but mercifully human faces looking back at him.

"Irving?" the Knight-Commander's voice was brimming with relief. "Maker's breath, I did not expect to see you alive!"

The First Enchanter gave a weary nod and spoke in a voice barely more than a whisper "It is over, Greagoir. This whole affair was Uldred's doing, and now he is dead" and Greagoir nodded; Wynne knew that the Knight-Commander had never liked the conniving little toad. Few tears would have been shed for Uldred anyway; once word that he was behind the massacre got out, he would be reviled for a good long time to come.

A third voice cut in at this point "Uldred tortured the mages, hoping to break their will and turn them into abominations. We don't know how many of them have turned". Wynne whirled round, angrily glaring at the speaker. She could empathise with Cullen for what he had suffered at the hands of Uldred and his lackeys, but to try and use his prejudice to condemn the surviving mages to extermination was beyond an outrage. Irving's tiredness melted away as he shot a furious glare at the templar. "Do not be ridiculous, you little fool! You would let your prejudice condemn innocent men, women, _children_ to death?" but Cullen would not be silenced.

"Of course he'll say that; he might be a blood mage! Don't you know what they did? I won't let that happen again!"

Greagoir coldly cut across his knight-lieutenant's protests "I am the Knight-Commander here, _not _you".

"And what is the Knight-Commander's decision?" Arthur interjected. Wynne could not fail to notice that the Warden's hand was snaking to the hilt of his sword, ready in case Cullen tried to incite the templars to violence, but it was not needed. Wynne watched as Greagoir scrutinised Cullen, seeing the signs of hysteria and lyrium deprivation as clearly having impacts on his mental state and his demands, and replied "We have won back the tower. I will accept Irving's assurances all is well".

Cullen clearly wouldn't let it drop, making one last feeble protest, but Greagoir silenced him. "Enough Cullen, I expected better from you!". Turning to the rest of his men, the Knight-Commander issued commands "Take the children and the apprentices somewhere they can rest; this whole experience will have been trying enough for them, I won't make them suffer more than they already have". As his templars hastened to obey his commands, leading the younger mages somewhere they could recuperate, Greagoir helped Irving to a seat in the atrium and let out another relieved sigh, running a gauntleted hand through his hair.

"So Uldred was behind it after all? I suppose we should have all been more suspicious about how he survived Ostagar and his claims about the regent. But how did you manage to stop him?"

"That's quite a story..." Arthur replied, and Wynne remembered the arduous final battle that had played out to save the Circle...

'_Armoured feet raced up the steps to the Harrowing Chamber. Arthur slammed a booted foot into the heavy door and looked in upon a scene of utter chaos. Pulses of lightning danced around the walls and ceiling of the chamber, bathing the room in flickering blue light. Huddled in a corner, bound and gagged by magical restraints, a group of mages huddled, a mix of male and female, human and elf, watching the horrific spectacle unfolding in front of them with eyes wide with terror._

_In the centre of the chamber, a trio of abominations were dancing and writhing around a hapless mage, while, as Wynne watched, a familiar figure clad in green and maroon robes approached the poor fellow, seized the man's jaw and forced the terrified captive to look him in the face._

"_Do you accept the gift that I offer?"_

_With the exception of herself and the Antivan elf, the group looked away from the torturous ritual unfolding; Alistair and Arthur turning away, the latter allowing the Orlesian girl to use his hand to cover her eyes. The poor mage's flesh began to expand and elongate, the skin twisting and ripping as bones protruded through, nails elongating into claws. Soon the man was gone, and in his place, another abomination got to its feet, flexing its limbs. In the deafening silence that followed, the group began to advance into the room, the sound of their footsteps ringing out in the silent room as loud as the bells of the Grand Cathedral. The bald mage and his abomination minions whirled round at the noise, the mage's face twisting into a malevolent grin._

"_Ah, an intruder. I bid you welcome; care to join in our revels?"_

"_One assumes you're the infamous Uldred?" Alistair asked with a dry smile. Arthur, his face contorted into a murderous snarl, nodded angrily. "It's him. I remember him from Ostagar; he was at Cailan's council of war, offering to light Ishal's beacon instead of the Wardens...before he and his master left us all to die!"_

"_And I recognise you; the famous Grey Warden who's giving Teyrn Loghain so much grief! Fortunately, I won't make the same mistake he has in underestimating you" Uldred gave a supercilious smile, those cold, weasel-like eyes gleaming maliciously. "I must admit though, I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you've killed a great many of my servants". The bald mage's face faced twisted into a petulant scowl, like a child denied a promised toy, before it faded away. "Oh well, they're probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence"._

"_Oh, I'm so sorry" Arthur sarcastically replied "are you upset I killed your lackeys? Well don't worry, you'll soon follow them into the grave!"_

_For the first time, a sliver of fear crept into Uldred's eyes. "Wait, let's not be too hasty, boy! I'm trying to have a civilised conversation here!"_

"_What would a monster like you know about civility?"_

"_A mage is but the larval form of something greater" Uldred snarled, his eyes bright and his voice thick with the zeal of a fanatic. "Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have reached our full potential! Look at them!" he spat, gesturing at the group of tied up mages cowering in the corner. "The Chantry has them convinced! They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something _GLORIOUS!"

"_YOU'RE MAD, ULDRED!" Wynne shouted, her voice thick with fury and hate she didn't know she possessed. "There is NOTHING glorious in what you have become!"_

"_Ah, Wynne, I see; stubborn as ever! And Arabella Amell, back to see me again, how wonderful! You were so eager to learn; what secrets will you have me teach you this time? And how will you repay me for them?" he hissed, his smile taking a rather lecherous look._

"_I want nothing from you but your head, you bastard!" the young woman shouted back. "I was blind, too hungry for knowledge to see the truth! You are a monster, Uldred, and by helping you, I am no better than you. The only way to start making amends for my stupidity, my sins is to kill you!"_

"_Uldred?" the bald mage chuckled. "He is gone. I am Uldred, and yet not Uldred; I am more than he was. I could give you both this gift, you and all mages. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it...but some people can be sooo stubborn" he finished with a petulant sigh._

"_What do you expect, you monster? You're destroying their lives!" Leliana screamed at him. Uldred rolled his eyes in annoyance "Resistance! Everywhere I go, resistance! How very inconsiderate. What would you know of such matters, stupid girl? I even have the First Enchanter on my side, don't I Irving?". At this, Uldred snapped his fingers, magically dragging a bearded old man to his side. __Wynne's eyes went wide with horror as she recognised the captive, exhausted, widened as she recognized her fellow mage, weakened and unable to move. "W-what have you done to him?"_

"_Stop him," Irving choked weakly. "He... is building an army. He will... destroy the templars and—"_

_Uldred shook his head in disapproval, but his voice gave away the amusement he felt at the situation. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn."_

_"N-never!"Irving snarled, spitting the words and a great deal of spittle and blood into Uldred's face._

"_That's enough out of you, Irving!" Uldred snapped, striking the old man a blow that knocked him back to the floor. "He'll serve me soon enough...as will you" he turned his gaze back to the Wardens and their companions, looking at them as if they were rare and valuable jewels he just had to possess. Unfortunately, judging from the revolted looks on the faces of the group, it wasn't going to happen._

"_Oh, enough! Enough of this insane prattle!" Arthur snarled. "You are going to die for what you've done here! And then I'll have the mages bring you back so we can kill you again!"_

"_Fight if you must" Uldred replied with a resigned shrug. "It'll just make my victory all the sweeter"_

_The last syllables had barely left his mouth when three arrows buried themselves in Uldred's chest, one after the other. The sheer shock of the act spurred the others to attack; two of the four abominations flanking Uldred fell limp to the floor, Zevran having embedded a throwing knife through the creatures' eyes into their skulls. The third abomination was set ablaze by a stream of fire from Arabella; as the monster desperately tried to put out the flames chewing its flesh, Arthur ran it through, as did Alistair, driving his sword through the chest of the fourth as his templar training dispelled whatever sorceries it had been trying to summon. Leliana lowered her bow, but to her and the others' shock, Uldred remained on his feet. He staggered back a few steps, staring at the arrows jutting from his chest, but they seemed more to amuse him. "Oh, you're going to have to do much better than that..." he sighed._

_A blast of white light exploded from Uldred's bleeding chest, engulfing him with the accompanying sound of ripping clothing and flesh and a bestial roar. The light began to recede away, leaving the group to stare in horror at the monstrous behemoth that stood where Uldred had been; a hideous and gargantuan fusion of human, insect and reptile, glaring at them with six small, cruel eyes as black as jet. Its hulking form was at least the size of an ogre, its scaly flesh purple with an insectile black and spiky carapace running down its back, its lizard-like head twisting from side to side as it tried to choose who to kill first, running a pale forked tongue over rows of jagged teeth, idly flexing its clawed hands._

"_A pride demon! I should have known such a creature would take you, Uldred; you always did have more pride than sense!" Wynne shouted. "Guard yourself, my friends, this will be a hard battle! And don't forget the Litany!"_

_The pride demon roared and swung a boulder-sized fist at Arthur; he managed to block the blow with his shield, but the fist struck with the force of a stone shot from a catapult, and Arthur was hurled back to the floor in a shower of splinters as the blow shattered Swiftrunner's shield into pieces. Arthur shook his head, dazed and in pain-several ribs felt cracked- but he forced himself to move, rolling to one side, ignoring the pain screaming through his body as the demon's fist descended, pulverising the space where his head had been seconds before._

_The demon-Uldred gave a growl of frustration that swiftly turned into a screech as a pair of arrows blinded two of its eyes. Alistair and Zevran pressed the attack, Alistair stabbing his blade into the monster's groin as it pawed feebly at its eyes, while Zev slid between and under its legs, slicing his daggers behind him as he passed in an effort to slice the beast's hamstrings and cripple it, but his blades barely cut through the thing's hide. Howling in fury, the demon kicked out behind and lashed out in front of it, a clawed foot slamming into the small of Zevran's back and sending him flying into a wall, while a taloned fist struck Alistair square in the face; he fell to the floor, limp as a sack of potatoes and out cold. The demon glared angrily at the two foes it had just bested, but then seemed to dismiss them, in favour of easier prey; the bound and restrained mages_

_Leliana continued to loose arrows, and Wynne and Arabella shot magical projectiles, but such things were like trying to kill a dragon with bee stings; the demon seemed little more than mildly annoyed by their attacks. Towering over the captive mages, the demon spread its hands wide, wisps of power forming and coalescing into a glowing sphere of energy, illuminating the demon's already foul features in a horrific manner._

"_Do you accept the gift that I offer?" the demon spat._

_Reacting without thinking, Wynne unfurled the Litany and shouted the incantation inscribed upon it. The demon howled in frustration as the power it had been trying to summon dissipated like smoke on the wind. "No matter" it snarled "I'll recruit more mages to my side after I've ripped off your limbs and fed them to you! You are irksome fleas that have caused me great annoyance...and I am inclined to scratch!" the pride demon bellowed as it began to advance on them._

_Arthur desperately staggered to his feet, his sword held out in front of him, but he was constantly shaking his head, as if trying to clear it; Wynne was enough of a healer to know the signs of a concussion when she saw it. His shield was gone, and judging by the way he was clutching his side told her his ribs were cracked, perhaps even broken. Still, he fought bravely, stabbing and slashing his sword to try and keep the demon at bay, drawing blood at least half a dozen times until Uldred grew tired of the dance and smashed the Warden aside, the Orlesian girl letting out a yelp of horror as he hit the wall and fell to its base with a loud thud, the ironbark breastplate he wore smashing at the force of the impact. _

_Leliana looked torn between running to Arthur's side and standing to protect the two mages, but Wynne couldn't see what she could do; three women, all tired and wounded, trying to defeat one of the most powerful denizens of the Fade. It would have been challenging enough trying to do it rested and prepared, but here, wounded and weary from the battles through the tower and their sojourn through the Fade, she could not see how they would manage it. The pride demon bore down on them, once more twisting its head from side to side as it decided which one to kill first, and Wynne feared they wouldn't have the power to stop it._

"_We have all the power we need, Wynne" a soft voice murmured. She looked round to see Arabella, one of the elf's daggers in her hand and a strange look on her face. "All you need is the will to use it"._

"_No, you cannot mean to do this!" the older mage shouted, realising what the girl intended; how else could she have spoken into her mind?. But Arabella shook her head and replied "In this case, the end _does_ justify the means!"_

_With a feral roar, Arabella Amell drew the dagger across the palm of her left hand. Transferring the blade to her wounded hand, the mage repeated the same action to her right hand. It took but seconds for the blood to paint the palms of her hands crimson, and as Uldred reached out a clawed hand to seize her, Arabella spat a dark word in the language of magic. Her right hand burst into flame, as if she were wearing a bright red glove...and at the same time, a flaming hand formed of blazing spectral energy wrapped itself around the pride demon's throat. Arabella shouted the same word again, and her left hand became ablaze, as a second hand formed of magical energy seized the demon-Uldred by the waist, lifting the pride demon clear of the ground. The demon struggled against its restraints, but Arabella's blood magic held it in place._

"_I will not be harmed by a mortal whelp like you! I am the greatest of my kind; you will not stop me, and I will make you dance like puppets on strings before I make you watch me feast on your hearts...!" the pride demon's rant was abruptly cut off as Arabella's right hand closed into a fist, and the magic around the demon's neck tightened to choke it in response._

"_Go to hell" the young mage snarled, pulling her hands apart...and the magic holding the pride demon ripped it in two. The two halves of the demon crashed wetly to the floor, thrashing and twitching spasmodically before falling still. The second its death tremors stopped, the demon's corpse began to dissolve into a bubbling pool of black ichor._

"_Oh, Maker...I'm getting too old for this!" a familiar voice groaned. Wynne whirled round to see a elderly bearded mage getting to his feet, along with the others, freed of their magical restraints by Uldred's death. "Irving, are you alright?" Wynne asked._

_Irving shook his head groggily to clear it, groaning wearily. "Uh, I've been better, but I am thankful to be alive. I assume that is your doing, Wynne?"_

"_I wasn't alone. I had help..."_

"_Please, help them!" a strident voice called out desperately. Wynne looked round to see Leliana on her knees beside Arthur, who was unconscious, his armour in tatters, barely clinging to his form. Arabella was at her side in a second, casting minor healing spells to try and close his wounds. Wynne raced over to the two women and leapt to work immediately, pouring magical energy to restore and bring health back to the injured Warden, while Irving and the other mages tended to Alistair and the elf. Arthur regained consciousness with a start, rubbing his throbbing head and coughing up a small amount of blood, but more or less in one piece._

"_Well, this is a change..." he joked upon realising his position in Leliana's arms. The soft smile the Orlesian girl directed at him made Wynne frown a little-it was clear the pair had a great degree of affection for each other, something that could have severe repercussions if unaddressed, though that was a matter to be discussed another time. Their other companions were coming to as well; Alistair groggily clutching his head as two mages helped him to his feet, while the elf idly brushed aside offers of assistance from the mages tending to him and began to scoop portions of the puddle of black ichor that had once been Uldred into glass vials, doubtless to refine and distil the demonic essence into a powerful poison. _

"_The Circle owes you both a debt we may never be able to repay. Come, the templars await; we should let them know the tower is secure"._

"_Yes, let us hurry before the Right arrives, or the templars decide they've waited long enough and decide to storm the tower anyway..." Arabella nodded in agreement._

_Irving took the lead out of the Harrowing Chamber, muttering angrily at the top of the stairs "Ah, curse whoever decided the Circle should be housed in a tower"..._

"Incredible, truly incredible" Greagoir muttered as the tale reached its conclusion. "I am amazed that you were able to succeed, Warden, but I thank you nonetheless. You have proven yourself a friend of the templars and the Circle"

"And what of the darkspawn? That was the very reason we came here..." Alistair cut in.

"I promised you aid, but with the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages. They, however, are free to aid you". The words had no sooner left his mouth when Irving interjected "The least we can do is help you against the darkspawn; I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight. You have my word, as First Enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in their fight!"

At this, Wynne interjected "Irving, I have a request; I seek leave to follow the Grey Wardens".

"Wynne, we need you here. The Circle needs you..." Irving began, but Wynne cut him off with a soft smile and a shake of the head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will do fine without me. The Circle has _you_. This man is brave and good, and capable of great things. If he will accept my aid, I will assist him in this endeavour"

"I would be honoured to accept your aid, Wynne"

"You never were one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere" Irving chuckled softly. Wynne merely gave an unconcerned shrug of the shoulders "Why stay, when I can be of service elsewhere?"

"I give you leave to follow the Grey Wardens, but know you always have a place here..."

Suddenly, the sound of running feet could be heard; looking round, they saw it was the young mage Arthur had spared-Arabella Amell- running towards them, wearing a heavy travelling cloak of bear fur and a leather pack on her shoulders, her staff in her hand and a determined look on her face. "First Enchanter Irving, I also beg leave to follow the Wardens in their endeavour against the Blight!"

"Not a chance, girl!" Greagoir snapped. "You're going back into solitary confinement to finish off the six months I assigned you for your part in that Jowan fiasco!"

"Knight-Commander, that woman's a blood mage! I saw her working with Uldred's cronies! She must be punished further!"

"Cullen, don't be a fool! If I was on Uldred's side, why would I be here now?" she snapped, but the templar would not be placated. "Do not think to overwhelm my vigilance with your sorceries, woman!"

"And now we get to the crux of the matter!" Arabella sneered, gesturing at her breasts with one hand and waving the other dismissively "You don't want me punished; you just want to make sure I don't leave the tower so you have something to leer at when you're having a rough day! What, you think I wouldn't notice your eyes on my arse every time I walk past you?" she snapped at the incredulous look of outrage on the templar's face.

"How dare you suggest such a thing! How dare you insinuate that I would be so weak as to put base desires above my duty to the Maker..." Cullen snarled, fingering the hilt of his sword. As the argument between the templar and the mage became more vicious, Leliana sidled up to Arthur and whispered something in his ear. Wynne didn't know what words passed between them, but clearly whatever the girl said had struck a chord with the Warden because he interjected himself between the arguing pair with a determined expression.

"Enough!" Arthur snapped. "I am taking this matter out of your hands. First Enchanter Irving, I am invoking the Right of Conscription on Arabella Amell. The templars will turn her over to the custody of the Grey Wardens!"

It took a moment for the shock of the act to settle in. Cullen looked as though he were about to explode "What? No! Knight-Commander, this cannot be allowed!"

"I'm afraid it can"

"But the Wardens' rights have been rescinded! Teyrn Loghain..."

"Teyrn Loghain is the reason Uldred tried to seize control, not to mention the reason Ferelden is in as dire straits as it is! If the Circle has any sense, it will not heed anything the 'regent' says again!" Wynne angrily snapped.

"Nor shall it" Irving remarked. "I, and I think Greagoir will agree with me, will be reinstating the Circle's position of neutrality; we will no longer answer nor honour any deals between the Circle and the throne. It served us well during the Orlesian occupation; it will serve us again now. The only authority we will aid is the one that saved our lives" he finished with a nod towards Arthur. "In any case, Arabella's talents would be of far better use against the Blight than cooped up here; if the Grey Wardens wish her service, I will not stop them. Now, if there is nothing else, I would take my leave; there is much to do here..."

"I'm afraid there is one more thing..." Arthur replied, and Wynne felt her jaw drop incredulously as Arthur explained the reasons that had brought him and his companions to the Circle; the Arl of Redcliffe's son had begun to manifest magical talent and his lady mother, terrified of losing her precious child to the Circle, had brought in the assistance of an apostate to teach the boy to hide his abilities. If that had not been enough, the apostate had turned out to be an assassin in Loghain's employ who'd poisoned Arl Eamon in a clear effort by the usurper to eliminate anyone of importance who might stand against him, and out of desperation to save his father, the boy had made a deal with a demon and become an abomination that was even now terrorising the arling. Irving took this in with little change in expression, but when Arthur had finished his explanation, his response was curt and to the point.

"I will gather what mages I can and we shall leave promptly tomorrow. I know a life is at stake, but that is the soonest we can manage"

"Then tomorrow it will have to be" Arthur replied. Greagoir stepped forward and said "I doubt in the tower's present state, we have any accommodations fit for use. Take this" the Knight-Commander said, handing over a pouch of coins "it should pay for a few rooms at the Spoiled Princess. Carroll will take you back across the lake and will also come and find you when the mages are ready to depart for Redcliffe tomorrow".

With nothing more to be said, Arthur and his companions, with their newest additions in tow, allowed themselves to be led out of the tower by the templars.

###############

Morning came far more swiftly than Arthur had liked. He had wanted to talk to his companions, to see if they resented him for intruding into the personal recesses of their minds, their hidden dreams and desires. Part of him had felt like a voyeur at the intrusion, but what choice had he had? Would it have been better to let them die, rather than intrude in an effort to save them? He'd also wanted to speak to Leliana in private about several things...that kiss for one. He couldn't deny he hadn't enjoyed it, but had it just been a simple display of gratitude for saving her life again, or was there deeper meaning, because Arthur was strongly beginning to suspect it was the latter; certainly, the bard had him wrapped around her little finger, but did she feel the same of him?. Alas, exhaustion had claimed them the moment they'd set foot on the mainland again, managing to stay awake long enough to pay the innkeeper and had retired to their rooms, hoping to get some sleep and dreams free of demonic temptations.

He woke early the next day; sunrise was an hour away, but Arthur had no wish to try and get some sleep; his dreams had been particularly bad, the memories of his family that the demon had used to taunt him intermingled with the ever-present archdemon looming overhead, uttering its triumphant bellow, the sound mocking, as though the dragon were deriding him again as no threat to it.

Traipsing downstairs to the inn's main room in the shirt and britches he'd slept in, Arthur was quick to notice he wasn't the only early riser; Alistair was set in a corner, idly feeding himself porridge and Zevran and Arabella were sat in a corner, talking. Periodically, Arabella let out a loud gasp and laughed, leaving Arthur in little doubt as to the subject of their conversation. He still had no idea what had inspired him to invoke the Right, but what Leliana had whispered in his ear had been right; Arabella could easily have left them to their fate in the tower, but she'd intervened to save them three times; by saving them from the other blood mages, by offering to help Zevran find them, and then, according to the others, casting the final spell that had finished Uldred. She might have been foolish in her choice to use blood magic, but her remorse seemed to be genuine, and it would be a poor reward to someone who'd saved their lives to leave her to the mercy of the templars who would likely show Arabella none. _'Better to give her the chance to use her talents in a chance to make amends, rather than let them go to waste'_ he thought, remembering the argument that had prompted him to use the Right. He hadn't expected it to work, but it was most gratifying to see not everyone had turned against the Wardens entirely.

As he approached the bar to order some breakfast, the barman spoke before he could, saying "Beg pardon, ser, but there's a gentleman in the corner wishing to speak to you" with a gesture towards a figure hidden behind a hooded cloak sat at a table in a corner of the tavern. Intrigued, Arthur made his way over to the table and lowered himself into a chair; the stranger looked up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a well-fed face framed by dark hair of medium length. Based on his well-fed look and the relatively fine-made clothes he wore, the man was a merchant of some means. The fellow gave Arthur an ingratiating smile as the Warden sat down opposite him.

"You're a hard man to find! I've been trying to get a hold of you since Lothering, and that's not an easy task; these days, showing too much interest in the Wardens is a sure way to get yourself lynched by the regent's dogs!" the man said with a wry smile, before slapping his forehead and extending a hand. "Beg pardon, where are my manners? The name's Levi, Levi Dryden. Did Duncan ever mention me? Levi of the Coins? Levi the trader?" he asked, a look of uncertainty on his face at the blank expression on Arthur's.

The man's first name and his connection to Duncan meant nothing to Arthur, but his surname held far more meaning. The house of Dryden, a noble line feared and reviled in Ferelden because of the actions of its most infamous scion, Sophia Dryden, the leader of the doomed rebellion against King Arland, better known as Arland the Mad. The last Warden-Commander of Ferelden, whose actions had resulted in the deaths of herself and almost all who had followed her, the destruction of the House of Dryden and the disbanding and banishment of the Grey Wardens from Ferelden for over two centuries. Arthur allowed himself a soft smile; Aldous's lessons on history, both that of Ferelden and the House of Cousland and its allies, had stuck well, before confused curiosity replaced the nostalgia as to what this merchant wanted.

"What are you doing here? I was under the impression that any Drydens who survived Arland's purges fled Ferelden to Antiva"

"Aye, that we did; became merchants, as you can see. But as Teyrn Cousland's son, you should know nothing's what it seems. Sorry, this is gonna be a bit of a story; Maker, I'm honoured to be here"

"Take your time" Arthur replied fairly. Levi smiled warmly, particularly when Arthur waved the barman over to bring them some refreshment and then began "Really, this whole story began about twenty five, thirty years ago, shortly after good King Maric freed us from Orlais; the Grey Wardens came to Denerim and begged the king's permission to come into Ferelden on some internal business. Me and a bunch of other Warden supporters spoke up on behalf of the Order; good thing too, Teyrn Loghain was very much against letting Orlesian Wardens into Ferelden!"

"So what's changed?" Arthur muttered darkly. Levi chuckled softly and nodded in agreement. "Aye, not much. Fortunately, Maric was a fair-minded monarch, Andraste bless him, and he allowed it, even went with the Wardens on their business, and when he returned to Denerim, he rescinded King Arland's decree banishing the Grey Wardens from Ferelden"

"I know" Arthur nodded "that happened the day I was born". Levi raised an intrigued eye at this, then continued to speak "That was one of the proudest day of my life. Me and Duncan struck up a friendship there, one that we've had for many years. But enough of such pleasant reminisces. The reason I'm is, well a couple of years back, I found something that would be of use to both me and the Wardens"

"What was it?" Arthur asked.

"The location of Soldier's Peak" and now Arthur felt a great surge of intrigue. Soldier's Peak; the headquarters of the Grey Wardens, overrun by the Mad King's armies during Sophia's rebellion, its inhabitants killed down to the last man and its location lost to the annals of history. Arthur found himself looking at the merchant with new-found respect; he would never have expected this man, who didn't look particularly adventurous or scholarly to have found the location of a place that had eluded some of Ferelden's greatest adventurers and luminaries for decades.

Levi gave a satisfied smile at this and continued conspiratorially "Took me many years, mapping my way through the labyrinth of tunnels around the old fortress, but I finally managed it. So I went to Duncan and said we could both have something from it; I could have any evidence that exonerated Sophia and restored the Dryden's good name, and Duncan could reclaim the old base and any relics stored there. Duncan said he'd think on it, but..."

"But he never got the chance" Arthur finished sadly.

"No. As you know, the darkspawn started rising in the south, and Duncan had his hands full gathering recruits for the Wardens and meeting with good King Cailan. Duncan swore that he'd help me after the Battle of Ostagar...but Loghain put paid to that".

"So why come to me? You must know that I have prior engagements with the Blight..." Arthur replied fairly, but Dryden was persistent.

"I can pick my way through the tunnels at the base of Soldier's Peak, but...I'll need help. No one who's been to Soldier's Peak since Arland's days has ever come back; they say the place is haunted. Look, I know you have so much to do, what with the Blight and Loghain and all, but please, there's much at Soldier's Peak that could aid your quest; weapons and relics of power that would surely help you against the darkspawn. Will you...think about it at least?" he finished with a hopeful look of desperation. Arthur sighed; it would be a delay to go to the long-lost castle, but no more so than it had been to help the Dalish clear out the werewolves or attending to the Circle's need for help, and if what Levi said was true, and Warden relics to assist them could be recovered, their power put to use against the Blight once more, then a side trip to Soldier's Peak could be of great use.

"I can't go with you now" Arthur replied "My companions and I must attend to some pressing business in Redcliffe, but I assure you, once that is done, I will find you and see what we can do".

"Excellent!" Levi replied gleefully. "I'll be waiting at the northern end of Lake Calenhad in a week's time, where the road forks to either Denerim or Orzammar. Once you arrive, we'll make our way to Soldier's Peak and pick our way through the tunnels. Many thanks again, Warden; a thousand blessings upon you! I look forward to our adventures together!" Levi gushed, wringing Arthur's hand excitedly, before collecting his belongings and heading out the tavern's door. Arthur watched him go, wondering just what he had managed to get himself into this time for the sake of the Grey Wardens.

########################

It was less than an hour after they had left the Circle that they ran into trouble again.

The mages accompanying them to Redcliffe, along with their templar minders had met them outside the Spoiled Princess shortly after sunrise. Arthur had been less than thrilled to see the prejudiced templar, Cullen, among them; he'd raised questions about it, but as one of the few surviving knight-lieutenants at the tower, Greagoir had been forced to name Cullen the templar in charge of the excursion to Redcliffe. About eight or nine mages, including First Enchanter Irving stood around a large, horse drawn cart containing all the apparatus they would need for the ritual to save Connor.

Upon seeing the mages assembled, Arthur returned inside and shouted at the others not already awake to get up, gathering up his possessions as he did so. The ironbark armour had been shattered beyond repair by Uldred, though Arthur had found a more than adequate replacement; the Juggernaut plate armour recovered from the Brecilian Forest. Some urge had compelled him to pull the pieces from their safe place in his pack; sliding on one of the gauntlets, he'd felt an immediate sense of rightness to it. '_Maybe it has something to do with that time I spent in the Fade?_' he wondered '_Or just because I'm stronger now than I was?'_

Whatever the reason, Arthur dismissed it as a matter for another time and quickly donned the breastplate, gauntlets, greaves and boots over a protective gambeson and padded trousers. The Green Blade hung from its place at his sword belt, while a heavy wooden shield, acquired from the templar quartermaster, hung from a strap on his back, to replace the one lost to Uldred (the Circle had been unable to provide them much coin to reward them for their service, but had offered some of the enchanted weapons held in their vaults for use against the darkspawn; Leliana and Alistair had taken a dagger and mace of qunari make, forged of red steel and stored by the Circle since the Exalted Marches). He did not don the helm, however, preferring to carry it under one arm; there was no need to wear it until a battle actually occurred.

The companions had quickly assembled outside the tavern, ready to depart. Wynne had been the last to rejoin them, clearly looking as though she would relish another hour in bed. The column quickly got underway, and Arthur was quick to notice the older mage lingered near the back of the group, taking a much slower pace. Arthur found himself falling back to the old woman's side, wondering if it had been such a good idea to agree to her coming. After all, he and the others had the advantage of youth or training on their sides; Wynne's youth was far behind her, and he could not help how she would fare with the hardship of sleeping rough in the woods, clambering up mountains and the rigours of battle.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked as he fell in step beside Wynne.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm fine. As you may have noticed, I'm no spring chicken!" Wynne answered with a soft chuckle.

"No, but I'm sure there's still some life in those old bones" Arthur replied dryly.

"Thank you. It's nice of you to say so" Wynne replied, but Arthur's next words held genuine concern.

"You don't have to come with us, Wynne. The Circle could use your help in rebuilding, and we're going to need them as strong as possible when the time comes to face the Blight."

"And you're afraid I'm going to keel over from exhaustion along the way?" The mage sounded more amused than offended, and Arthur that her eyes had a faint spark in them; long gone unused, but still there. "As Irving said, if the Blight spreads, the tower will be lost; stopping the Blight is more important. And besides" and Arthur noticed a stern note entered Wynne's voice, and a hard look in those normally warm eyes "You Grey Wardens are not the only ones who have a score to settle with Loghain Mac Tir. A great many of my friends, as well as many others I respected, King Cailan not least among them, died both at Ostagar and the tower because of that bastard's machinations, and I intend to see the Hero of River Dane made to answer for his crimes"

"Very well" Arthur nodded; his concern was clearly unneeded, and the older mage's years of experience, not mention her calm and optimistic demeanour would be a welcome change to the usual madness their group had faced, both in their journey and amongst themselves. "But if it gets too much, you will let me know?"

"Oh don't worry, I'll speak up," Wynne assured him. "I'll admit that I have got my pride, but the task you're on is of too great importance to risk for such things".

Arthur made to turn away, but felt a light tap on his plate-armoured shoulder. He turned back to see Wynne looking at him with a rather curious expression. "May I ask you something?" she asked in a neutral voice.

"Of course. What is it?"

"You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry?" Arthur was thrown off guard by the sudden question. "You're talking about...me and Leliana?"

"It's hard not to notice the way she looks at you and vice versa, how she seeks to place herself next to you, the familiarity with which you speak" Wynne said, with a nod towards the front of the group, where Arthur knew Leliana, along with Edward and Zev, was scouting the road ahead; doubtless bandits, bounty hunters and worse were prowling the roads, unchecked and lawless since Loghain preferred to use his troops to terrorise the populace into submission than try to keep order.

He took a second to regain his composure and then simply replied with the truth, "I enjoy Leliana's company."

Wynne gave a soft smile at this. "From what I saw in the tower, I gathered that" But any such levity was gone from her next statement. "I've noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. Leliana is a remarkable girl, sincere and guileless, and she has opened her heart to you. I would hate to see her get hurt."

There was something in her last sentence that did not sit well with Arthur; it felt almost like an accusation."I would never hurt Leliana! How can you suggest I would?"

"Not intentionally, no. It's hard not to notice you genuinely care for each other. But there is a great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. You are a Grey Warden. You are the last Cousland. She is a bard and an Orlesian; something that many arrayed against you still hold deep prejudices against, and will not hesitate to use against you. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires."

Arthur replied, trying to keep his voice level, "I can handle my responsibilities and my desires..." but Wynne wouldn't let it drop.

"Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else." Despite the calmness of Wynne's voice, the words cut colder through Arthur than the early morning air. "A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

"I would do my best to save them both!" Arthur retorted without thinking.. "My family always does its duty first" he replied, remembering some of the last words his father ever spoke. "It's my duty as a noble to serve and protect the people of Ferelden, my duty as a Cousland to restore Highever and exact justice for the murder of my family, and my duty as a Grey Warden to end the Blight." In a voice as firm and hard as iron, Arthur vowed quietly, "I am more than willing to lay down my life for any and all of those causes."

"And thus, you would hurt Leliana by taking the man she loves away from her," Wynne concluded with a sad shake of the head, as though his reply had been what she expected.

"What am I supposed to do, tell Leliana to go away?" Arthur snapped, his tone sharper than the sword at his waist.

"You may have to," replied the mage calmly. "To save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later on. I have given my advice. Do with it what you will" Wynne concluded, before taking her leave, sensing her presence wasn't that welcome. Arthur watched her go, his mind churning.

'_I'm hardly the hero everyone seems to believe I am'_ Arthur thought to himself. In all honesty, he would never have chosen this life; fate had thrust it upon him. At the start, it would have been easy to give the fight up as a lost cause; hunted every step of the way, by either the monsters they were trying to fight or the traitors hell-bent on destroying them, reviled and made a scapegoat by the very people they were trying to save, driven only by a stubborn, hateful desire to chop Loghain and Howe into little pieces for the mabaris to chew on, there had been times at the beginning where he would have happily given up, times when the oblivion of death would have been a welcome relief. But slowly that had begun to change, with the presence of that one woman whose cheerful demeanour, unending faith in the goodness of humanity, willingness to help and defend those in need, was in some ways the embodiment of the very things the Grey Wardens had been founded to defend from the scourge of darkness; humanity's courage, goodness of spirit, the ability to create and keep alive hope and defiance in the darkest of times. Leliana was, in many ways, an inspiration; in spite of all she'd been through, all she'd suffered-the hard life of a bard, the betrayal of her lover, the werewolf curse- she still had her faith and her will to keep going. '_If she can manage to carry on' _Arthur knew _'then so too can I. Let Wynne and all the world disapprove'_ he thought _'I will not give up the connection we share for that'_.

Further discussion was interrupted when Arthur, his attention still focused on Wynne, walked into a templar stood directly in front of them; the column had come to a stop. Arthur and Wynne moved to the front of the group, where Leliana and Zevran were deep in conversation with Cullen, Irving and Alistair.

"I thought I heard something up ahead" the bard was saying to the templar "but I might have imagined it. After all, we're deep in the middle of nowhere; I'm not even sure where we are..."

"We're on Bann Loren's lands; the man's an opportunist and duplicitous to the extreme. Doubtless, if he learns the rogue Grey Wardens are on his land, he'll give his front teeth to apprehend us; bastard would sell his own mother to Tevinter slavers if it gave him another chance to kiss Loghain and Howe's arses, in spite of the fact they're the reason his wife and son are dead..." Arthur had begun to say, when the sound of horses hooves approaching fast was heard.

"Be prepared" Cullen snapped as the approaching figures came into view. Arthur felt a surge of anger as he saw what was happening; half a dozen men on horseback, clad in leather armour marked with the sigil of Bann Loren's house, chasing an exhausted and wounded man on foot. The riders were clearly making sport of the poor fellow; one rider threw a javelin that struck the poor fellow in his left shoulder, sending him sprawling to the floor. The man being chased pulled the weapon out and tried to get back to his feet, but another rider struck the poor fellow across the back of the neck with the blade of their sword, sending him back to the dirt. The riders swiftly dismounted from their horses and set about the stricken man, punching, kicking and striking him with their weapons.

"Scum, little better than Chasind animals" Cullen snarled as he raced over to the fracas. "In the Maker's name, you will desist with such barbaric behaviour! Immediately!" Cullen roared, and found himself facing a thicket of blades.

"This is no affair of yours, templar! Piss off back to hunting mages or whatever it is you do!" the leader of the thugs, a scrawny fellow, his pockmarked face covered with stubble and a simple leather helm, with a drawn sword stained with blood, the one who'd struck the man across the back of the neck, and Arthur noted, stabbed the poor fellow on the ground at least twice.

"What is this man's crime?" another templar demanded. The leader of the thugs scowled, as if he thought the question beneath notice, but then replied brusquely "Not that it's any business o' yours, but he's a traitor from the King's guard. Cut and run from Ostagar, then spent the last few weeks wandering the Bannorn, trying to slander Teyrn Loghain's good name".

Arthur made a disparaging noise of contempt at that remark. The thug looked round at him, glaring angrily, but then the man's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I know you" Bann Loren's man muttered, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. "How do I know you?" he muttered to himself.

"And for this reason, you use unlawful force and violence to apprehend this man?" the templar pressed.

"Bann Loren's orders..." another thug angrily replied, but the conversation was abruptly interrupted as another man clapped his hands together and pointed at Arthur, nodding towards the leader of the thugs.

"Andraste's tits! Jackson, it's him! He's the Grey Warden Teyrn Loghain wants!".The leader of Bann Loren's soldiers, Jackson's eyes went wide at this, and an avaricious smile crossed his lips as he fingered the hilt of his sword, smiling gleefully at his men.

"Well, this changes things, don't it lads? We're all rich!" Turning his full attention to Cullen, Bann Loren's man pointed at Arthur and held out an expectant hand. "You've got a traitor to Ferelden there, templar. Hand him over and we'll let you pass; hell, we might even be good enough to split the bounty with you..."

"The Grey Warden is under the protection of the Circle and the Order" Wynne snapped. "You will not touch him, nor shall your master and his!"

"Oh piss off back to your knitting, old girl!" Jackson sneered "We weren't talking to you" but Cullen shook his head, his newfound prejudice against mages overcome, albeit temporarily no doubt, by his disgust for the men arrayed before him.

"Wynne is correct; the Grey Warden is acting on business as an agent of the Circle and the Chantry. The Chantry's needs supersede the whims of any temporal authority, Teyrn Loghain included, and if the Chantry sees fit to use Grey Wardens for its purposes, they will be endowed with the Chantry's protection. You do know it is an offence against the Maker to impede agents of the Chantry in their business?" Cullen finished

Some of Bann Loren's thugs looked a little disconcerted at that, no doubt imagining a wrathful Maker standing in judgement over them in the near future, but their leader was clearly not going to be cheated out of the wealth he could just imagine possessing for tossing Loghain Arthur's head.

"Come on, you spineless cowards! The regent's offering upwards of twenty thousand sovereigns for this Warden! How many of you have ever seen such wealth? If you're too cowardly to go for it, I'll take it all! 'Sides, how'd you know this lyrium-drinkin' runt's telling the truth? The Chantry's with Loghain, everyone knows that...!"

"I think that might change _very _soon..." Irving muttered under his breath and Jackson stormed over to him, levelling his sword at the First Enchanter's chest.

"Shut your hole, mage! Who the fuck asked for your opinion?" the thug bellowed in Irving's face.

"Enough" Cullen snapped. "We do not have the time to waste bandying words with wretches such as you. You will stand aside and let us pass, or you will face the consequences!"

"And what if I don't feel like getting out the way?" Jackson sneered, his face so close to Cullen's their noses were practically touching. "What if I feel like dealing with the consequences?"

Arthur stormed up to Bann Loren's man and said in a deadly voice "Then whoever dies here today, _you_ will certainly be among them".

The man sneered and spat at Arthur's feet. "Oh please" the man sneered. "Do you even know how to use that thing at your hip? I've heard about you, Warden; you're just a spoiled noble's brat, all airs and graces, no idea of how things work outside your little bubble! Now do us all a favour and come here, Warden!"

"Sorry to disappoint you" Arthur sighed, and without further preamble, drew the Green Blade and slashed out with it, striking Jackson in the neck. The man toppled back, his head, an expression of shock upon its ugly features, all but severed save for a few scraps of muscle and bone, and Arthur spat in his dying eyes. "What do you know? I _do_ know how to use this, fool!" Arthur sneered at the spark of life still lingering in the man's horrified eyes.

Spurred on by the death of their leader, Bann Loren's men hurled themselves to the attack, no doubt hoping to avenge Jackson and claim his share of the bounty for themselves. Perhaps in the last seconds of their lives, the thugs realised that it was the height of stupidity to attack a group who not only outnumbered them, but consisted of nearly a dozen mages. By the time Wynne, Arabella, Irving and the other mages had finished blasting the thugs with torrents of fire, ice and lightning, all that was left were scraps of leather-wrapped meat that barely deserved being called human. Arthur wiped the Green Blade clean of Jackson's blood on his leather breastplate, then sheathed the sword and raced over to the side of their victim.

It was clear the escaped prisoner did not have long to live; the marks of torture and severe imprisonment were obvious under the thin, ragged clothing the man had managed to acquire to cover himself, and Bann Loren's men had inflicted several deep wounds, any one of which would prove to be mortal. Arthur looked to the mages, but they all shook their heads.

"There's not much I can do, save ease his pain..." Wynne replied sadly, before all of them started with shock as the man slowly and uneasily pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Doesn't matter, good mistress. I'll be gone soon, and after all I've been through, I'll be glad of it. Still, I thank you for your aid; I hadn't expected the Bann's men to notice my escape so quickly. I suppose I should have been quieter about it, but I had to find you Wardens. But once they got wind that someone was asking too many questions, they came for me. I tried to hide, to get away, but there wasn't time...and now, I'm a dead man..."

"Wasn't time?" Arthur asked, curious at the man's choice of words.

"You were at Ostagar. For me, it was this, or die in some darkspawn's belly, or be hung as a deserter"

"You deserted?"

"I dare say people think the same of you and me, if not worse!" Alistair remarked dryly.

"My name's Elric. I served with King Cailan; he was my friend, you understand? I fled the battlefield when Loghain betrayed us. I abandoned my men and they died...Maker, all that time in Bann Loren's prison, and all I could think of was what they suffered on that dark night at Ostagar..."

"We don't always get to choose our deaths" Arthur muttered sadly; had not the events at Highever been proof of that?

"No, but they say the Maker has things happen for a purpose. If it's you who sees me to my rest, maybe things do happen for a reason. Listen carefully; the king entrusted me with the key to the chest where he kept his most important possessions, items vital to the morale, stability and security of Ferelden. If anything happened to him, Cailan said it was vital I give the key, the chest and its contents to the Wardens" Elric concluded.

"If he wanted the Grey Wardens to have it, why didn't he simply give the key to Duncan?"

"He never got the chance; Duncan was so busy dealing with you and the other new recruits and keeping Loghain off his back. And considering the tensions regarding Loghain and the Grey Wardens, maybe Cailan felt openly doing so would only create more friction. Still, whatever his reasons, I'm the one Cailan entrusted it to"

"What's so important in this chest?" Arthur asked.

"I know that's where Cailan kept his father's sword; the one he always swore he'd slay the archdemon with" Alistair explained, and Arthur couldn't help but feel intrigued by the possibilities. The sword of Maric; a great heirloom and symbol of the royal house of Ferelden. If they could recover it...the boost to morale to see such a powerful weapon recaptured would bring a powerful boost to morale, as well as deny Loghain such an item.

"The sword was not all; the chest was also where Cailan kept the documents with which he was planning an alliance between Ferelden and Orlais against the Blight" Elric added and Arthur felt a great surge of intrigue. He remembered hearing rumours of the alliance Cailan had been planning at Ostagar, but to know it was confirmed...'_Could that have been the reason for Loghain's treachery_?' he wondered '_Or is there more to this than we know?_'. The urge to learn more suddenly struck him; it felt like a good idea that they learn what was contained within that chest.

"Do you still have this key?" he asked, extending a hand.

At this, Elric gave a wry smile and chuckled softly, which swiftly turned into a choking cough. "The Maker works in mysterious ways, eh? I suppose it's for the best, though; if I had kept it, it'd be in Bann Loren's, or more likely Loghain's hands by now!"

"What?" Wynne barked, affronted. "You said Cailan entrusted it to you! How could you fail your duty?"

"I feared I'd lose it on the battlefield, so I stashed it in a little hiding place of mine in the royal encampment; in the rubble at the base of a statue by the Circle's encampment. It's probably still there"

"You don't think the darkspawn might have found it?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope not!" Elric gasped, a look of horror crossing his features. "Maker's breath, would they even know what to do with it if they had?"

"The darkspawn are far more cunning than we give them credit for, but if Cailan trusted that lock with his secrets, I'd wager the contents of that chest are still intact!" Wynne replied thoughtfully. Elric let out a breath of relief, then winced as a fresh wave of pain shot through his body; anyone could tell he didn't have long left.

"Please Wardens. I know that after what happened there, it is probably the last place you would wish to return to, but please, go back to Ostagar. It is vital that the king's documents do not fall into the wrong hands; the damage a lesser noble could do with them, to say nothing of someone like Loghain, would be unimaginable!". Arthur had to agree; if Cailan's intended alliance with Orlais became common knowledge, it would tear the country apart. Half of Ferelden would view Cailan's intentions as a betrayal of everything his father had fought for, while the others would see Loghain's actions as a deliberate effort to destroy any chance at peaceful reconciliation between the two nations.

"As for Maric's sword, it is too powerful to be left to be pawed over by those monsters; same goes for the king's other arms and his armour. And" at this, Elric's voice became a desperate gasp, as if he knew the end was almost upon him and he had to finish before it claimed him "as my last request, if you happen to find Cailan's body, see it off. No matter what people say of him, he was still our king, and a good man. He does not deserve to be left to rot amidst the darkspawn's filth".

Elric's eyes rolled up in his head shortly after, and his last breath escaped his lips. Arthur reached out gently and closed the poor sod's eyes. "Maker guide you to your rest, Elric" Arthur intoned solemnly. As he pulled back from the body, Arabella snapped her fingers, and fire erupted around the corpse. It wasn't much of a funeral, but considering how pressed they were for time, it was the best that could be done.

"Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, grant this good man a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace he has found in eternity" Cullen intoned solemnly. The others present muttered the traditional prayer response "So let it be" and with nothing more to be done, began their onward march anew. As the group crested the brow of a hill that would block the burning pyre from sight, Arthur looked back at the small, burning shape and vowed silently:

'_I will honour your request, Elric. Not today, but one day'._

##################

"And so, it is over"

Teagan ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath of relief. He chanced a look out of the window; it was early evening, the group having returned to Redcliffe in the late afternoon, thanks to their early morning departure.

"Connor is his old self again. He does not appear to remember anything, which can only be called a blessing. I suppose the family will have to send the lad to the Circle of Magi for training, once the war is over" he finished with a soft smile as Connor warily poked his head around the door, realised the occupants of the room were talking about him and quickly scampered away. The ritual was an hour done, the mages already on their way back to the tower. Morrigan had gone into the Fade (the reaction of Cullen's face at the thought of an apostate being used to perform the ritual had been priceless, but the argument that Morrigan had the advantage of being freshly rested, in comparison to the other mages, had turned the tide). The ritual had taken little more than half an hour, Morrigan stepping through the portal and, what seemed little more than minutes later, re-emerged, dusting herself off and assuring all present that the demon was destroyed, and Connor was safe. Arthur made a mental note to present her with a 'gift from the Circle' by way of thanks later on.

Cullen's prejudices had once again reasserted themselves, as he firstly accused Morrigan of conspiring with the demon, and then tried to arrest Morrigan and Arabella as maleficarum, but the reappearance of Connor from his room, bleary-eyed and completely nonplussed by what was going on, only to be all but bowled over as the boy was enfolded in the embrace of his overjoyed and sobbing mother, and facing a thicket of steel from all corners put paid to any such notion. Cullen was thwarted further when Irving refused to take any part in his schemes, simply commenting that any claim the templars had to the pair of mages had been superseded by that of the Grey Wardens.

"Greagoir will hear of this, old man!" Cullen had roared as their party had departed the castle.

"Oh, he will...from you second! And when I'm done, you won't set foot in the Ferelden Circle ever again! I'll see you shipped to some backwater midden heap like Kirkwall if it's the last thing I do!" Irving retorted as the templars and mages departed.

Once the mages were gone, the Wardens had joined Teagan and Isolde on a brief excursion to the village to assure the people of Redcliffe that any further threat to their lives was ended and the night-time attacks had been ended for good. They'd stayed behind briefly to attend the funeral services Revered Mother Hannah conducted, then returned to the castle to discuss their next course of action, at Teagan's direction.

"It's still so strange to think of the lad as a mage, of all things. Eamon will have much to mourn and rebuild, but at least he can be thankful his wife and son are safe"

"I owe you my deepest thanks" Isolde added, grateful tears brimming in her eyes as she curtsied and kissed Arthur's hand repeatedly. "I...I can scarcely believe Connor is the boy he once was"

"Thank you, Arlessa, but with respect, it is not just me you should be thanking. All of my companions played their part" Arthur replied with a particularly meaningful look at Alistair. Before Isolde could reply to this, Teagan cut in.

"There's still the matter of Jowan. His poisoning Eamon began this whole mess, yet he still lives. I must decide what becomes of him. It is my opinion that we should hold him for Eamon to decide his fate; if Eamon does not recover, Jowan's fate is sealed. What say you?"

"Do as you wish"

"Very well. I will have the mage imprisoned again, for now. But back to the matter at hand" Teagan remarked with a wary glance at the dishevelled figure on the bed behind him. "Whatever the demon did to my brother, it appears to have spared his life, but Eamon remains comatose; we cannot wake him".

"The Urn! The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon!" Isolde blurted out.

"The Urn is a myth, my lady" Arthur replied bluntly. "It may never be found".

'_Nor do we have the time to find it'_ he thought to himself; time was swiftly running out. Word had already come from the south that darkspawn had been sighted moving past Lothering, into the Bannorn, putting to the sword any farmstead, village or hamlet in their path. Loghain still wasn't doing anything about the threat, and there was still the matter of the treaty with Orzammar to be dealt with. But such thoughts were put to one side as Teagan cleared his throat to get their attention.

"That may be true, but there's a reason it's still an option; we're not simply grasping at straws" Teagan replied fairly.

"My husband funded the research of a scholar in Denerim; a Brother Genitivi. He'd been studying the inscriptions on Andraste's Birth Rock. When Eamon fell ill, I sent the knights in search of him, but" and at this, the Arlessa's face fell "they were unable to locate Genetivi. Out of desperation, I sent the knights in search of the brother or any clue as to the Urn's location".

"And you would have me follow in their footsteps?" Arthur asked incredulously. "What about the darkspawn? I still have my duty as a Grey Warden to fulfil..."

"Eamon is well-respected and popular; he can pull Ferelden together. If you wish to fight the darkspawn, you _will_ need him!"

Arthur let out another exasperated sigh; it was happening a lot lately. However much he might not like it, Teagan was right. Eamon would be of great help in dragging Loghain off his perch; admittedly, he was a noble, but he didn't know how many of the Landsmeet would believe whatever accusations of treachery Loghain and Howe had fabricated against the Couslands, and it would be useful to have the support of the head of a noble family as powerful as the Guerrins, one so powerfully and closely linked to the late king. Arthur reluctantly nodded; like it or not, the Grey Wardens needed Eamon.

"Very well, I will see if I can find this relic".

"No one else could; even if I wished to, I cannot leave Redcliffe to its own devices. Go to Denerim; perhaps at the brother's home, you may find some clue as to where he or the Urn might be".

"Very well, we'll set out in the morning" Arthur replied fairly, and Teagan took his leave, heading for the main hall. Isolde followed him shortly after, after wringing the hands of everyone of the group, and even making a small gesture that could be considered an attempt at a respectful curtsey towards Alistair before leaving the room. The companions dispersed; some, like Morrigan and Wynne, to their quarters to rest, or downstairs to the mess hall, to satisfy their hunger; a long march and confrontation. As Arthur and Alistair made to join them, the pair came upon a rather curious sight; Arabella Amell, staring out of a window facing east.

"There's not much to see, you know..." Alistair dryly remarked. "Trust me, I got tired of the view a long time ago...endless hill and water do get boring after a while"

"I'm not looking at the view" she replied. "I was just thinking..."

"About what?"

"Lothering. Oh" Arabella muttered fretfully, staring in the direction of Lothering "I do hope Aunt Leandra and her family made it out of there in time!". At this, she turned her attention to Arthur and Alistair, a hopeful look in her eyes. "You two were at Ostagar, right? Did you, perchance, see my cousins there? They were two lads; the oldest, Samuel, would be about your age" she said, gesturing towards Arthur "short, spiky black hair, a beard of the same, favoured fighting with a blade in each hand. The younger's Carver, about eighteen summers old; he had short, dark hair, but clean shaven and favours fighting with a greatsword. Did you see them there?"

The two Wardens shook their heads and a look of disappointment crossed Arabella's face, before she pressed on with another interrogation. "Then, perhaps did you see my aunt when you passed through Lothering; Leandra would probably be in her early fifties by now, with hair the same style as mine, but I imagine grey, with blue eyes. There might have been a girl with her-that'd be cousin Bethany-about eighteen as well, with long brown hair and dark eyes. Maybe you saw them when you passed through the village..." she asked, desperate hope lingering in her voice, and Arthur felt a great amount of regret that he could not give her better news.

"Arabella, I'm sorry, but we saw none of your relatives" Arthur replied fairly. "Ostagar was really chaotic, and our excursion to Lothering was little more than a flying visit. I'm sorry I can't be the bearer of good news..."

"I had hoped...but thank you anyway" Arabella replied distantly, her head sinking in disappointment. Alistair, clearly looking discomforted at the prospect of comforting a blood mage, uneasily put a hand on Arabella's shoulder.

"I'm sure they got away in time, Arabella. A lot of people did; maybe they managed to get to Gwaren or Denerim. Perhaps they even came here; have you checked in the village? I can help you if you want..."

"I...I think I'd like that. Thank you, Alistair" Arabella replied, a soft smile crossing her lips. Arthur left them to it, but as he passed the great hall, he could hear voices talking rapidly. Curious as to what the noise was about, Arthur saw Ser Perth and a simple-looking man in peasant's clothing who looked as though he had ridden many miles to get there, stood before Bann Teagan, who was listening intently to what was being said.

"Bann Teagan, this man bears words from the south; his village lies in the path of the darkspawn's advance and they require aid to evacuate the last remaining survivors" Ser Perth explained.

"It's true, milord" the peasant added. "A group of hunters came back from the mountains yesterday; they said they saw a good portion of the horde break off from the main force and begin moving our way. They'll be at the village within days; we need help to get as many people out as we can" the villager pleaded, but Teagan shook his head sadly.

"We do not have enough men at present to assist the outlying villages, alas" Teagan replied with a weary sigh. "I am sorry, but I am not sure how we can assist your call for help..."

"We will go; the Grey Wardens will assist in the evacuation of this village" Arthur replied before Teagan could finish. "After what happened to Lothering, I would not wish to leave helpless people in the path of the Blight. Where is this village?"

"It is in the south, about half a day's ride from Redcliffe" the villager replied.

"What is this place called?"

"Honnleath"

#############

The Royal Palace, Denerim, one week later

Loghain Mac Tir sat on the throne rubbing his temples and trying to alleviate the throbbing headache he had been suffering for over an hour. They were quite frequent now; the busy days and sleepless nights beginning to take their toll, leaving him short-tempered and likely to lash out. And the nightmares...they still wouldn't dissipate.

"Sire, I bring word" Rendon Howe simpered. Loghain rolled his eyes; he could tell that the news was not going to be good. Nothing Rendon Howe had told him in the last few weeks had been; first, news from Redcliffe, that the Grey Wardens had not only survived the assassination attempt but had been welcomed into the arling with open arms by Teagan (the only good news from that quarter was that Eamon was still lingering on death's door). Two days after, a young man in the armour of a templar had come to the palace, bearing a missive from the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. Loghain had almost had the messenger struck down on the spot after reading the missive he bore; Greagoir and Irving had brazenly dared to declare that the Circle of Magi would no longer honour any of the regent's requests for magical aid, since they claimed to have proof that the regent had had an hand in some 'insurrection' that had recently occurred at Kinloch Hold. While swearing publicly to the templar that the Chantry and Circle would pay for this outrageous betrayal of their country in its hour of need, privately he cursed that incompetent buffoon Uldred. The egotistical runt had sworn he could easily bring the Circle over to his, and through him, Loghain's cause, but clearly, despite both having one foot in the grave, those old goats Greagoir and Irving still weren't to be underestimated.

'_Always am I surrounded by idiots_!' Loghain cursed to himself, directing a venomous glare at the other prime example of such incompetence wittering obsequiously before the throne.

And worst of all, while he was forced to waste his time in Denerim, trying to coerce or force the squabbling, uncooperative nobility of Ferelden into doing the right thing, his own terynir of Gwaren was under attack. The first he'd learned of it was when he'd tried to move troops from his terynir to reinforce the garrison in Denerim; twice, five thousand men had marched along the road through the Brecilian Forest, only to never be seen again. The third time he'd tried to move troops through the forest, a single survivor had managed to stagger back to Gwaren, exhausted and mortally wounded, telling that as soon as the army had been about to make camp for the evening, they'd been attacked; volleys of arrows cutting the men, caught offguard and out of formation by the attack, down in droves. Any attempt to flee had failed, as the attackers had toppled trees to block the road in both directions, leaving the army to slowly be whittled away to nothing; according to the man, he had only survived by hiding himself under the corpses of his comrades. Once the soldiers had been slaughtered down to the last man, the attackers had revealed themselves: Dalish elves. The elves had simply retrieved their arrows, looted the corpses and departed. The survivor had waited until he felt certain he was not going to be killed on sight, then clambered out from under his hiding place and tried to flee, only to find too late he was being hunted. The Dalish hadn't tried to kill him, just wound him enough so that he would last long enough to get back to Gwaren and spread panic. Sure enough, the poor wretch had died soon after getting back to the town.

Loghain was at a loss to explain why the Dalish would actively attack his land; what would the elves care about the occupation of Ferelden? Unless..._'What if they are with the Orlesians? What could the Orlais have promised the Dalish in exchange to infiltrate and hamper us? The return of the Dales? The location of Arlathan? Maker's breath, how deep does this Orlesian plan go?'_

'_Not everything in this world is connected to Orlesian politics, Maker dammit!'_ Cailan's voice sneered in his ear, and Loghain cursed again. It didn't matter how many times he told himself he was in the right, how much wine and sleeping drugs he consumed to help him sleep, still the nightmares came, and he was still no closer to discerning why.

But before he could muse further, two voices arguing loudly outside the chamber interrupted his thoughts.

"Your Majesty, you can't go in there! I'm sorry, but your father,-I mean the regent, has insisted he is to be disturbed by no one, even you! You cannot enter...!"

"I beg your pardon? You and my father may delude yourselves otherwise, but I am still the Queen of Ferelden! No one may dare to tell me what I may do, where I may go and who I may speak to! I demand to see my father, now get out of my way Cauthrien or I swear on Andraste's pyre, I will have you flogged!"

The door swung open with a loud bang, and his daughter swept in, a beleaguered Cauthrien trailing in her wake in a vain effort to stop the queen from intruding. "Milord, I'm sorry. She refused to..."

"It's alright, Cauthrien. Leave us" Loghain forestalled her excuses, fixing Anora with an angry glare. Once upon a time, that look would have sent his daughter running to hide behind her mother's skirts, but Anora was a little girl no more, and she stared back at her father with a foul look of her own.

"I have just had an audience with Arl Wulff in my study; the man was crying his eyes out! Both his sons, along with hundreds of people across his Bannorn are dead and his provincial capital is under siege! And yet you force him to linger in Denerim when he should be helping to defend his people! West Hills has become the front line against the darkspawn and yet you refuse him aid!"

"He refuses to swear fealty! I cannot overlook this just because his lands are in greater danger than others; if I allow one to choose what oaths he can and can't honour, others will follow! What would you have me do?"

"I would have you tell me what you intend to accomplish, Father! Would it not serve the nation better to fight the darkspawn instead of each other?"

"The nobility shall be brought into line and then we will turn our attention to the darkspawn! This is not a true Blight, Anora! Only Cailan's vanity demanded it be such!"

"Beg pardon, sire" Howe interjected with an obsequious nod towards Anora "but I fear the queen has a point; Blight or not, we may soon not have the manpower to face the darkspawn". Anora did not bother to thank Howe for his support, merely directed a venomous scowl at him for daring to interrupt-Loghain knew that Anora despised the Arl of Denerim as an untrustworthy snake whose underhanded methods-the murder of the Couslands, the recent purge of the Alienage among others- were reflecting badly on the throne. Loghain often thought the same, but while Howe was a snake, he was at least a snake who knew where his loyalties lay-and directed a furious glare at her father.

"Cailan approached the Orlesians for support, did he not?"

"NEVER!" Loghain roared, astonished and outraged that his daughter would dare suggest such a thing; had she, like Cailan, forgotten how her father and his had given the better part of their lives to ensure those who came after them would never know that sort of tyranny, and would now willingly invite their former oppressors back?. "Maric and I drove those bastards out! We will not roll out the welcome for them now!"

'_Of course, you're sparing the people from one tyrant, but forcing them under another, aren't you?'_ Maric sneered in his ear and Loghain cursed under his breath, vowing to have some mage he could trust look into getting rid of those damn nightmares.

"We need help, father!" Anora shouted back angrily. "We cannot deal with this crisis alone!"

"FERELDEN WILL STAND ON ITS OWN!" Loghain bellowed, leaping to his feet from the throne, furious that his own child would have so little faith in him, but the hurt, reproachful look in Anora's eyes made him, for an instant, regret his forcefulness. '_Does she truly believe I enjoy doing this? I am simply doing what is needed, what I know is right for Ferelden!"_

"I will lead our nation through this, Anora" he said in a patient, pleading tone he hadn't used since she was a child and he was asking her not to get into trouble again. "You must have faith in me".

"Did you kill Cailan?" Anora hissed in a soft, but deadly tone of voice.

Loghain's heart stopped for a moment; the thinly veiled accusation had caught him completely offguard. Anora had known her husband was a fool, had spent the better part of five years playing the faithful wife and the diligent monarch, ruling in her husband's stead while Cailan played at hero, yet she had still cared for him, perhaps even loved him, in some odd way. Despite his best efforts to keep the truth of matters from her, it was inevitable she would find out to some degree what had happened at Ostagar, but to so boldly accuse him of it...Howe was looking rather discomforted at this turn of events, but it was too late now; the matter had to be addressed.

"Cailan's death...was his own doing"

Anora stared at her father for a moment, trying to catch him lying, but to no avail. With a noise of disgust, she stormed out of the throne chamber, stopping briefly to look back and snap "I'm washing my hands of this, of _anything_ you do. If you will not see past petty hatreds to save _my_ kingdom, then I shall find another who will!".

With that, Anora Mac Tir stormed out of the throne room, angrily slamming the door behind her. Loghain did not envy the first individual to cross her path; in a mood like that, she was far too much like her mother. Anora's battered pride would have to be dealt with another day; for now, he had bigger problems. Once Ferelden was cleansed of all threats to her, both from the darkspawn and the traitors who'd hand her back to Orlais on a silver platter, Anora would see and understand the sacrifices he had made for her, as he had been doing all his life and hers, and appreciate it.

One day. But not_ today_.

"Now, is there anything else, Rendon? I have other matters to attend to; my scouts inform me that several of those Bannorn idiots are massing their forces at Winter's Breath, in a bid to march on Denerim and remove me from the regency by force. I had hoped to be on the march by now!"

"There is one more matter of business" the Arl of Denerim replied, and the oily, diffident tone in which he spoke left Loghain in little doubt that, like nearly every word that had come out of Howe's mouth since he'd decided to take the Arl of Amaranthine into his confidence, he was not going to like this.

"I have...another guest, who has come a great distance to show you a business proposition that will no doubt go a great deal towards replenishing our dwindling funds in the treasury, as well as removing the more...dissident elements behind the recent troubles in the Alienage; that unfortunate business with Vaughn Kendalls and so forth".

Telling another servant to once more show in his guest, Loghain watched as the servant led in an man who was clearly a mage, wearing ornate scarlet and gold robes, his head devoid of any hair save a straggly black beard, and his small dark eyes looking at the throne and the man sat upon it with a look of disdain. Loghain took an instant dislike to the mage, who seemed to project arrogance and a smug superiority in equal measure. '_Tevinter_' Loghain thought disgustedly. '_That smug and arrogant, has to be'._

"Your Grace, may I present Enchanter Caladrius of the Minrathous Circle" said Howe in his best toadying voice.


	29. Chapter 27: Stone and Bone

_Well, here we are! Sorry to keep you all waiting; life's been taking a real nose dive lately and it doesn't look like thing's are gonna be changing anytime soon, but I shall keep at this whenever I can, do not worry, particularly since we are getting close to some good parts of the story, if it plays out the way I want! I think many of you can probably guess once you've read it who'll be making an appearance soon and what effect that'll have on Arthur and Leliana's relationship._

_Well, here are my take on the forays to Soldier's Peak and Honnleath, as well as a glimpse into the mind of another character in this story. Hopefully it's not a bad take; writer's block is a real bitch these days, as the time between updates is proving! _

_As always, thank you to everyone who reviews, favourites or just reads this; it gives me the impetus and the will to keep going! Special thanks to __**les11280, Ygrain333, spectre4hire, MysticGohan88,**__**ethan 89**__ (the last part of this chapter is written for you, as disgusting a task as it is to delve into the mind of Rendon Howe!) __**cakeisalie, InuManKa**__91 (I know what you mean about Denerim, fortunately Arthur and the others have a relatively cunning plan to try and get about undetected) and to Doctortrainwreck (to know I can inspire such enthusiasm for my work is truly heartening; rest assured, I'm not stopping any time soon!) . Also thanks to AzureRogue, Doctortrainwreck and Fiori75 for adding me to favourites._

_I will be making references to DAII occasionally, mostly from Arabella's point of view (even though it was nowhere near as good as Origins, I still enjoyed parts of it, mostly particular characters and the storyline), and a familiar face should be making an appearance next time (since she looked so much better in DAII than Origins!)_

For those who haven't played them, spoilers for **The Stone Prisoner **and **Warden's Keep **DLCs follow.

'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.

And above all else, enjoy!

#######################

The genlock screeched as the sword's blade stabbed down into its chest. The darkspawn's wail petered out into a weak death rattle as it slumped to the floor, Arthur drawing the Green Blade out with a wet, sucking sound and a spurt of blood droplets. Several more genlocks came running out of the burning village, drawn by the sound, knives and axes in their clawed hands, ready to fight.

It felt strangely good to be fighting darkspawn again. After so long battling for various causes, against abominations and undead, amongst werewolves and elves, templars and mages, for causes that had both benefits and flaws to them, it felt good to be battling an enemy that didn't have any secret agenda or hidden cause; just man against beast, kill or be killed.

It also felt good to be doing something that felt like it was making a difference against the Blight. While Arthur knew full well that the treaties were necessary, that without those, Ferelden's military forces would stand no chance of quelling the darkspawn advance, chasing around after the finer points written on age-old scrolls of parchment did not feel as satisfying as actively trying to put a dent in the horde by actually killing darkspawn. Not that Arthur felt the attaining of two of the three treaties was something to be sniffed at, not when it gained the aid of allies as useful as the Circle and the Dalish, but he couldn't deny that he felt that actually facing the monsters in open battle had been something long put off.

'_I've grown stronger since Ostagar. They won't find me as easy prey as they did atop Ishal'._

A second genlock went down with an arrow in its eye, while a third took a crossbow bolt in the throat, tumbling down the small slope from the burning cottage it and its ilk had been in the process of ransacking, tripping up two more darkspawn behind it. Arthur tossed a grateful nod towards Alistair and Leliana, before turning his attention to the remaining darkspawn. The two remaining genlocks that had tripped over their slain kin were trying to get back to their feet, but Arabella was on them, moving with cat-like speed, the robes of Tevinter make she'd acquired from the tower doing nothing to impede her movement; she kicked one genlock in the face as it tried to rise, and before it could recover, shouted an incantation that smothered the darkspawn in white hot flames, and then, swift as a panther, pinned the second genlock's blade under her foot as the disarmed creature tried to crawl towards it. The genlock shrieked angrily, lifting its head to bare its hooked fangs, and Arabella seized the moment, driving her staff, and the long, sharpened iron spike she had attached to its end, straight through the brute's neck, pulling it free in a spray of dark blood. "Almost too easy" she muttered.

Arthur nodded in thanks to the young woman. He still didn't know what to make of the blood mage; while his earlier distaste for such magic was still present, he couldn't deny that she had proven useful. In many ways, his feelings for her were like those for Zevran; while she showed usefulness, a willingness to help and no evidence to suggest she would betray them the first chance she got, Arabella had nothing to fear from him. '_And besides'_ Arthur thought '_she's a Warden now. I got her into the same mess as me and Alistair when I used the Right. I may not like what she can do, but she's in the same boat, and I'll be damned if I don't do my utmost to keep her alive!'_

The village square was the centre of the carnage; bodies of villagers left where they had been cut down-men, women, even children and animals- hacked to ribbons by darkspawn blades and left as fodder for the horde, and for the flies and crows once the darkspawn were done feeding off the bodies. And yet, there were barely any darkspawn remaining in Honnleath; about half a dozen hurlocks, and nearly double that number of genlocks, fighting amongst themselves over loot or choice pieces of meat from the multitude of corpses lying around. A hurlock Alpha prowled amongst them, periodically helping itself to choice bits of the plunder, often from the claws of its underlings, silencing their protests with a deep growl from within the confines of its horned helm, or a whack with the haft of its battle axe.

'_As I suspected'_ Arthur thought '_Just like Lothering, the horde's already been and gone, taken anything that wasn't nailed down and destroyed whatever was left over. These ones probably lingered behind to see what else they could loot and hunt down any remaining survivors'._

"How many?" Wynne asked. Arthur turned his attention to the older mage, genuine fear for her safety crossing his mind. '_I shouldn't have agreed for her to come with us'_. Arabella was an accomplished enough healer and Wynne...clearly her age was catching up with her, as the incident on the road had proved. Having freshly killed a pack of darkspawn outriders, having no doubt left Honnleath to scout the outlying approaches to Redcliffe and the Bannorn, the group had been completely caught unawares when Wynne had keeled over. Her somewhat banal assurance that she would explain all when they returned to camp did not reassure Arthur in any way, but he couldn't do anything about it for the moment.

"Not as many as the rider said there'd be. It's just like Lothering; the horde's long gone. All we're seeing here are the ones that have stayed behind".

Arabella winced at the mention of Lothering, and Arthur felt a little bad about so bluntly mentioning it. She and Alistair's search among the refugees from the village who were camped in and around Redcliffe had yielded no sign of her relations. All the girl had been able to find out was that her aunt and cousins had fled east, to either Denerim or Gwaren-no one had known for sure- no doubt hoping, along with the thousands of refugees who'd fled to the cities on Ferelden's coast, to barter passage on a ship to Orlais or the Free Marches. Arthur wished this Hawke family good fortune on their journey; he did not begrudge anyone wishing to get themselves as far away from the Blight as possible.

"Even so, they outnumber us. Pity that thing's not working; if it were, we'd have a chance. It could pulverise them before they knew what was on 'em, all we'd have to do would be mop up the rest" Alistair said with a nod towards the only other thing of interest in the village square, and the second reason they'd come to Honnleath.

Stood in the centre of the village square was a seven foot tall statue, roughly hewn from granite or some other hard stone into the shape of a humanoid figure, the stonemason who'd carved the thing making out rudimentary impression of musculature. Its wide shoulders, broad torso and back were studded with irregular blue crystals and its immense arms tapered to boulder-like fists, its small, geometric head carved into an expression that might suggest the statue were shouting a battle cry or taunt. The darkspawn paid it as much attention as they did the corpses littered about the place, but the Wardens and their companions knew better. The chance encounter with that merchant from Jader in Redcliffe had told them something of great interest about Honnleath; the statue was a golem, crafted by the dwarves in ages past. The merchant had happily passed over the control rod needed to reawaken the thing, along with the command phrase, eager to be rid of an object he was unlikely to sell, and thus adding another reason to head south. However, not all his companions had agreed with such logic.

"You waste time saving peasants and chasing down the remains of dead women while the Blight only waxes stronger and this dathrasi Loghain tightens his stranglehold on this nation" Sten had protested when he heard of Arthur's intention to head south to assist in Honnleath's evacuation.

"Do you know what a golem is, Sten?" Arthur questioned.

"No, I cannot say I do. The Tamassrans must lack the knowledge of such things; I will make sure to remedy that when I return to Par Vollen"

"Let me enlighten you then. A golem is a weapon of incredible power and force, created by the dwarves for one purpose; to destroy darkspawn. It is said that a single golem was worth an entire company of soldiers in battle, and was easily capable of slaughtering its way through countless packs of darkspawn. Now, seeing as you are now aware of what such a thing can do, do you not agree that it would be useful to acquire such a weapon and put it to use before our enemies do?"

Sten hadn't replied, but the reluctant nod the qunari had given told Arthur that his argument had begrudgingly won Sten around. In any case, Arthur was glad that he hadn't brought the qunari; Sten, Zevran and Morrigan had been left behind at Redcliffe to help Teagan protect Eamon. It was all too real a possibility that Loghain might send another assassin to finish the job once he learned his first attempt had been thwarted, but that could be dealt with later.

Quickly, Arthur sketched out a plan of battle. "I'll deal with the Alpha; you take out the hurlocks. There's a good chance the genlocks will spook and run if we kill their larger ilk" he explained before anyone else could ask. Raising his longbow, Arthur took aim, waiting until the Alpha had turned so that he could see its face, and then loosed the bowstring. The arrow flew through the air and slammed into the alpha's left eye, sending the creature pitching to the floor. A second arrow, accompanied by one from Leliana and a crossbow bolt dropped three of the hurlocks. By then, the darkspawn were charging straight for them, the Alpha getting back to its feet despite having an arrow protruding from its eye, hefting its axe and roaring angrily, swinging out. Alistair slammed his shield into the chest of a charging hurlock, knocking it off balance and sending it sprawling, then smashed its skull with his mace as it tried to rise. Arthur dodged aside from a downward stroke of the alpha's axe, leaping to its left and taking advantage of the blind spot, driving his blade into the side of the darkspawn's chest and then slamming the base of his shield into the side of its throat; there was a satisfying crunch as the beast's neck snapped from the force of the blow. Leliana sliced open the throat of another hurlock with her daggers, then spun and hurled the blades, the thrown daggers slamming into the chests of two genlocks. The remaining darkspawn panicked; with so many of their number slain, they broke and run, the genlocks scattering like crows in all directions, looking for a way out of the village, the hurlocks retreating through an open door set at the base of a structure that might once have been a tower, fleeing down a staircase that disappeared into darkness.

With the darkspawn threat gone, Arthur turned his full attention to the inert golem. Feeling a great sense of satisfaction at acquiring such a valuable prize, the Warden raised the control rod and intoned "Dulef gar"

Nothing happened. Arthur tried the command phrase again. Still nothing happened. "So that merchant fobbed us off with a worthless stick" he muttered angrily, toying with the notion to throw it aside, but Leliana gestured to the ruins of the tower, the open door through which the remaining hurlocks had fled down.

"There may be more darkspawn down there, and if so, there may be survivors or prisoners who might know more about this golem"

"Then let's find out" Arthur replied, the taint in his veins guiding the way down the stairs.

########################

The darkness of the tunnels was not more reassuring; the only light conjured from the tips of Wynne and Arabella's staffs, and the only thing guiding them the burning, itching sensation coursing through Arthur's veins, growing stronger as they neared their objective. The steps down hadn't led them into the Deep Roads, as Arthur feared they would, but into some amalgamation of a laboratory and a brewery. The smell of ale and magical potions hung heavily in the air, making Arthur wonder just who had lived here. '_Was this place's owner a mage? An apostate? Did the villagers know? Did they stay silent to protect him from the Circle?'_

A feral screech in the distance snapped Arthur out of his musings. There'd be plenty of time to wonder on the identity of the tower's owner _after_ the darkspawn infesting it were dead.

Soon enough, the meandering tunnels had converged on a single chamber, a large open room where a pack of darkspawn were trying vainly to smash their way through some sort of transparent wall, formed of violet energy. Behind the wall, a number of men and women cowered and prayed for deliverance; the wall was holding, but it wouldn't last forever, not with five hurlocks trying to hack their way through, or the emissary alternately blasting the barrier with fire and lightning. They had attacked without thinking, Arthur swinging his sword into the back of a hurlock's skill, splitting it before the creature knew it was threatened. The emissary whirled round, spitting angrily and blasted a lightning bolt at Arthur, but the magic did no damage, Arthur silently thanking the mage who'd crafted the enchantments on the Juggernaut plate. The emissary snarled in anger and tried to attempt another spell, fire flickering in its clawed hands...and then guttering out as Alistair's templar skills silenced its spell casting. The emissary stared in dumb shock at its empty hands, and fell with a screech as two arrows from Leliana took it in the throat.

The quartet of remaining hurlocks broke into a charge, but Arabella and Wynne hit them first, simultaneously blasting the darkspawn with their magic; a jet of ice from Wynne froze the hurlocks, before a stream of flame from the Amell girl melted it, leaving the hurlocks standing in a pool of ankle-deep water, their armour drenched. Before the creatures could recover, Arthur pulled the glass bottle he'd purchased from the merchant and hurled it at their feet; the shock bomb shattered, the magical electricity escaping and frying the hurlocks within their own armour. Fatally electrocuted, the hurlocks toppled to the ground like rag dolls, dead and charred like sides of beef. The watching people of Honnleath cheered jubilantly as they saw the threat was over.

"By the Maker, we're saved!" a woman cried out joyfully from behind the barrier.

"You weren't sent by the Bann, were you?" Another man asked. "To save us?"

"I'm a Grey Warden, sent from Redcliffe" Arthur replied. "Your message got through"

"A Grey Warden? Here? Well, thank the Maker for our luck!" the man laughed. "Teyrn Loghain can say what he likes about you; actions speak louder than words as far as we're concerned now. Thank you again. If there's anything we could do for you by way of thanks..."

"There is one thing; you can tell me why this doesn't work..." Arthur asked, holding up the control rod. The man's face darkened into an annoyed scowl at the sight of the artefact. He quickly made some gesture with his hand and the barrier fell away, allowing his fellow villagers to depart, but the man gestured for the Wardens to come closer.

"That damnable golem brought us nothing but trouble! My mother sold the rod years ago after it killed my father and good riddance!"

"Oh wonderful! It's defective?" Alistair groaned.

"Must be; my father was its master and it still killed him! Doesn't seem like normal behaviour to you, does it? My name is Matthias; my father's name was Wilhelm, mage to the arls of Redcliffe and a hero in the war against Orlais! And what did he get for it? One day my mother found my father outside his tower, with so many broken bones she couldn't recognise him, and that wretched thing standing over him as it is now! My father deserved better, but if you want to wake that cursed thing up, it's yours now!"

"Except the command phrase I was told doesn't work" Arthur replied. Matthias rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, my mother might have passed the wrong command phrase along with the rod when she sold it; she said she never wanted to see that golem activated again. Look, I'll tell you the command phrase, but I'll need your help first! I know you saved my life and I'm grateful, but my daughter...Amalia, she was afraid and ran into my father's laboratory before anyone could stop her. One of the men tried to go after her, but something in there killed him; defences my father built to keep intruders out. I knew about the barrier, I had the key for that, but I don't know about anything else; my mother and I never came down here!"

"How do you know something hasn't happened to her? A single child, in the sanctum of a powerful mage..."

"I don't, it's true! I'm terrified something's happened and she's lying in there, injured. I can't leave until I know for certain; surely you can understand that!"

"Alright, I'll try to find her if I can"

"Thank the Maker, bless you ser! My father's laboratory is at the end of the passage; she has to be there!"

#####################

The tunnels leading down to the mage Wilhelm's lab were just as wending as those taken to get down from the surface, though mercifully devoid of bloodthirsty darkspawn. The tunnel finally came to a large open chamber at the foot of a wooden staircase, unnoticeable save for a large wooden platform at the room's centre, etched with all manner of strange runes. At the foot of the stairs was crouched a girl of about nine or ten, idly humming and talking to something out of sight. Arthur descended down the wooden stairs into the chamber and the girl looked up at the intrusion.

"Oh look, someone's come to play. You _have_ come to play, haven't you?"

"Ah, you're safe. Your father was worried" Leliana smiled, extending a hand for the girl to come closer, but Amalia didn't move.

"Father?" the girl asked blankly. "Oh, you can tell him I'm fine. Maybe he'll come and stay with us" she replied with a smile, before turning away. "Anyway, you should go if you're not going to play. Kitty finds you distracting".

"Kitty?" Arthur questioned. At this, a small, white-furred kitten emerged from hiding behind the girl's legs, arching its back and rubbing itself against Amalia's ankles, idly pawing at loose threads of wool at the hem of the girl's dress.

"Come on, Amalia, we have to leave before the darkspawn return. You can bring the cat" Arthur replied, trying to get the girl to move, but Amalia wouldn't budge.

"I can't go! Kitty says she can't leave and I'm not going without her! She'd be lonely otherwise"

At the sight of the cat, Edward let out a low, angry growl, fangs bared, hackles raised, and fur standing on end. Arthur rolled his eyes; what a time for the mabari to do what dogs do best, when they needed to convince the girl to leave with or without her new pet.

"Hmph" a haughty female voice sneered from out of nowhere. "I would not suggest leaving in such hostile company anyway, Amalia. Look how vicious they are". The group whirled round, utterly astonished, trying to find the speaker, seeing nothing...except for the cat, its small eyes glowing with an unnatural red light.

"Child, come away from that creature, _now!_" Wynne insisted, trying to reach out to pull the girl close, but Amalia merely shied away, scooping up the kitten and clutching it close to her chest.

"Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you. She loves only me now. I am her friend, whilst you are just a stranger" the cat, or whatever was posing as a cat, replied, an air of triumphant smugness in its voice. "She loves only me now. I am her friend, whereas you are just a stranger"

"A stranger who finds you very interesting, creature" Arabella replied coldly. The cat's eyes glowed again as that voice spoke with smug satisfaction "You hear that, Amalia? I have another admirer"

"That's because you're wonderful, Kitty!" Amalia beamed, hugging the creature to her chest. Arthur winced; the girl was about as safe holding that thing as she would be cuddling a cobra. He remembered the tattered journal they'd found outside the chamber; Wilhelm had been up to something in his lab, meddling and experimenting on an imprisoned demon, trying to experiment on the creature. Clearly, with his death, the demon had been forgotten about and lingered on, looking for any way out of its imprisonment. At that point, the creature in the girl's arms turned its attention to Arthur, its eyes glowing evilly as it spoke again.

"Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. Let us return to her father and leave this place"

"Have the girl?" Arabella spat, disgusted. "As in 'possession'?"

"That's such a crude way of putting it" the demon retorted petulantly. "I do not wish to harm Amalia; I simply wish to see your world through her eyes. Is that so wrong?"

Arthur didn't have to be a mage to know the demon was lying through its teeth; it could dress up the situation any way it liked, but there was no way he was going to let the girl become an abomination. Still, refusing the demon outright might make the situation worse; it could simply force itself on the girl or kill her to keep them from stopping it_. 'Better to let the creature think we're on its side, get it away from the girl and get her to safety, then destroy it'_ he thought.

"Alright" Arthur replied "I'll free you". Arabella and Wynne looked like they might argue, but Leliana silenced them; she'd realised what Arthur was up to. Fortunately, the demon didn't notice this.

"Thank you, you are most gracious" the creature replied. "There is a way around the wards, but the girl has not managed to find it. Perhaps you can succeed where she could not". Turning his attention to the ornate, chessboard-like flooring laid out before him, and trusting that the others would keep watch on the demon, Arthur swiftly moved the pieces that allowed a line of fire to pass from one end of the floor to the other. It took a few moments, and Arthur kept flicking wary glances over his shoulder at Amalia, the demon in her arms glowering at him, its cat's tail flicking impatiently from side to side. But finally, the stone pieces were properly aligned, and there was an audible hum of power dying down.

"Ah, I can feel the magic fading!" the demon cried jubilantly, leaping out of Amalia's arms and moving towards the foot of the wooden staircase. "Oh, I'd forgotten what it was like not to be caged!"

"Kitty? What's happening?" Amalia asked, confused. The cat-demon turned back to face the girl, but before she could get any closer, Arthur put himself between them.

"I said I'd free you; I _didn't_ say I'd let you live" Arthur replied dryly, before the levity evaporated, and his sword was drawn, a glare as cold as the blade in his eyes. "Get away from the girl, demon!"

The cat's eyes glowed brightly and it hissed, baring its fangs and arching its back as that cold, sneering voice snarled angrily "Betrayal! You will not take the girl, she is mine!". The cat turned its attention to Amalia and spoke, in a soft, plaintive voice "Come here, Amalia! Give yourself to me, let me into you..." but the girl wasn't stupid; she couldn't have failed to notice something was wrong from the exchange that had just passed.

"Kitty, you're scaring me! I won't let you inside me, I won't!"

"Then I'll take what I want anyway, you stupid little bitch!" the demon roared, tensing to spring, but before it could strike, a single movement of his hand set Edward to the attack; with a keening howl, the mabari hit the cat like a thunderbolt, seized the demon in his jaws and angrily shook it from side to side before tossing it across the room; the cat flew across the chamber and slammed heavily into the wall, sliding to the floor. The creature gave an angry hiss and in a flash of light, it was gone, the voluptuous, seductive yet horrific form of a desire demon in its place.

"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Arthur roared; Leliana seized Amalia by the hand and led the girl out of the chamber at a run. The desire demon screeched angrily at being denied its prey and tried to stagger after the fleeing girl, but Arthur put himself between the creature and the way out. The desire demon's sneer only widened as it stared at the man who'd denied it its prize with undiluted hate.

"Fool!" the demon roared. "With my power, Amalia would have seen so much, done so much; that girl could have changed the world!"

"Only as your slave!" Arthur spat in reply. The demon screamed a hateful battle cry, its claws outstretched, but Arthur raised his shield, the claws scrabbling across the wood harmlessly. Then the shield was slammed with great force into the demon's face, sending it staggering back.

"Arthur, down!" Wynne shouted as the demon crouched, cat-like to pounce and sprung at Arthur; he ducked as Wynne lowered her staff and a jet of ice engulfed the lunging desire demon, turning it into a statue of ice. As the thing fell, Arthur put all his strength into a blow that connected with the demon around the level of its waist...and the desire demon shattered like glass into icy pieces that quickly melted away to nothing.

They quickly raced back to the surface, to find Matthias and his fellow villagers outside, the man joyfully enfolding his daughter in his arms. "You saved her, I can't believe it!". After reassuring his daughter that he was in no way angry at her for running off, just relieved to see her safe and sound, Matthias handed over a piece of parchment on which was scrawled a pair of words in an unknown language to Arthur.

"That should work to activate that golem, if you still want that bloody thing. I wouldn't if I were you, but we should go. Thank you again...for everything. We should be able to make it to Redcliffe. Thank you again, Grey Warden, and good luck".

########################

"Urgh, I knew the day would come when _someone_ would find that control rod! Huh, and not even a mage this time! Probably stumbled upon the rod by accident...typical!"

The cynical, blunt voice that emanated from the orifice carved in the golem's face that served as a mouth was nothing like Arthur had expected. "Er, hello to you too" was all he could think of to say in reply. The command phrase of "Dulen harn" had worked to awaken the stone creature, but the grouchy, irked tone was not what had been anticipated of a warrior carved from living stone.

"I stood here and watched those pathetic villagers scurry about for over thirty years" the golem groused.

"How terrible. That must have been really, _really _boring" Leliana empathised, but the golem clearly wasn't done using the first opportunity it had had in decades to complain.

"And then there was the darkspawn attack. I never thought I'd see anything more boring than the villagers, but there it was"

"You watched the attack?" Alistair asked, incredulous and not a little unconcerned.

"Not as much as one might think; there was shouting and screaming and running about, and then days and days of watching the darkspawn prowl about. Are the villagers all dead?"

"Not all" Wynne replied. The golem idly shrugged its shoulders and replied "So some got away? How unfortunate"

"You didn't care for them, I take it?"

"I'd have happily torn down their houses and stomped them all to paste. After thirty years of standing about in this village, I'd have done it twice. What I didn't like was being ordered to do it. 'Golem, bring that chair over here'. 'Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit' and let's not forget 'Golem, pick me up. I tire of walking!'. Bah!" the golem cursed, then cocked its head to one side, staring at the artefact in Arthur's hand.

"It does have the control rod, doesn't it?. I am awake, so it must have, but..."

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Arthur questioned.

"Go on. What is its command?" the golem snapped. Caught a little offguard, Arthur pointed to a point to the left of the village square and replied "Alright, walk over there"

"And...nothing. I feel nothing, no compulsion to obey. I suppose that means...I have free will?" the golem mused to itself.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I suppose, it is simply...what should I do? I have no memories, no idea of where to go. What about it?" the golem turned its attention to Arthur fully. "What about it? It must have had some purpose in mind when it woke me?"

"I can think of many uses for a personal golem"

"May I ask what it gets up to which I might be of use for?"

"I am a Grey Warden, in need of aid against the Blight" Arthur replied. The golem rubbed its rough-hewn chin thoughtfully as it considered this.

"It refers to the darkspawn, the very creatures that destroyed this village. The darkspawn are an evil that must be destroyed, it's true, though not as evil as the birds...damnable feathered fiends!" the golem bellowed. "Very well, I will follow it...for now. I am called Shale, by the way" the golem added as an afterthought.

"Is that your name, or...what you're made of?" Alistair quipped.

"It would prefer I was called Flint? Pebbles? How about Rubble?" Shale chortled. With nothing more to be said, the group made to depart from Honnleath before more darkspawn arrived, with their newest addition, a sarcastic golem with a dry wit and a burning hatred for any birds, as illustrated by Shale stomping a chicken into paste, along with a flock of pigeons who didn't realise until it was too late that their favourite perch and feeding spot was mobile and eager to crush them.

'_So now I have an ornithophobic walking pile of rocks who killed the last person to own it to add to this collection of misfits I have at my side to defeat the Blight? Loghain and the archdemon must be quaking in their boots!'_

##############

The snow swirled around them as the group emerged from the tunnels; Arthur and Alistair at the front, with Levi Dryden behind them and Morrigan and Leliana bringing up the rear. Looming high above them were the crenulated battlements and towers of a castle that had once been an impressive sight, though time had done its best to wear away its glory. Only the four companions had come with the merchant to the abandoned Grey Warden fortress; the others had, along with the new addition of Shale, parted company when they'd met Levi at the crossroads at the northern shore of Lake Calenhad, heading to Denerim to ascertain what was going on in the city and how easy it would be for them to locate Brother Genetivi without being discovered by Loghain.

"Soldier's Peak. Looks like it's seen better days. Better centuries, more like" Alistair remarked.

"Once the Wardens flourished, their ranks full, their calibre certain. Now they accept people like _you_, Alistair" Morrigan sniped, a wicked grin on her lips.

"Andraste's Blood, how'd you find this place all by yourself?" Arthur asked of Levi. The merchant shrugged his shoulders and replied "You wouldn't believe me if I told you"

"Try me"

"It came to me in my dreams..." was the reply. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you say this?"

"I didn't want you to think I was some moon-addled simpleton" Levi replied fairly; Arthur had to admit, he couldn't fault the man's reasoning. _'After all, we all thought Leliana was crazy when she came out of nowhere' _he mused. But his thoughts were interrupted by Levi's uneasy voice.

"This place has the stench of death. I'll follow you from a distance"

The portcullis leading into the courtyard had collapsed and rusted away, and even from a distance, he could see the bodies of long dead soldiers, picked clean by the crows and the elements. The interior of the castle looked as though it had seen much battle, the stone pitted and cracked, pock-marked by arrows, burnt by fire or simply collapsed under the fury of the elements. Some of the damage could only have been done by something as powerful as siege engines, perhaps ballistae or trebuchets. '_Was it the darkspawn that did this'_ Arthur wondered '_or Arland's thugs wanting to silence anyone who dared speak out against their master?'_

But as they crossed the threshold into the courtyard, something incredibly strange happened; a thick blue mist descended upon them, enveloping them, clouding their vision...Arthur moved his hands in front of him to try and clear his sight, and the mist parted slightly...to reveal a strange scene.

The courtyard of Soldier's Peak lay before him, but now it was in better condition, the stone less damaged than in its present state, though the portcullis had clearly been battered down, and there were men, specifically soldiers, everywhere, clearly men in service to the House of Theirin, if the insignia on their shields and armour was anything to go on. Arthur tried to grab one by the shoulder to stop the man, ask what was going on, but his hand passed through the soldier as if there was nothing there.

'Are these...ghosts?' Arthur wondered. 'Memories of events long past? How is such a thing possible?' the Warden mused, vowing to have one of the mages explain more as soon as the opportunity presented it. But a sudden commotion caught Arthur's attention; at the top of a great staircase leading to the castle's main gate, a great number of soldiers were fleeing back into the courtyard. A battering ram lay discarded upon the steps, and from the windows and battlements, unseen figures rained down arrows, spears and stones on the fleeing soldiers.

"Fall back! Fall back already!" an older man in plate armour marked with the Theirin emblem, possibly one of Arland's generals, shouted at his underlings fleeing from the castle. One of his underlings yelped in a quavering voice "Taking the Peak will not be easy, milord!"

Arland's general scowled, looking up at the battlements, where the unseen archers were cheering at their minor victory. "I gave the Wardens one chance to die with honour. Instead they hole up like cowards. We follow the King's advice. Starve them out!"

"But the Peak has months of supplies..." the lieutenant protested.

"Then we wait" the general retorted. "When they are too weak to lift their weapons, we will send them to their final judgement!"

The mist lifted, leaving all present feeling a little light-headed and nauseous. An acrid taste lingered at the back of Arthur's throat that spoke clearly of sorcery; he remembered a similar sensation back at Kinloch Hold. Looking round at the others, he could see they all looked a bit shaken by what they'd seen, blinking in confusion and looking a little nauseous in some cases. Levi was looking like a fish out of water, his mouth wide open

"Did... did you see that? "I'm not imagining it, you saw it too?"

"I've heard of an Orlesian ballad like this; a beauty trapped within a dream" Leliana added thoughtfully. "In the song, Belisa never wakes up"

"Your pretty friend's making me nervous" Levi shivered, and clearly not from the cold. Morrigan stepped forward, her hands raised, flickers of electricity criss-crossing her palms. Arthur watched her go about her work, wondering what her spell was meant to accomplish, while Levi wittered on, the fear in his voice plain to hear.

"How is that possible? This place must truly be haunted...!"

"The Veil is _extremely _weak here" Morrigan interjected. "Something, if not several things may have already come through; we should be wary"

"The Veil?" Levi asked blankly. "What's the Veil? And what does your friend mean when she says 'something may have come through?'"

"The Veil is the barrier that separates this world from the Fade" Arthur explained quickly. "And when Morrigan talks about something coming through, she's talking about demons"

"Demons?" Levi yelped. "Thank Andraste you came, Warden!"

"Looks like something's already here!" Alistair yelled as another example of the rampant magic loose in Soldier's Peak manifested itself; all about the courtyard, the bodies of the dead, attacker and defender alike, were getting back to their feet, weapons raised and eldritch green fire burning in empty eye sockets.

The group sprung into action; Arthur parried the blow of a skeleton clad in heavily rusted chainmail bearing the griffon emblem and beheaded it. Leliana shot an arrow through the neck of another, all but shattering the vertebrae; the skeleton staggered forward a few more steps before the motion completed the damage, and the skeleton's skull snapped free of its neck. Alistair's mace smashed in the rib cage of a third skeleton in Arland's colours, before splitting the skull of another sneaking up behind him. Morrigan blasted another into smithereens. Though numerous, the skeletons were in poor condition, their decaying bodies falling apart and their weapons barely adequate; heavily rusted iron longswords shattered and snapped against silverite breastplate and steel shield. A blade that had been cleaving towards Leliana's head shattered into pieces against the grey iron helm she'd acquired in Honnleath, the broken shards of the sword falling away like glass. The fight was over in a matter of moments, the skeletons were lying in pieces on the snow-covered ground around them; Arthur, Leliana and Alistair made a point of decapitating the lifeless corpses and smashing the bones to dust under their boots to ensure the creatures wouldn't rise again at a later moment.

"These were just the first. The magic let loose here tells me they won't be the last" Morrigan remarked as they headed up the stairs leading to the castle itself. "We should be cautious"

####################

Inside, more ghosts awaited them.

"The men's morale is low, Commander" the translucent form of a man of middle years, clad in fine robes of navy-blue cloth that marked him as a mage, spoke to an unseen figure, gesturing to a crowd of figures gathered before him. Arthur could see several mages of the Circle, human and elf alike, a small, squat warrior who could only be a dwarf, a good number of soldiers and knights, bearing the insignias of numerous Fereldan arlings and bannorns on their armour and even a young woman bearing a longbow and clad in armour that suggested her to be one of the Dalish.

"There is more to leading men than sorcery, Avernus" a rich female voice replied to the mage as a most impressive spectre strode onto the scene. The woman was clearly a warrior, clad from head to foot in glittering silverite plate armour, a variation of the Wardens' griffon emblem engraved onto the breastplate, a fine sword of the same metal sheathed at her hip. The woman might have been a great beauty once, with that long, braided ebony hair and those piercing dark brown eyes, but years of political wrangling and battling against enemies, both darkspawn and human, had made her face hard and grim. Even so, she was still an impressive sight, and scrutinising her closely and looking behind him, Arthur could see the woman and Levi shared the same long nose and wide brow, and their eyes were both the same, deep shade of brown.

'_Well, well. Hello, Sophia Dryden' _

"I will remind them they are Wardens" she said to the mage, before turning her full attention to the men and women before her.

"Men, I won't lie to you. The situation is grim. Our forces outnumbered, our bellies empty, and our hearts sagging. But we are Wardens! Darkspawn flee when they hear our horns. Archdemons die when they taste our blades! So are we to bend knee to a mere _human_ despot? NO! I, for one, will never give up! I will never surrender just to dance on Arland's gallows! So I propose here and now, in these hallowed halls where generations of our brethren stood vigil against darkspawn and evil, that we send a message to that fat bastard! In this sacred place, proud men, strong men, stood defiant, and would rather die than submit to tyranny!"

A rousing cheer went up from the assembled Wardens as they shouted their battle cries and oaths of defiance against the tyrant who meant to destroy them all. The ghosts eventually faded away to nothing, leaving the companions awestruck at what they had seen.

"So brave, even when starving" Levi murmured, awed by the sight. "And my great-great- grandmother stood with them"

"I cannot believe King Arland attacked the Grey Wardens" Arthur remarked. Levi's expression grew sour. "Everyone knew they'd been banished, but to murder them like that...King Arland must have been a right monster!" the merchant finished, spitting angrily at the mention of the long-dead tyrant.

Alistair was scrutinising a poster nailed to a wall by the entrance. . "On these grounds, virtuous men stood against a tyrant. They stood defiant and they stood for freedom. And they died.", before reading off a long list of names, those of the Wardens who'd fought and died at Soldier's Peak. Arthur took note of the names and muttered "We'll make sure these brave souls are honoured when we can, but not now. We've got work to do" Arthur finished, gesturing at the closed door ahead of them.

Their journey through the Keep was an intense struggle, corpses and skeletons of those who'd died either fighting to defend or conquer Soldier's Peak rising from where they'd fallen, awoken by the presence of the living and desperate to feed on their life force. Demons also seemed present in great abundance, primarily the fiery rage demons, that attacked in great numbers, slithering across the floor like serpents, clawed arms outstretched as they reacted angrily to the intruder in their midst. The group worked in tandem, swiftly finding an effective way to combat the attackers; Morrigan would go first, unleashing a torrent of ice to paralyse them, after which Arthur and Alistair would slam their shields or Leliana would smash her foot into the frozen opponent, more often than not shattering them into pieces, or at the least debilitating them long enough for the others

The group did their best also to make sure Levi was out of the way when battle began, keeping the merchant either a short distance away from the fighting or in the middle of them when foes came from all directions. The merchant was clearly shocked by what he'd witnessed, but he had steel in him enough to keep him from leaving them to it. _'Discovering his past, the possibility of restoring what was lost must mean everything to him. In that, he and are_ alike' Arthur thought to himself, remembering his own feelings about Highever. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

All the while, the group found things that suggested something very strange had been going on in the fortress. Desperate missives pleading for help against Arland's tyranny from Sophia written by numerous banns and arls, and the strange encounter in the library, a glimpse of another part of the final battle that had unfolded in the Keep, the suggestion that Sophia and her fellow Wardens had engaged in some rebellion against Arland's regime.

As they entered the library, the blue mist that heralded a glimpse into the past enveloped them again, and they found themselves watching another scene from the final battle. A robed man stood surrounded by mages of varying genders, ages and race, all of them with their staffs drawn and ready for combat, the fearful looks on their faces clearly indicating they were fully aware the end was almost on them. The wide eyes of one mage, a young woman, barely out of her teens, looked through where they stood and directly at the man, who was bent over a large, open book, desperately scribbling additions to the text. "The door won't hold, archivist!" the girl called out, helping her fellows pile bookcases, broken swords and spears and whatever debris they could get their hands on in a desperate effort to barricade the door. The writer didn't even look up from his work.

"Almost done, the truth must be told," he muttered absently.

"What does it matter?" the girl yelped, her voice hopeless, looking close to tears. "We're dead!"

"Our grand rebellion... so close," the archivist muttered , his voice thick with regret and disappointment but no fear, "and to die here a stillbirth."

The woman stepped away from the door, her eyes wide and fearful as the sound of something heavy slamming into the other side was heard. "We never should have done it," she whimpered. "Wardens aren't supposed to oppose kings and princes."

The archivist looked up at her finally, his expression resigned but his tone firm and defiant. "Should we stand idly by while..."

The door suddenly slammed open, the debris acting as a barricade flying aside and the sound of war cries being bellowed came as Arland's men forced their way into the library, but the mist faded away, returning them to the real world before they could witness the inevitable carnage that had doubtless ensued in the room centuries ago.

"A rebellion?" Levi said, eyes narrowing. "What were they talking about?"

"It is a shame that the book is so badly burnt," Arthur muttered sadly, moving towards the table, gingerly stepping over a pile of bones that was probably once the archivist and leafing through the tome the archivist had been desperately penning in; it was heavily damaged, burnt and rotted, the parchment crumbling with age and the text written in it all but illegible. His mind, however, was whirling with confusion at what they'd just witnessed. '_The Wardens were engaged in rebellion against a tyrannical king? Why does that sound familiar?_' he thought, musing on how what had happened here years before was similar to the situation of the present day Wardens. '_Not that I should be surprised; the nobility of Ferelden then clearly held a lot of respect for Sophia, even after she was forced to take the Joining, and the Grey Wardens would be the closest thing to an army...'_

Levi seemed to be thinking the same thing. " Let's see if we can find more records. If Arland was as big a monster as they say, I can't blame my great-great-grandmother for starting a war against him, I'd just like to know she was the victim, not the perpetrator"

None of the books in the library, however, were in any better condition than the open tome on the table, all damaged by fire, woodworm or simply the passage of time. At Leliana's suggestion there might be further records kept further in, the group set off through the door out of the library leading to the upper floors of the fortress. Still, Arthur could not help but wonder '_If the Wardens here were engaged in rebellion, what else might have happened here_?'.

#######################

Rounding the bend up the last few stairs, they found themselves in a wide open room, the fortress's great hall. The second they entered, Arthur could feel there was something very wrong about the whole place. A strange triptych sat in a corner of the room, and before it, the air twisted and swirled, and that acrid, bitter taste in the back of his mouth that implied magic being present was all but overpowering now.

'This is the source of the Veil's weakness" Morrigan remarked. Even as the words left her mouth, the blue magical mist that heralded another glimpse at the events that had unfolded here poured out of the triptych in the corner. The magic swirled and twisted around them, obscuring their vision for a few moments before it parted, and the group saw another part of the historic last stand that once raged here at the Keep. Sophia stood at the front, defiant and furious, her own bravery and ferocity driving her men to greater heights of courage, knowing they had nothing left to lose. Arthur and the others watched in amazement as the final battle unfolded.

"Make them pay for every inch!" Sophia roared, anger and desperation mingling in her voice. A soldier came running at her; Sophia ducked under the swing of his sword and slashed him from chin to crotch with her own blade. Turning her attention away from the battle for a second, the Warden Commander bellowed at her lieutenant, the mage they'd seen at her side marshalling the Wardens for battle. "Avernus, we need you!"

The mage began to chant in the language of ancient Tevinter "Nelatep obresooth sythan net bekon!" his hands flexing and closing as he channelled the magic into...something, a dark black hole in the ground before him. As the incantation reached its climax, there was a crack like a thunderclap, and burning clawed hands burst from the dark pit the mage had conjured as the sinuous, fiery forms of dozens of rage demons tore their way into existence.

Panic ran through Arland's men as most broke formation and fled back down the stairs to the castle's entrance. "Andraste's blood, WHAT?" one man screamed at the sight of the horde of demons bearing down on them.

"More, Avernus!" Sophia cried, a look of manic jubilation replacing the fear as the Wardens' new allies tore through Arland's men without mercy. "Whatever it takes!"

"Kalee ai benfotus victus!" Avernus roared and more demons poured into reality, overrunning the last of Arland's men, but just as it seemed the Wardens and their fell allies might win the day, it all went horribly wrong.

"No!" Avernus cried as a newly-summoned rage demon seized a young mage by the waist and hurled her across the room, smashing her skull against a wall. Another demon slashed a Warden from shoulder to hip with its claws and a third set another Warden ablaze, the man screaming as he was cooked inside his own armour.

"No! I command you, fight the king's men!" Avernus yelled desperately.

One of the demons whirled round to face him, a malevolent gleam in its opaque eyes. "Fool," it roared, its malformed face all but touching Avernus's. "So much death, suffering, and... oh, yes, "blood." The demon snarled as an afterthought. "The Veil is torn, Avernus... your soul is mine!"

The mage staggered backwards, horrified disbelief in his eyes. "Acolytes... retreat, now. The battle is lost." He turned on his heel and ran, leaving the last of the Wardens to be torn apart by the ever growing horde of demons. The last thing the group heard as the vision faded away was the sound of Sophia's voice screaming the same word "AVERNUS!" and then the vision was gone, returning them back to the real world...just as a low hiss rang out.

"Oh no, more demons!" Levi cried as a bloated, twisted creature forced itself to its feet; an abomination, its eyes aflame with anger, its clawed hands opening and closing. Arthur couldn't fail to notice this abomination was in a somewhat more...decrepit condition than the ones from the Circle, the flesh of the mage the demon had possessed heavily rotted and withered, the bones of the ribcage and spine visible and the tips of the fingers and toes worn away to bare bone. Behind it, a number of skeletons limped into position around the abomination, forming a square around the creature, magical energy curdling in their clawed fingers as they remembered the magic they had wielded in life.

Arthur charged forward as the abomination limped towards him, batting aside its outstretched claws and drove his sword into the creature's chest, before kicking the abomination off his sword. The beast staggered back a few steps, before looking up at them and grinning gleefully. It nodded to one of the skeletal mages who stood behind it; energy darted from its withered hands to the abomination, and as Arthur watched, the gaping sword wound closed with incredible speed. Alistair smashed his mace into the abomination's back, eliciting a pained screech accompanied by the clear sound of bone snapping as the red-steel weapon crashed into the abomination's exposed spine.

"That's done it!" Alistair cried jubilantly, but the abomination whirled round, dealing him a vicious uppercut to the jaw that sent him flying halfway across the hall. Looking at the abomination's back, Arthur could see bones realigning and snapping back into place as the skeletal mages put the creature's spine back together. Leliana dodged back under a swing of the abomination's fist and sliced one of her daggers backhanded across the back of the abomination's left leg, hamstringing it, but the enraged creature merely kicked out, its foot connecting with Leliana's lower back and sending her sprawling, completely oblivious to the wound the bard had given it.

"Don't waste your time on the abomination; kill the mages!" Morrigan yelled. "Without them, it can't be healed!" the witch shrieked over the crackle of lightning in her hands as she shot a spell at one of the skeletons, blasting it into pieces. The others took her advice, Alistair getting up from where he'd fallen and smashing his mace into the abdomen of another skeletal mage, snapping it in half at the waist. The magic reanimating the corpse kept its upper half thrashing on the floor for a few more seconds, before Alistair brought his weapon down on its head, smashing its skull to fragments. Leliana drove her daggers into the gaping mouth of another skeleton, and with a twist of her wrist, severed the undead mage's head at the jaw.

The magic faded away as the last mage was turned to ice by Morrigan and reduced to icicles by a well-placed kick from Leliana and Arthur directed his full attention to the abomination. Bereft of the healing aid of its undead minions, the abomination seemed berserk, lunging at Arthur. This time, however, when he leapt back from the abomination as its claws scratched out at his face, vainly scrabbling at the visor, and stabbed it in the chest, the wound stayed open this time. Alistair brought his mace down on the abomination's back, the creature all but collapsing to its knees with an agonised shriek as the bones shattered, rendered all but paralysed by the impact. Together, Arthur, Leliana and Alistair surrounded the abomination, hacking, smashing, stabbing, kicking, punching and inflicting all other manner of injuries to the ancient monster until finally the abomination was still.

With the undead and their possessed master destroyed, the group took a moment to recover, Morrigan using her magic to treat minor wounds, the group applying poultices to those the witch's healing abilities couldn't deal with and keeping a wary eye on the gap in the Veil, looking for any sign of movement or anything suspicious that would suggest something coming through. For a moment, Arthur regretted not bringing Wynne along, but in truth, she had gone through enough with the mission to Honnleath, and frankly, considering how she'd collapsed on the road, Arthur was no longer certain if it was a good idea for the older woman to be journeying with them much longer. '_I will know what's going on when I next see her' _Arthur swore privately.

Levi was sat a short distance away. He was unharmed, having ducked for cover back down the stairs the second the abomination had made its presence known, but the shell-shocked look on the merchant's face told Arthur Levi was bearing wounds of a different kind.

"The Wardens summoned demons, and my great-great-grandmother...she knew" he muttered to himself sadly. Arthur could understand the merchant's disappointment in his ancestor, that the image he'd had of her as a hero wrongfully condemned for doing nothing more than her duty having now been tarnished, perhaps irrevocably by what Sophia had done in the name of victory.

"Despite your foolish preconceptions, the Grey Wardens do not prohibit blood magic" Morrigan snapped, directing a withering look of disdain at the merchant. "The Order wields whatever weapons it can, makes use of whatever is available to defeat the darkspawn". Arthur glowered at her unfeeling bluntness as always, though fortunately Levi barely heard what she said.

"I thought my family was better than that" Levi murmured more to himself than any of the others "but answers may lie up ahead" he concluded, gesturing to the staircase up which Avernus had fled to save himself all those centuries ago.

"Let's find out" Arthur replied as the group made towards the stairs to the next level of the fortress.

###################

"Stop! You have slain many of the demon ilk to get here. This one would propose a deal"

The group had already been caught off guard when they'd charged into the study by the overpowering stench of rotting flesh, so it took a few minutes for the words to permeate into their heads. The room they found themselves in, though dark and unlit, appeared to be some form of office. Arthur heard something crunch underneath his silverite boots; looking down, he was disgusted to see the floor was carpeted with the desiccated corpses of hundreds of flies. The noises of sickened horror from behind told him the others were just as revolted by this as him. '_I can only imagine what this place is like in summer' _he thought '_with the heat and such an adequate food source; this place would be like it was buried under a plague! But why are all these flies here?'_

"Urgh, this is disgusting!" Leliana moaned, sounding rather squeamish. "If any of those things get in my shoes..."

"Enough" Arthur silenced them, remembering they weren't alone in the room. "And why should I speak with you?" he addressed the speaker.

"Because this Peak is _mine_. As are all who dwell in it" the voice replied.

The creature that turned round to face them had once been female, but was now only just recognisable as such. Only scraps of black hair clung to the thing's skull, the rest having fallen out in great clumps. Her pale skin looked thin and leathery, like old parchment, and in some places, it had worn away to expose the flesh or even bone beneath; parts of her cheek bones were protruding through the skin and the cartilage of her nose had all but rotted away, leaving a gaping orifice in the centre of her face. Maggots and grubs writhed in parts of her exposed flesh, and Arthur could only think '_I understand why there are so many flies here'_. Her eyes were gone, either rotted or torn out by carrion eaters, but in their place, eldritch blue light gleamed, unnatural and unsettling, yet worryingly familiar.

And the heavy plate armour she wore, despite being tarnished and heavily damaged, was still recognisable, particularly the griffin emblem emblazoned on the breastplate...

"Great-great-grandmother?" Levi whimpered.

The creature that had once been Sophia Dryden smiled wickedly, baring a mouth full of yellow, rotted teeth. Several were missing and the rest had been filed to points. "This one is the Dryden. Commander. All of these things".

"Levi, I think your great-great-grandmother's been possessed" Alistair remarked.

"Either that or she's really let herself go" the merchant replied, a spot of dry wit returning to him, before a more serious "My great-great-grandmother's been dead for centuries. I don't know what this thing is, but it's not her"

"And why would we trust the word of a demon?" Morrigan snapped.

"What is one woman-child compared to your might?" the Sophia-demon chuckled. "Strike me down if my terms offend. A fool this one would be to betray the Wardens!"

Arthur weighed up his options. If this creature was, as she said, in control of the undead and demonic forces present at Soldier's Peak, provoking her might only end in them drowning under a tide of walking corpses and rampaging demons. '_I think it might be better if we talk our way out of here, get a better understanding of what's happened here, then come back and destroy this demon'_.

"Then tell me of this 'deal'" the words came out of Arthur's mouth almost mechanically.

"You can't be serious!" Leliana protested, her tone aghast. "Arthur, there's _nothing_ left of Commander Dryden, she's possessed!"

The walking corpse looked round at the bard, its eyes narrowed angrily at the interruption. "Your fledgling should mind its place. Meek, subservient, quiet. This one will answer your questions".

Turning away from them to stare wistfully at a portrait hanging behind her desk, the Sophia-demon spoke "The Soldier's Peak keeps me trapped here. This one has seen so many wonderful, so many tantalising things in the Dryden's memories. This one would see the world for herself. Just let this one go into the world. In return, this one seals the Veil...but without me, the Veil will grow weaker; more demons, more misery. You choose one of my kind or many" the demon's tone as it finished sounding almost like an ultimatum.

"What would you have me do?"

"Into the tower you must go, and destroy everything that dwells within" was the demon's reply.

"Destroy what?" Arthur asked. The demon's rotting lips pulled back from its mouthful of fangs, hissing angrily as it roared "The magics, all moving things, the VERY STONE IF YOU HAVE THE POWER!"

Wanting more than ever to get out of the office before the demon turned violent, Arthur raised a placating hand and replied "Very well. I'm off to break the tower then"

Sophia clapped her gauntleted hands together gleefully. "Good, good. Nothing must live. Gnash stone with teeth if you can!". Nodding blithely and backing away quickly, Arthur chivvied the group out of the late Warden Commander's office and hurriedly pulled the door closed behind him.

################

"I hear you. Don't interrupt my concentration"

The sound of a quill scratching on parchment was extremely loud in the silence of the chamber they'd entered, which looked like some deranged combination of a dungeon and a laboratory. Cages in which long-dead corpses rotted lined the walls, and dusty book shelves bearing numerous, heavy leather-bound tomes on a multitude of subjects-blood magic, demons, darkspawn- were in place, but that was not what had caught Arthur's attention. What held his attention was that in this room, the presence of the Taint was exceptionally strong.

The speaker was sat in a high-backed chair facing away from them, scribbling away at whatever it was working on. After a few more moments, there was the sound of wood scraping against stone; the figure sitting in the chair pushed itself away from the desk it was sitting at, making ready to face them.

"Even now, the demons seek to replenish their numbers. Are you to thank for this temporary but welcome imbalance?"

Arthur gagged in shock, and judging from the noises behind him, he wasn't the only one. The decaying, still moving corpse of Sophia Dryden had been bad enough, but the creature standing up from its seat and moving towards was equally as horrific. At first glance, Arthur had thought it to be an emissary, a hurlock mage, based on its size and build. Its skin had the same leathery, pallid-green look of a darkspawn's, its head bald and marked with feathery bristles that looked to be developing into the head-crest that crowned the skull of an emissary. Clawed hands swept back the voluminous sleeves of the robes it wore, and Arthur felt his hand slipping to his sword.

But yet, while it resembled an emissary, there were subtle differences. The voice in which the creature spoke was not the guttural snarl of a hurlock, but a refined, cultured voice, suggesting an individual of high birth and intellect. The robes it wore were not the mishmash of fabrics and armour fragments that most darkspawn mages garbed themselves in, but made of navy-blue silk, still fine despite being torn, frayed and heavily worn in places.

And the eyes that regarded the intruders into its sanctum with curiosity and intrigue were not the dead-white eyes of a hurlock, but wide and bright, a light shade of blue in colour and strangely familiar...

And then Arthur recognised them...wide with astonished fear as a demon angrily snarled that his soul was theirs.

"The old Warden mage? Avernus? You're still alive?" Arthur questioned.

"Only just" came the reply. "I have only a short time left"

"Careful" Leliana cautioned, her face set in a look of distaste. "This..._man_ has dabbled in matters forbidden by the Maker. He may look frail, but don't trust him"

Avernus's mouth contorted into an angry snarl, only making his resemblance to an emissary more complete. "So the Maker told you that, did he? Short-sighted men forbade my research, girl, not any god. Bah, enough!" Avernus waved a dismissive hand and turned his attention back to Arthur. "Why are you here? What is your intent, Warden?"

"How do you know I'm a Warden?"

"A combination of my research and blood magic" Avernus replied. "But even without that, who else would brave Soldier's Peak?"

"We've all seen what you've done, Avernus. Your experiments" Arthur snapped, remembering the journal they'd found outside, detailing all manner of unnatural, unholy experiments performed in the sanctum before them. Avernus, however, seemed unrepentant.

"They were necessary. Every tool, every iota of information needed to defeat the foul demons was justified. As a Warden, you should know this!" Avernus angrily growled back.

"Necessary?" Alistair scowled. "Having to relieve yourself after an eight-hour ride is _necessary_. But there's no excuse for summoning demons!". Avernus's death-head features contorted into a look of utter disgust at that particular mental image. "Charming" the mage muttered.

"And this is why you've kept yourself alive this long, slowly letting yourself devolve into the monster you are inside?" Arthur retorted. "Moreover, how have you survived this long?"

"The Chantry foolishly forbids blood magic, but there is so many secrets to be discovered. As my body decayed, both because of age and...the taint, I found ways to extend it. Alas" the mage finished with a sigh "they can only go so far".

"Blood magic, summoning demons...you _had _to know resorting to such tactics was foolhardy, to say the least!" Alistair cut in.

Avernus merely gave an indifferent shrug. "Perhaps, but it was survival. There was no other choice. For months, I researched the darkest depths of the Fade, prepared the summoning circles. That moment was a triumph of demonic lore; dozens of demons called forth by _my_ hand!" Avernus cried, a look of jubilation and zeal in those mad eyes, before it faded into the bitter memory of the disappointment and failure that had followed. "But with so many variables, I suppose calculation errors were inevitable"

"Commander Dryden knew of this?" Levi asked, speaking for the first time in a long while and looking thoroughly shocked. Avernus barely spared him a glance before replying with another indifferent shrug "She gave the order, but I would have summoned the demons anyway. Only under Wardens can true magical research continue! A chance to discover the lost secrets of ancient Tevinter!"

Leliana let out a noise of outrage as she cut in, fury in her voice as she snapped "Are you really that much a fool? Don't you remember how that ended? The corruption of the Golden City? The birth of the darkspawn, the very evil your Order was created to destroy?"

Avernus gave a derisive snort. "Chantry lies told to subjugate mages. To keep them docile"

Leliana's face went red with outrage, her voice choking with anger at such a grievous insult to something she held so dear. "How do you know the Chantry is wrong, you monster?"

"And how do _you_ know they are right, girl?" Avernus angrily growled back. "Their dogma would have you swallow a great deal for cold comfort"

"Enough!" Arthur cut across the arguing pair and pointing a condemning finger at the old mage. " That does not matter. What matters is that _everything_ that happened here was your doing. You're to blame for all of this. There are some things you just do not do"

For the first time, subject to the baleful glare of those cold blue eyes, Avernus quailed a little. The smug air of superiority, of self-righteousness faded a bit, and the tainted mage looked to the floor. One might almost say he was ashamed.

"From a Warden, that means something. So old, so tired. Please, give me a chance. Let me undo my greatest mistake".

A soft cough caught their attention; Levi had plucked up the courage to speak again. "Before we go any further, there's something I must ask. Master mage, ser" Levi asked in a quiet voice, clearly uncertain how to address a creature like Avernus "The name Dryden's been worth less than dirt for more than a century. Do you have any proof that Sophia Dryden was a hero?"

Avernus looked at Levi with genuine interest for the first time, if only, Arthur suspected, glad to have a distraction that took attention away from him. "The boy who braved the mist. So you heeded the call. And you are a Dryden as well?" the old mage chuckled. "The cosmos has a sense of humour!"

"Your call?" Alistair enquired. The others also seemed intrigued.

"He was but a boy when he entered the tunnels below the Peak, his heart pure, his character certain. In dreams, I gave him the keys he would need. He would be my deliverance"

"Just answer Levi's question" Arthur snapped. Avernus looked contrite again, clearly not wanting to be on the receiving end of more condemnation, and turned back to Levi.

"Your great-great-grandmother...was the best of us. Brave, charismatic, fiery, utterly devoted to the fight. But still we lost. We fought a tyrant, you know? So full of vigour then, so blind to consequence. But proof?" the tainted mage concluded sadly. "There's none to be had". Levi's head dropped sadly, his expression

Leliana sidled up to the merchant and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Levi". The merchant looked up, a sad smile on his face replied "I had hoped...no it doesn't matter. But thank you, miss".

"What happened here?" Leliana asked swiftly, the story-teller in her curious for the history despite her dislike of Avernus.

Arland shrugged his shoulders dismissively "What use would story-telling serve? The tyrant Arland is long dead, as are our noble co-conspirators and the grand rebellion. Sophia's corpse may walk and talk, but she too is no more"

"How was Arland a tyrant?" Alistair asked, clearly intrigued or disgusted by the brutality of his distant ancestor. Avernus's lips pulled back from his teeth into an angry snarl, adding to his resemblance to a darkspawn.

"He ruled with poison and fear! His treachery pitted noble against noble in terrible battle. We thought him a monster; we gathered allies to rebel!" But Avernus's fervour dimmed a little then, his angry expression slipping into a more mournful, disappointed look. "But the toll of years have erased our failure, hasn't it? It seemed so pressing then, but the kingdom lives on".

"What became of the rebellion?"

"Too many mouths to feed" Avernus sighed. "Even sorcery can only go so far. So we met up with Teyrn Bartholomew Cousland of Highever; with him on our side, we had a chance of victory. Instead, the king's guards ambushed us. Commander Dryden and I barely escaped with our lives"

"The Couslands almost rebelled?" Arthur interjected, curious despite himself. "My family?". Avernus raised an intrigued eyebrow at this.

"Is it? You lost a great many family members that day. I saw the teyrn's head on the meeting table...with an apple in its mouth" Avernus said disgustedly, spitting at the memory. "Arland's butchers no doubt slaughtered enough Couslands to make those he let live pliable"

"And what became of Arland himself?" Arthur asked. Avernus made a face as he continued "The Mad King did not deign to come and command the slaughter himself; had he dared to show his face here, I would have torn him apart long before Sophia got the chance. But no, Arland was content to let his thugs do his dirty work for him while he languished in Denerim and indulged himself, along with his court of sycophants, in his favourite debaucheries. I didn't hear what happened until many years after, locked away here as I was, but from what I've learned, sometime after his commanders reported victory at the Peak- though whether they actually slaughtered all the surviving Wardens or were too afraid to linger and content to let the demons do their work for them, I do not know- Arland decided to celebrate his 'great triumph'" Avernus spat with sarcastic venom "with a hunt; clearly, he wanted to celebrate a massacre by killing something himself. One of his sycophants invited him to partake of the rich stocks of wild game in the Wending Woods, and Arland took the bootlick at his offer"

Arthur frowned. 'The Wending Woods in Amaranthine?'. "Who invited him?"

"Some backwater noble" Avernus retorted with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Howe, I believe his name was. Ah yes, that was it...Arl Alfred Howe".

'Why am I not surprised to learn a Howe was involved in a plan to murder his betters?' Arthur thought hatefully

"What happened?"

"Too late, we learned a valuable lesson; one hidden dagger at night is worth a hundred drawn swords by day. As soon as they were along in the forests, Howe shot Arland in the back of the head with a crossbow. Arland's Kingsguard had been bribed not to intervene; the assassination must have been planned while Arland was busy devoting all his attention to crushing the Wardens. Not that it did any good; killing a tyrant does not guarantee the end of a tyranny. Arland's sycophants and his enemies tore Ferelden apart as they carved out spheres of influence for themselves. It was many years before the country had any semblance of order...just in time for the Orlesians to take over" the old mage finished sadly.

"The time for questions is over" Arthur curtly said. Avernus nodded solemnly and looked the younger Warden in the eye, his expression resolute.

"So be it. My only request: if justice or vengeance drive you, stay your hand until the demons have been dealt with. Then...I will accept whatever judgement you feel I merit".

"Until the demons are destroyed, we are allies" Arthur nodded. "Sophia wanted me to kill you; we must deal with her".

"You are wise not to trust her" Avernus said approvingly. "We will deal with her first, and afterwards..." his voice trailed off, unwilling to broach the likelihood of what would happen to him. "We must go to the main hall. There, I will repair the damage I caused so long ago..."

##################

Sophia was waiting for them when they re-entered. Her reaction to who was with them was pretty much what Arthur had expected.

"He lives!" Sophia howled as she caught sight of the old mage standing beside Arthur. "You were supposed to kill him!"

"Ah, the architect of my downfall, so clever in your deceit!" Avernus countered with a wicked smile. "And what has it brought you?"

"Treacherous Wardens, at every turn!" the demon snarled, its host body angrily fingering the hilt of its sword. "This one will crush you!"

"Were you really so stupid as to believe we would actually work a deal with you, demon?" Morrigan sneered. The demon whirled round on her, the fury in its eyes all but manifest as it roared "YOU ARE WORMS! YOU ARE OFFAL! THIS ONE WILL SEE YOU _**SUFFER**_!"

"I'm finished hiding!" Avernus retorted, anger and hatred entering those blue, only-just-human eyes. "After these long, bitter years, let it be over...once and for all!"

"This one will give you the end you crave!" Sophia shrieked, her gauntleted hand flying to the hilt of her sword and ripping it free of it sheath before Avernus's mouth could close. The silverite sword was in mid-swing towards the old mage's neck when Arthur intercepted it, the Green Blade parrying the strike. Sophia roared angrily and pulled back her blade for another stroke, but Arthur slammed his shield into her face. Staggering back, Sophia let out a deafening screech, and the bones of numerous Wardens lying where they had died began to rise again, to fight for their Commander in a sense again.

"You will die, all of you!" Sophia howled. "This one will feast on your entrails and make a goblet from your skull!" the demon bellowed as she brought her sword down on Arthur's shield, sending him staggering back a few steps. The others had their own foes to face, Alistair smashing a skeleton off its feet and bringing his foot down on its neck, smashing the vertebrae with ease. A trio of skeletons lunged at Morrigan, but with a feral roar, the witch crouched and shouted an incantation; seconds later, the skeletons were smashed aside as a huge, black bear lashed out with its clawed paws, crushing limbs and tearing off heads. Arthur had barely a second to both admire Morrigan's shape-shifting abilities and wonder where Leliana, who had somehow vanished, was, before Sophia brought her sword down on his shield again.

Arthur tried to bash her with his shield but as he was half-way through the attack, Sophia's gauntleted hand snapped out, seized the rim of his shield and dragged him towards her. Too close to use their swords, Sophia seized his plated shoulders and drove her forehead into his face. As Arthur reeled from the blow, her grip shifted to the front of his breastplate, and with considerable strength considering her withered frame, Sophia bodily hurled Arthur across the chamber. As he tried to get to his feet, winded and shocked, Sophia advanced on him, her sword in hand, and when she was standing over him, raised her sword above her head, about to bring it down for a decapitating stroke. Arthur raised an arm in a vain effort to protect himself, but the blow never came; a pair of daggers appeared out of nowhere, stabbing into Sophia's neck. The Warden Commander dropped her sword, her hands flying to her neck as Leliana re-emerged from the shadows, her hands holding a dagger on each side of Sophia's throat.

"Don't even think about it" Leliana whispered in Sophia's ear. The possessed woman snarled angrily, but before she could act, Leliana pulled her blades towards her, through Sophia's neck...and the Warden Commander's head was sheared off as cleanly as if by guillotine. As she fell, so too did her undead minions. Arthur took a moment to recover his breath, as did the others, before racing after Avernus who was already far ahead of them, racing down the staircase to the great hall.

####################

With Sophia destroyed, the group raced back to the main hall, Avernus in the lead. Before them stood the triptych and the rip in the Veil before it. Avernus looked warily at the sight, as if still unnerved by the memories of what had happened there so long ago.

"With so many of her minions destroyed, the demon was no match for us. But here is the source of the Veil's weakness. I will unravel the summoning circles I drew so long ago, but you must defend me. Waves of spirits and demons may come through; dispatch them".

Swiftly, the four of them took up position in front of Avernus, the old mage stepping over the corpse of the abomination to place himself at one of the summoning circles. "I feel them. They are coming!"

The air rippled, and a ghastly shriek rang out as the latest onslaught of demonic forces poured forth. Avernus took his place by one of the summoning circles, shouting phrases in the language of magic. A shade came charging from the Fade straight at Arthur, its fists swinging towards his head, but Arthur ducked away and drove his sword, its blade shimmering with telekinetic energy thanks to Morrigan, into the spirit's heart; it gave a gibbering howl and guttered out of existence. The others also put down the shades facing them, Leliana and Alistair batting aside or dodging around scrabbling claws to split skulls or pierce hearts, while Morrigan settled for blasting the spectral creatures back to where they came with lightning and fire.

The next wave of attackers were rage demons, howling and screaming for blood. By this point, two of the summoning circles had dissipated and Avernus was on the third. Morrigan clicked her fingers and the energy enfolding her companions' weapons became ice. The group quickly went to work, hacking through the fiery creatures with ease due to their ensorcelled weapons

By the time the old Warden was on the last circle, only one creature managed to make it through the sealing gap in the Veil; a desire demon. The creature stood little chance against four prepared combatants, and its twisted essence was banished back to the Fade barely seconds after it had entered the real world. As Arthur drew his blade from the demon's chest in a spurt of black ichor, he saw that the air no longer rippled and shifted before him, and the acrid, bitter taste in the back of his throat was gone. The others seemed to have come to a similar realisation.

"It's over" Avernus sighed, wiping his leathery brow in relief "The Veil is stronger now". Arthur looked briefly at Morrigan, who nodded in confirmation of the old Warden's statement. Turning a humble but resolute expression to Arthur, Avernus stood before him, his hands clasped in front of him, awaiting his sentence.

"I said I would submit to judgement, and I shall. Can I be allowed to experiment in peace?"

"Your crimes were horrific, but they were somewhat mitigated by the fact you were trying to prevent even greater, and that you sacrificed so much of yourself to keep the demons caged here. I will not kill you, but I will insist you make amends. You will work on ways to assist the Grey Wardens, but you will do so in an ethical manner. No more blood magic, no more sacrifices".

Avernus's eyes widened in surprise; clearly he'd been expecting justice in the form of a sword against his neck. Still, he recovered himself quickly. "With what little time I have left, I will do this. It may take months or even years for this to reach fruition, but when it does, I will send for you. However, there is something I may be able to give you now to assist your efforts..." Avernus said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small glass phial, sealed with a cork and full of a familiar reddish-black liquid.

"What is that?"

"The culmination of my research. The fruits of my labours; everything my experiments were meant to achieve. The contents of this vial will unlock the power of the taint that resides in your veins!"

"What was the purpose of your experiments?" Morrigan enquired curiously.

"To stop the demonic tide. To counter the mistakes of the past. Blood magic comes from demons; they could counter every bit of lore I possess. But the darkspawn taint: that is alien to them...and it has power"

"What sort of power?" the witch pressed on, clearly intrigued now. Avernus replied "The Wardens use it merely to sense darkspawn-a triviality, a minor cantrip- but my research has suggested so much more, hinted at even greater heights. This knowledge has not only saved Soldier's Peak; through it, the Grey Wardens could grow even more powerful!" Avernus replied. "I leave it in _your _hands" the old mage finished as he gingerly placed the phial in Arthur's hands.

Arthur stared at the phial in his hands, uncertain what to do. It was the culmination of decades of horror and evil, but the power it might provide...'Could it be of use in defeating the archdemon and the darkspawn'. Alistair looked nonplussed about what to do, but Leliana looked aghast.

"Arthur, no! You can't mean to use...he obtained it through years of torturing and experimenting on his fellows! He's a monster; anything he created should be destroyed!"

"What he says makes sense" Morrigan interjected, shaking her head at (to her mind) the bard's foolishness. "If a single spell could win the battle, I would not question its source"

"Your charming companion is quite correct, Warden" Avernus added with an approving nod towards Morrigan. "You'd do well to heed her advice. If I may speak seriously, regardless of the methods I used to obtain it, this will help you. Even locked away as I am here, I know what is going on; a new Blight is upon us, and the power of the taint will be of great use against the darkspawn; to turn the power within their own blood against them would be quite poetic, I think" Avernus chortled softly. "More than that, I have heard this..._usurper_, this tyrant who sits upon the throne. From my sources, I know he is as much a monster, and just as dedicated, if not more so, to the destruction of the Grey Wardens as Arland. He has his weapons; with this, we shall have ours"

The notion of proving to Loghain the Grey Wardens still had power, that they were not as he seemed to think a relic of another time best forgotten, or puppets of Ferelden's erstwhile conquerors appealed to Arthur, as did the notion of having another weapon with which to battle the Blight with. As the forming of a decision came to his mind, he turned his full attention to Avernus.

"If I use it, what will I become?" he asked as he toyed with the cork sealing the phial.

"Our salvation" Avernus replied. "And perhaps...our future". Arthur nodded in acceptance of this explanation, and before anyone could say more to dissuade him, uncorked the phial and drank its contents in a single gulp.

"There will be pain. But with it comes knowledge" Avernus explained. "And knowledge..."

"Is power" Arthur completed the old maxim with a smile, his teeth flecked with darkspawn blood but his eyes aflame with a new light, one that implied understanding, and a grasp of new, unforeseen strength.

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The Arl of Denerim's estate

Rendon Howe watched as his elven food-taster ensured that his evening meal was safe for consumption. He knew full well that more than half of Denerim's population wanted him dead, the regent and the queen not least among them. Howe knew full well the only reason Loghain hadn't placated the wolves that made up Denerim's peasantry by throwing him to them was because the teyrn needed his political mind and strategies-Maker knows an old soldier like Loghain would never comprehend such strategies as removing threats to his regime like that fool Bryce and that stubborn old goat Eamon by himself- and the Queen...well, Howe was fully expecting her to send any number of painful deaths to his door any day now. The fact that Loghain had left him in charge of the city while the regent and his forces marched to take battle to the Bannorn dissidents massing at Winter's Breath had not gone down well with many in the city, the Queen in particular.

Howe was not an idiot; even a fool could see the Queen despised him, and while she was furious with Loghain for essentially usurping her power, Rendon did not have the benefit of being related to Anora to grant him some protection from her outrage. The food taster was merely one of a number of precautions Howe had taken; he now wore a protective vest under his clothing to deflect the blade of a potential assassin, and had another elf open his letters before he read them, in case any tried to kill him with a poison on the parchment or the envelope; it had been done before, Rendon remembered full well of how during the occupation, the method of sending letters that had the corners smeared in arsenic to high ranking Orlesian officials had been quite popular amongst the rebels, considering how many Orlesians used to lick their fingers when turning pages. Rendon swore that he, at least, was not going to be fooled by such means; '_I've achieved too much, and still have so much to do, for it to end with a poisoned cup or the blade of a hired thug!'_

But Anora was not his greatest problem. The greatest annoyance in his life, in spite of everything he'd achieved-reclaiming the terynir of Highever, the right of the Howes, from those thieving Couslands, the arling of Denerim and countless other awards, positions and accolades besides, still remained alive and a constant thorn, not only in his side but his patron's, which only served to exacerbate Loghain's antipathy towards him.

'_Arthur-bloody-Cousland'._

Rendon cursed Bryce and Eleanor's 'precious pup' with every fibre of his being. His life would have been so much simpler if that little bastard had died along with the rest of the Couslands, but no, instead he'd survived and now, with his new status as a Grey Warden, seemed to be going out of his way to undo Howe's carefully worked schemes a piece at a time, and in the process, only undermining his already tenuous partnership with Loghain.

"Every little thing that poxy Grey Warden does that affects my plans to save this nation" Loghain had sworn privately to Howe after learning that the Circle had defected to the Grey Wardens "I shall hold _you _personally responsible for, since your inability to do a job properly is the reason he's still alive to make a mess of things!".

Howe had been furious at that accusation; '_I could just as easily say the same of you, my _lord' Howe thought sarcastically. "_After all, had you managed to _'do the job properly' _at Ostagar, my minor failure at Highever would have been irrelevant! And really, is it my fault that interfering old bastard Duncan dragged that whelp out from the castle instead of leaving him and his precious parents to burn? Is it my fault he __**somehow**__ managed to survive Ostagar? My fault that the so-called 'master assassin' the Crows sent me turned out to be an incompetent knife-ear who couldn't even manage to kill a witless boy and a royal bastard?' _Howe griped to himself. His hatred at the Cousland brat's interference was not the only reason he wanted the boy dead; try as he might, that sliver of fear that wormed its way into his heart after reading that whelp's promise of vengeance for what had happened at Highever still lingered, the fear that a Cousland would always pay his debts.

'_I swear, you little bastard, when I get my hands on you, you're going to wish you'd died in the ruins of your precious home! I will make you suffer for every indignity you've caused me! And then we'll see how bravely the last Cousland dies!_' Howe swore to himself. The destruction of the last scion of the House of Cousland, one of the worst of a bloodline that had caused him and his schemes nothing but for trouble for numerous decades, would be a sweet thing indeed.

His anger dissipated slightly as he remembered his evening meal, safe to eat and very appetising, was growing cold. But as he made to dig in, there was a knock on the door of his study.

"Enter, and be quick about it".

The elf he was using to check his mail quickly slipped into his study, bowing and scraping in a pleasing manner. Rendon could not help but wonder if the elves scurrying around the estate would be as so swift with their fawning if they knew he and Loghain were making a fortune from the 'arrangement' with the Tevinter 'healers' working in the Alienage. '_Not that they will'_ Howe knew; even if it was the best, if not only way to replenish the dwindling funds in the treasury-'_Not including my little 'deductions' for services rendered to the Crown' _Howe thought, thinking of the small fortune in silver ingots ready to be shipped to Highever in the next few days- slavery was still anathema to Ferelden as a whole, and just like he had no intention of dying to poison or an assassin's blade, being torn to shreds by an angry mob outraged by such a betrayal of the tired old notion of freedom Ferelden stood for, even for a few pithy knife-ears, was low on his list of priorities.

"This letter arrived for you, milord. It seems important and so I thought it best to bring it to you with haste"

Looking at the elf askance, Howe waved for him to leave and examined the letter. It was written with an elegant hand, using ink of expensive quality on fine white parchment; whoever sent him the letter was clearly an individual of means. The envelope was just as intriguing; the elf had left the wax seal intact, which clearly bore the heraldic emblem of a fox-a heraldic device not used in Ferelden- and bore the scent of a flowery perfume that screamed the word "Orlais". Rendon began to comprehend why the elf had brought it to his attention with all due haste; if Loghain got wind of this...the regent's hatred for Orlais all but blinded him to reason, stymieing several lucrative and beneficial possibilities for Ferelden. If the teyrn found out of any potential collaboration with Orlais...

'Still, he already despises me, and what Loghain doesn't know won't hurt him..." Howe reasoned. If the information contained within could be used to his benefit...Rendon quickly unfolded the letter and read:

'_For the attention of Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, Arl of Denerim, Teyrn of Highever,_

_Ser,_

_We do not know each other, but it is my hope we shall. I come to you with a proposition that I feel would be of mutual benefit to the both of us. The information I am about to divulge is of incredible value, and I present it to you since my sources tell me you are a man of considerable intellect and appreciation of such methods, unlike your Teyrn Loghain, who while by all accounts skilled in the craft of war, is a man of blinkered vision, hindered and limited by his prejudices. _

_Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Marjolaine Delacroix. I am a marquise of considerable means in my homeland and while I know of the dark past between our nations, I hope that my proposition will, with your aid and intercession with the regent, go some way towards healing the rift between Ferelden and Orlais._

_I am aware that you and your regent are seeking to capture a pair of Grey Wardens loose in your nation. I would see them captured too, for my own reasons. Among the companions of your wanted traitor Wardens is an Orlesian woman, an ex-bard formerly in my service. She is also a traitor. Two years ago, this woman was arrested for selling Orlesian state secrets to Nevarra; she confessed her treason and was condemned for it, but escaped before the sentence of death could be carried out. She fled to Ferelden and, I have discovered, took refuge in the Chantry at Lothering, masquerading as a priestess until shortly after the recent slaughter at Ostagar, when this traitor absconded in the company of these Grey Wardens after helping them evade capture at the hands of your Teyrn Loghain's men._

_It is my belief that this woman seeks to absolve her treason by currying favour with the Grey Wardens. I would see this churl punished, both for her treason against my homeland and the stain her betrayal brought on my house's honour, and if I can deliver to you the traitors you seek for our mutual benefit, I would be most willing to do so. To this end, my agents have been tracking her and her Grey Warden escorts for some time. My intent is to have my agents lure our quarry into an ambush; either my men will kill our quarry or I can use this to lure them into an arena of my choosing. My sources tell me that my traitorous former servant has formed an attachment with the Grey Warden from Highever; should she be threatened, this Warden's chivalrous attachment to her, created by whatever lies she has concocted to ensnare him, will ensure he and she race into the trap I am preparing. All I would ask of you is that you have your forces ready; while I have many resources at my disposal, there are few men at arms with me at present; given the current political climate, I felt it wise to limit the number of troops I brought with me for fear of causing an incident._

_If our plan succeeds, then we will both be in a position to enjoy great favour and reward, both here in Ferelden and Orlais. Should you wish to partake of this alliance, send your response with a messenger and tell him to wait by the statue of Andraste outside the Grand Cathedral in the Market District. One of my agents will find him._

_I look forward to the beginning of what promises to be a lucrative partnership between us._

_Marjolaine, Marquise of the House of Delacroix_

Rendon smiled to himself. Shouting at one of his servants to bring him quill, parchment and ink, he felt the first stirrings of a feeling he hadn't enjoyed in a long time; jubilation. _'I warned Bryce that letting that old bat fill his boys' heads with stories of bravery and chivalry was a foolish waste, that it would end in disaster, and here's the proof! That stupid boy's lust for glory and inability to say no to a pretty face will see him in a shallow grave!'_

Another servant brought him the parchment and Howe quickly wrote out his reply.

'_To Marjolaine of the House of Delacroix,_

_You were most wise to bring this matter to my attention; while Teyrn Loghain is a fine man in many regards, he is sadly lacking in many others, I fear, particularly in matters of intrigue and politics._

_Proceed with your plan and contact me when you have the Grey Wardens and this collaborator of theirs you seek in your power; I will make a gift of the girl to you, and rest assured, Teyrn Loghain will hear of your great service to Ferelden._

_Likewise, I look forward to the beginning of a lucrative partnership between us._

_Rendon Howe, Arl of Denerim & Amaranthine & Teyrn of Highever_

Rolling up the scroll and instructing one of his men-at-arms where to take it, Howe gleefully rubbed his hands together. If all went well, he'd have Arthur Cousland and this other Warden, this bastard of Maric, locked up in chains and awaiting the regent's pleasure, not to mention an Orlesian whore he could pass off to keep Loghain's rabid prejudices happy. As for this Marjolaine Delacroix...if Loghain didn't find out about this, there would be no need to tell him, and Rendon knew he would have secured a potentially lucrative alliance with an influential ally. If the regent did find out, he'd simply hand this Delacroix woman along with her fellow whore over to Loghain as Orlesian spies captured by Howe's men to satisfy him. '_There'd be no shame in using the bitch's scheme to my own ends; it's an art I perfected a very long time ago!"_

As the soldier departed for the meeting, Rendon Howe gleefully rubbed his hands together.

'_I hope you enjoy your brief moment of glory, Arthur Cousland, because it's going to be over soon enough_!'

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Story Notes:

1. The idea to make Avernus look like an emissary came really from re-reading DA: The Calling the other day, where (spoilers) it implies Wardens who know their Calling is upon them and yet delay going to the Deep Roads begin to mutate to the point where they physically begin to resemble darkspawn. Since Avernus has probably delayed going to his Calling by a good few centuries, I'd say he'd be a dead spit for an emissary by the time the group got to him. Besides, it seems more scary to me than having some decrepit old man pacing up in the tower, and it'll be a nice lead-in to that 'What happens to you after the Joining?' camp conversation with Alistair Arthur will be having next time.

2. While Arland's ultimate fate is unknown, I think it not unfeasible to believe that some ambitious noble took advantage of the distraction provided by the attack on the Wardens to plot their own method to bump off the Mad King.

See you next time in Denerim!


	30. Chapter 28: Delving in Denerim

_So, into Denerim. Hopefully, I've given a more realistic impression as to how Arthur and co might have gone about the city without being recognised, since that's a big problem in game; I mean, your Warden's the most wanted person in Ferelden and you can come and go as you please? Hopefully, my effort to address that seems plausible._

_As always, thanks to everyone who reads, favourites or reviews my work: special thanks to **Kazic, spectre4hire, ethan89 **(your review was most enjoyable, since it pointed out a lot of literary connections I hadn't even thought of), **strifeandpestilence **and **Mystic Gohan88** for your reviews, and to **Lydia-Hood** for adding to favourites; knowing my work is so enjoyed is what gives me the impetus to keep going._

_Will try to have the next parts up by Monday, Tuesday, since by the end, you'll have probably guessed what's coming. I'm planning to go into some detail with those, since the next two chapters should see a big shift in Arthur and Leliana's relationship._

_Hope to have more for you soon._

**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**

And above all else, enjoy!

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The last time Arthur had come to Denerim, he'd been fifteen, brought to the capital along with his family to attend Cailan's coronation. He could only hope five years and the disguise he'd donned would work to prevent anyone from recognising him. After all, wandering into the capital of Ferelden, the heart of Loghain's power, when the regent had just raised the bounty on your head to fifty thousand sovereigns was hardly the best of plans, but Brother Genitivi and the information he possessed to save Arl Eamon were somewhere in the city, and Arthur had no intention of leaving Denerim without it.

The village of Ostwick lay about five miles outside of Denerim on the north road, and that was where Arthur, Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana had met up with their companions following their departure from Soldier's Peak. They'd lingered at the fortress just long enough for the rest of Levi's extensive family to arrive and begin the work of putting the fortress, but once they'd resupplied and got their gear in working order, they'd left the Drydens to it and began the rest of the journey along the North Road to the capital. Once they'd reached the village and reunited with the others, the information Arthur had sent them to gather was quickly relayed; Loghain was gone from the city, along with most of his forces, intending to bring to battle three nobles of the Bannorn amassing their own army at Winter's Breath. Only a token garrison, under the command of the newly appointed Arl of Denerim, remained in the city, which would make getting in a little easier, though Arthur still intended to be cautious; Loghain might be gone, but his lapdog Howe was just as eager to see the Grey Wardens dead as his master, and while the notion had occurred to Arthur, he pushed it aside. There was too much at stake to risk it all on five minutes of revenge. Rendon Howe would get what he deserved in due time, but not today. They would go into the city, find what they needed and get out as soon as possible. No more, no less.

The berserker in him screamed at him to act while the bastard was so close, but he silenced its call. _'We're here for Genetivi, not to storm the Arl of Denerim's_ _estate'_ he told that dark corner of his mind. Not only would marching up to the gates of the castle and demanding Howe come and face justice be tantamount to cutting off his own head and serving it to the lapdog and his master on a plate, it would achieve nothing. Rendon Howe had never fought fair in his entire life; his methods were to strike from shadows, or when his enemy's back was turned. When the chance came for revenge, Arthur would play Howe by his own game. '_I'll pull that viper from his nest by the tail one day, and we'll see if he fights as well when the tables are turned!'_

He again reached up to make sure the full helm he was wearing to hide his face was secure; he'd forgone the Juggernaut plate in favour of a suit of plate armour marked on the breastplate with the emblem of the Sword of Mercy; a templar was far less likely to attract attention than a Fereldan knight clad in silverite plate of Tevinter forging. Arabella walked a short distance behind him, her face downcast and her expression demure. '_A templar accompanying a mage, come to pray at the Grand Cathedral for forgiveness for her sins will hardly raise any eyebrows if anyone's watching' _Arthur thought, their alibi thought up long before they arrived, but even so, he intended to be cautious. Even in that small hamlet, he'd heard from gossips and rumour-mongers that the Chantry and the Circle had made public their revoking of support for Loghain, and while Arthur knew the regent wouldn't dare do anything as blatant as attack the Chantry's agents, there was no way to be sure his men would be as discreet.

It chafed him to be parted from the Juggernaut plate armour he'd come to favour, but the templar's plate armour would serve as an adequate replacement for the time being. The armour was a good fit, having belonged to a templar of the Redcliffe Chantry who'd perished during the undead attacks and while the ghouls the possessed Connor had unleashed had considerably damaged it, Levi Dryden's master blacksmith of a brother, Mikhail, had managed to provide sufficient repairs to put it back in good order. At his hip rested a new sword; Asturian's Might, a silverite blade belonging to a former Warden-Commander taken from a hidden cache in Soldier's Peak. The sword had to be more than three centuries old, and yet it was. The only new addition to it was the runes cut into the blade, Sandal Feddic having worked his magic upon it. They'd met the strange dwarf and his merchant father, Bodahn by chance in Ostwick, and the enchantments placed upon Asturian's Might now caused the blade to be coated by a permanent layer of frost, chilling to the bone anyone it cut, along with another rune that, if struck in a certain manner, paralyzed the opponent. Arthur had smiled at the memory of how that enchantment had paid for itself, freezing the leader and a good number of the bandits who'd ambushed them on the road to Denerim for them to finish off without struggle. Still, he didn't wish to draw the sword unless he had no choice; such a fine object would be too tempting a target for the multitude of footpads and cutthroats of the under city who'd doubtless rob and murder even a templar for such a rich prize.

The sword was not the only thing he'd acquired from Soldier's Peak; Arthur covertly looked at the palms of his hands, to ensure there was no sign of his hand bleeding into the gauntlet. The stigmata had appeared a day after they'd departed Soldier's Peak, and Arthur had been quick to bandage his hands when he noticed. None of the others had noticed, and Arthur didn't intend to tell them; no doubt Alistair and Leliana would decry it as the rightful penance for partaking of Avernus's research. He could only hope a more useful side effect of consuming that vial's contents would manifest itself in the next few days.

A short distance behind them, Arthur knew Sten, Zevran and Edward would be entering the city gates. Few would bat an eyebrow at the sight of an armed and armoured qunari and elf with a war dog at their heels; with any luck, any guards watching would dismiss them simply as mercenaries looking for work-something in no short supply with the civil war and the Blight raging.

The others had remained at the village outside the city. None of them had been particularly happy, Alistair and Leliana least of all, but Arthur had been adamant. He was not going to risk both Grey Wardens going into Loghain's territory, particularly not one who might be the only chance for getting Loghain thrown off his ill-gotten throne to the headsman's block as he deserved, and judging by the 'Wanted' posters they'd seen one of the regent's men putting up in Ostwick (and quickly torn down lest anyone else see them), the regent was offering almost as big a bounty for the collaborators of the traitor Wardens as for themselves. Crude sketches of himself, Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana were the most obvious, no doubt because of the altercation in Lothering with the regent's men, and so he had chosen companions to accompany him less likely to draw attention. Arthur had insisted he would go, since he wanted to be on hand to ensure all went smoothly, but he had been most insistent on what the others should do if something went wrong.

"If we're not back in two days, assume we're either captured or dead. Don't come after us; I'll repeat that, DO NOT come after us" he snapped, raising a hand to silence any protest the others might make. "Go to Orzammar and gain the treaty there. As for Arl Eamon..." Arthur had trailed off, uncertain what to say. In truth, if they couldn't find Genetivi and what he knew of the Urn, Arthur wasn't sure what else they could do for Eamon. '_We'll cross that bridge when we come to it'_ the young Cousland assuaged himself.

They got through the city gates without incident, the guards not so much as batting an eyelid at the sight of them, and the two groups headed for the Market District. Since Genetivi was a scholar in the employ of the Chantry, the best place to look would surely be the Grand Cathedral. The group split apart, Sten and Arabella moving towards the merchants in the middle of the district, while Zevran and Arthur headed for the Chantry. The elf made for a pair of sisters standing near the Chanter's Board, but as Arthur made to join him, he felt a hand close on his plated shoulder.

"I recognise you...from Ostagar" a rough, hostile voice growled from behind. Looking round, he saw a grizzled old knight standing behind him, his expression belligerent, one hand on the haft of an expensive-looking mace, looking all too eager to draw it.

"Andraste's Blood, you're a Grey Warden! Duncan's apprentice! You killed my friend...and good King Cailan! I _demand _satisfaction!"

The man's eyes, however, were glazed, and Arthur could smell the ale on his breath. 'Perhaps I can take advantage of that' Arthur thought as he puffed out his chest, glaring at the drunkard with affronted annoyance.

"A Grey Warden?" he sneered, trying to project an imperious air and gesturing to his breastplate. "Are you blind as well as stupid? As you can clearly see, I am a _templar_, not a Grey Warden! I've never seen Ostagar, let alone fought there!"

The knight's expression changed from belligerent anger to confusion and his eyes narrowed, no doubt scrutinising the youth's appearance to the sketch of Arthur on the 'Wanted' posters. After a few moments, the knight stepped back and shook his head, leaving Arthur profoundly grateful he'd been unable to shave or trim his hair for a while.

"Beg pardon, ser. You must think me a fool. I swear you look like...too much ale perhaps". Arthur shook his head and gave a disparaging sneer, about to turn away when a thought occurred to him.

"Now if you will excuse...where's the girl!" Arthur yelled, feigning an expression of mortification.

"What girl?" the knight asked, confused. Arthur seized him by the front of his armour and roared "The mage I was escorting back to the Circle!". Spotting Arabella in a corner, talking to two merchants who from the look of them were Antivan, Arthur stormed over and seized the woman by her ear.

"Trying to make a break for it, mage?" he roared. Arabella's eyes went wide with shock at Arthur's rage, but then she saw who he was with and without being told, slipped into the identity she and Arthur had constructed before entering the city.

"Please, Ser Rupert, I wasn't trying to escape, I swear! I was just looking...I've never been to Denerim before...". Arthur smiled inwardly; the mage played the frightened innocent well. Keeping up his part, Arthur held Arabella by the scruff of her neck and thrust her forward at the astonished knight, who took an involuntary step back in fear, though whether it was because of the berserk templar bellowing at him or the mage thrust in his face, Arthur couldn't tell.

"You see? If that girl had run, we'd have an apostate loose, and it would be your fault, ser! Now get out of my sight, and count yourself lucky I don't have you arrested for interfering with Chantry business!"

"Yes, of course, forgive me, ser. It was not my intention to cause a scene" the knight yelped as he scurried off, looking not sorry to depart. The moment he was gone, Arthur and Arabella let out a relieved sigh, then burst out laughing. "Well done!" Arthur chuckled. "You're a good actor; I'll remember the look on his face for a long time to come!"

"No problems, though you could have given me some warning. Who was that dullard, anyway?"

"Ser Landry" Arthur replied. "A rather thick-skulled member of the nobility; I doubt even that mace he's so fond of could beat some sense into his head. Wonder who he was more scared of, you or me?"

"Her, I should think" Sten muttered, having rejoined them at the sight of the fracas.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Arabella sniped, clearly angered by the comment. Sten gave her a cold look and replied "Mages are in possession of power that can all too easily run to chaos and destruction. They can no more control it than a dragon can make its flame not burn, or a scorpion can stop its sting from producing venom. I would think you would understand that, if what I have heard of you is true, that you were in cahoots with the corrupted saarebas, Uldred" the qunari replied curtly.

"Mages are people, no different from those. I know that my power requires responsibility and understanding, but I can find it and grasp it on my own, as all of us can. I do not need it to be given to me while I am chained to the leash of an Arvaraad like a whipped dog!"

"How is it you know of the ways of the Qun?" Sten snapped, a suspicious look in his eyes. "I read" was Arabella's rather dismissive answer. Arthur cleared his throat to interject before the dispute got more heated.

"Fascinating though this debate is, it doesn't help our current objective" Arthur cut across them as Zevran rejoined them, his face a mask of disappointment.

"No one at the Chantry's seen our boy Genetivi in over a month" the elf replied sadly.

"What do we do now?" Arabella asked, uncertain what to do. But before Arthur could reply, a small cough to attract their attention was heard. Looking round, they saw who had interrupted; a messenger boy of about ten or eleven, stood at Arabella's elbow and tugging at the hem of her robe.

"Message for you, milady" the boy said, depositing a small parchment roll into her palm. "Who gave you this...?" Arabella began to ask, but the boy was already running off. "More things to deliver!" he shouted back over his shoulder. Arabella quickly unfurled the scroll and read its contents to them.

'_Miss,_

_Meet me in Room 1 at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Bring the templar._

_A friend'_

"Think it's a trap?" she asked.

"Could be an offer of assistance; you never know" Zevran replied. Arthur nodded "We'll check it out...carefully".

####################

Arthur had never been in the Gnawed Noble, having been too young to patronise it the last time he'd been in Denerim, but he remembered Fergus describing it to him; a well-lit, bright place with a convivial atmosphere, and since its clientele were only of the nobility, most of the people who frequented it were on first name terms. '_What was it Fergus called this place?'_ Arthur thought. _'That's it; A place where everybody knows your name',_ smiling at the memory of his brother's good humour, though it felt like a lifetime ago.

At present, however, it was all but empty; since there was no Landsmeet occurring and the only nobles present in the city were likely crowding round the palace to press their lips to Loghain's arse, the only people inside were the tavern keeper and a handful of flustered looking barmaids attending to the only patrons; mostly militia captains and officers. _'So who wants to talk to us?'_ Arthur wondered.

Zevran, Sten and Edward waited outside; a templar and mage together was strange enough, without an armoured elf and a qunari trailing behind them; Sten following a templar and mage would almost certainly raise eyebrows. Speaking quickly to the barkeep, they got the location of the room they'd been summoned to; Arabella knocked on the door and it swung open, a brutish looking man in leather armour with a pair of daggers scabbarded on his back ushering them in. Arthur frowned as they entered; the armour the man looked familiar...

"You here about a note? Good" a tall thin man sat in an opulent armchair by a roaring fire spoke in an Antivan accent as Arabella and Arthur entered the room. "You can remove the helmet now, Warden. The bounty on your head is of no concern to my men"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, ser..." Arthur began, scrutinising the speaker. He was thin and tall, not overfed like most merchants, but the gaudy doublet and hose he wore clearly marked him as such. His closely-cut hair was grey in colour and his eyes were like a hawk's, scrutinising him with predatory curiosity, as if determining what threat or advantage Arthur posed. Arthur recognised him; one of the merchants Arabella had been talking to before Ser Landry had shown up.

"Please, Warden. You are amongst friends here; at least, I hope we can be friends..." the Antivan began, before there was a loud bang as a booted foot slammed into the door, smashing it open.

"Just see that the conversation stays civil, Ignacio" Zevran snarled as he stormed in, a dagger in hand. "If this is a trap, I'll..."

If this Ignacio felt threatened, he gave no sign, merely sank back into the armchair behind him and chuckled. "Zevran, is it? You're Taliesin's responsibility. Other Crows may try to kill you, but in my eyes, you are already dead. But the Warden...he is of great importance to me".

Asturian's Might was out of its scabbard and levelled at Ignacio within a heartbeat. "You were hired to _kill_ me!" Arthur snarled. '_We should never have come here'_ he cursed, berating himself for wanting to investigate. '_Clearly the Antivan Crows just want to finish the job!'_

The assassins flanking Ignacio drew their own weapons but he waved them aside, showing absolutely no fear at the sword held barely an inch from piercing his guts. A sly smile spread across Ignacio's thin lips as he retorted "I can't stress enough _I_ wasn't hired to do anything. An associate was, and he has failed...and failed badly" the Antivan added as an afterthought, his lip curling.

"I'd like to see you do any better" Zevran growled. Ignacio's sneer only grew wider "Do you take me for a fool? That's a contract I'd never take!"

Zevran looked as if he intended to say more, but fell silent at the glare on Ignacio's face. Looking closely, Arthur could see the elf's eyes were darting from side to side, checking all available exits in case things turned nasty, and always returning to the two Crows on either side of Ignacio. _'He's just as nervous as I am'_ Arthur realised: Zevran was clearly uncomfortable his former comrades might try to kill him for his failure at any second. Ignacio, however, turned back to Arthur and continued as if there had been no interruption.

"A client can always hire more help if the job isn't done properly the first time, but I'm hoping we can come to some arrangement to avoid such further...unpleasantness".

"Is this true, Zev?" Arabella asked. The elf looked surprised to be addressed, but quickly nodded. "I've only heard of one job where the entire House of Crows was summoned. A princely sum changed hands and an entire noble family died; not one soul survived. Ignacio has the right of it; usually, it is one master, one job"

"Speak quickly" Arthur snapped. "But I promise nothing"

"Ferelden is a busy place; Blight, civil war, lots of people not getting on. Sometimes they really don't get on..."

"So you're hiring help?" Arthur replied, an eyebrow raised.

"You could say that; not many people we can turn to. So someone who's crossed our path and lived...maybe they could help us out, make a bit of coin, everybody wins. It's fairly simple; I hand you a scroll, you read about someone interesting. If something happens to them, you let me know, I give you coin for telling me. If you don't like what's on the scroll, do nothing. Maybe he has an accident and someone else tells me" Ignacio swiftly explained, reaching into the sleeves of his doublet, extricating a parchment scroll and extending it to Arthur. Arthur reached out to take it, but then stopped, a warning look in those bright blue eyes.

"If I do this, I want no more Crows after me"

"That I cannot do" Ignacio replied bluntly. "One master already has a contract on you. But help us out, maybe if that master asks for help, all he'll get is silence?". Without any more preamble, Arthur snatched the scroll and quickly skimmed over its contents.

"Makes for fine reading, doesn't it?" the Crow master opined.

"You're a cautious little weasel, Ignacio? What's your angle? If you're playing us false..."

"My dance is not for you; I need to be real honest sometimes. And I can say I haven't asked anyone to _do_ anything. I've merely given someone something to read" was the blunt reply.

"And you think that'll save your hide when they nail it to a wall?" the elf sneered as his companions made to leave.

"You are already dead in my eyes, whoreson; take care I don't learn otherwise!" Ignacio yelled as his men ushered them from the room.

##################################

"Ahhh, I grew up in a place such as this. They say you can never go home again, but for ten silvers an hour you can get pretty close."

Zevran's nostalgia was not Arthur's sentiment about entering a brothel; even given his past, he'd never been one to frequent such establishments in Highever; why use coin to charm a woman when natural talent could do it free? Numerous women, and in a few cases men, in low cut, revealing clothing plied their trade in corners and booths around the brothel's main room, but that wasn't the reason they were there.

The Crows had directed them to their target; a man named Paedan, operating some scam from a room here, using the Grey Wardens' name. The third door at the end of the corridor was the target, and a quick rap of a gauntleted hand elicited the response he wanted.

"What's the password?" a brusque voice snapped on the other side of the door.

"The griffons will rise again" Arthur muttered. There was a loud click and the door unlocked. Arthur slammed it open and stormed inside.

Inside, a vicious-looking thug in splintmail with a greatsword, flanked by a snide elf and two qunari mercenaries, more grey in skin tone than Sten and each bore horns like oxen, curling from the sides of their heads. Sten growled angrily at the sight of them. Arthur barely heard the spiel the thug and his elf gave, and when Paedan demanded Arthur surrender as if he were doing the Warden a favour, the young Cousland just laughed at him.

"You're the hunted now, fools, not the hunters" Zevran sneered. "You owe the Antivan Crows a debt of blood, and we've been sent to collect!"

Paedan's eyes went wide with horror at the mention of his name being marked by the Crows. "What do you want, coin? Favour? I can arrange anything you want but it'll take time!"

"Unless you can pull your master out of your pocket so I can kill him here and now, there's nothing you can offer me to save your miserable hide!" Arthur retorted with a cold laugh. "It's funny, I was just going to kill you for profit, but now I know you work for that bastard Howe, I'm gonna kill you for fun! Let's see if you're as brave facing a proper fighter as you are beating the crap out of peasants!"

Zevran was in motion before the last syllable had left Arthur's lips, pulling a pair of throwing knives from his belt and sending them flying; each blade buried itself between the eyes of the qunari mercenaries, dropping them like sacks of potatoes."Ebost isala, Tal-Vashoth vashedan!" Sten muttered coldly as they fell. The elf drew her blades and flung herself at Arthur with a screeching war cry, but Sten interposed himself between them, blocking with Asala. The swords clashed blade-to-blade, and the elf's battle cry turned to a shriek of horror as her weapons shattered into pieces.

"Grey iron..." she yelped. "Howe promised us silverite blades!"

"You trust the word of a penny-pincher like Howe, you're gonna be disappointed!" Arthur said disparagingly. Before the elf could say more, Sten split her from chin to crotch, the heavy plate armour she wore cracking like an egg as the steel blade split the shoddy grey iron with ease.

Seeing his hirelings fell broke the last of Paedan's courage; pulling something from his belt, he lobbed the object and ran. The smoke bomb shattered at their feet, sending oily, billowing clouds everywhere, and as they fell back coughing and choking, they all heard running feet. "STOP HIM!" Arthur bellowed. "If he gets away, he'll run to Howe!"

But the chase was over before it began.

"Get out of my bloody way, whore!" Howe's man yelled at a courtesan in his path as he made for the door. What happened next was so fast Arthur didn't quite see it all; a rasp of steel being drawn, a flash of silver, and next thing, Paedan was staggering slowly to the door, the woman he'd shouted at stood behind with a drawn cutlass in her hand, level with his neck. Howe's man took one halting final step and then fell to his knees. Arthur noticed the thin red line that ringed Paedan's neck a second before his head slid off his shoulders and rolled away, several courtesans shrieking and leaping out of its path. The man's decapitated body fell to the ground behind it with a dull thud.

"Well, look who it is; I thought I recognised the stench of Antivan leather" the woman who'd just beheaded Paedan chuckled, wiping the blood off the blade of her cutlass on the back of the dead man's cuirass and sliding the sword back into its sheath. "So what brings you here? Come to apologise for running off, after leaving me bereft of my lord and husband?"

Zevran laughed "Ah, my dear Isabela, you know it was just business. Business that turned out quite well for _you_; last I heard, you'd inherited the ship and the crew?"

The woman glowered for a moment, before laughing, flashing the elf a smile of surprising whiteness and pulling him into a hug that implied the pair shared a friendship...as well as other things. "I suppose I never did like that greasy bastard anyhow. And the _Siren's Call_ treats me far better than she ever did him!"

"Ahem" Arthur interjected with a cough. "Hate to interrupt this reunion, but some introductions might be in order?"

"Indeed" Zev nodded. "This, my friends, is Isabela, pirate queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn. And my dear, you'll no doubt be amused to hear whose company I'm travelling in. This is Arthur Cousland, heir to Highever and a Grey Warden of no small repute these days. The tall, grumpy fellow at the back is Sten of the Beresaad. The pretty redhead is Arabella Amell, late of the Ferelden Circle of Magi, a mage of no small ability". A loud bark from behind him caused Zev to quickly add "Oh, and this walking shag-carpet is Edward" nodding to the mabari, who wagged his tail happily.

"A Grey Warden, is it? Charmed" Isabela said with a raised eyebrow and an attempt at a curtsey, giving Arthur a good opportunity to look closely. The pirate captain was..._interesting_, to say the least. Her dark skin and Llomeryn birth identified her as Rivaini in origin, and even in a building full of courtesans in low-cut dresses and gaudy jewellery, the corsair cut a striking figure. Her attire was a billowy white shirt, a black whalebone corset only adding to the prominence of her ample bosom, already straining against its confines. Hers arm, the right wielding the cutlass and the left resting on a dagger's pommel at her hip, were protected by simple leather bracers, pauldrons and gauntlets, while her long legs were clad in black leather boots that reached almost to the tops of her thighs, which helped to disguise the fact she was wearing little else below the waist. To complete her ensemble, a blue bandana was tied about her head around her shoulder-length dark hair, along with gold earrings the size of sovereigns dangling from the sides of her head and a large gold band around her neck.

"My, my, Zevran, you have done well for yourself! He's a fine one, isn't he? I've always wondered if those stories they tell about Grey Warden 'prowess' are true..."

"Parshaara!" Sten snapped. "We did not come here to exchange compliments on our appearances from you, corsair!"

Isabela pouted "Just trying to make conversation, though I'll be happy not to compliment you. I've had far too many dealings with your people, qunari...mostly on the receiving end of the iron shot that those 'cannons' your vessels carry fire. No offence, but I'll die a happy woman if I never get involved in any business deals that involve qunari" the pirate laughed. "And as for you, gorgeous, watch yourself here" she added, turning her attention to Arabella. "To the blokes who frequent this place, you're nothing but a pair of tits and an arse, and trust me when I say they don't hesitate to grab at both!"

"Speaking from experience, are you?" Arabella smiled, blushing a little at the compliment.

"A few broken bones and they got the message I'm not on offer" Isabela chuckled. "Still, if you're here on business, maybe I can help you. Me and my crew know almost everything worth knowing in this city, and if we don't know it, I'm sure we can find someone who does!"

"Don't suppose you know where we can find a Brother Genetivi? Scholar, bookish-type, works for the Chantry?"

"Not personally; Chantry sorts aren't my type, but I'm sure we can

"Thank you" Arthur replied with a nod. He made to leave, but Isabela called out, her voice a little petulant.

"You're leaving? What about sex?"

"Oh my dear Isabela, I have missed you" Zevran chuckled.

"That's because you have piss-poor aim" the pirate opined. "Fortunately, you have other uses. You can bring handsome and the redhead along too; the more, the merrier!"

"You want...sex? With me? A mage?" Arabella gasped, a little surprised by the pirate's forthrightness.

"What does that matter? I don't believe the templars say I should be worried about mages. Look at me, gorgeous; life I lead, I'm more likely to be shanked in a bar brawl than eaten by an abomination. Besides, mage or no, I'm sure you know what to do in a bed with your clothes off, no?" she replied with a raised eyebrow, causing Arabella to blush as she caught the Rivaini's meaning.

"Thank you, captain, but no" Arthur insisted. "We should probably find lodgings for the night...

"Hey, I don't mind offering you a berth for the night, if you'd be willing to do me a favour in exchange. 'Sides, it might be safer for you; I don't give two shits about what the regent's offering for you, but if some tavern keep or hostel owner finds out he's got the most wanted man in Denerim kipping under his roof, he might not be so accepting, if you get my meaning..."

Isabela's meaning couldn't be clearer: '_I'm probably the only person in the city who won't sell you out for even a tenth of the bounty on your head'._ Arthur took less than a minute to come to the conclusion that the pirate's argument made sense. "Very well. Lead on".

Isabela's ear-to-ear grin at his acquiescence could have swallowed a slice of watermelon whole. "Come, my ship's down by the docks, and I think you'll find my cabins most..._comfortable_"

########################

Arthur stood at the rail of the _Siren's Call_, staring out at the city. Denerim looked quite peaceful in the dark, the only signs of life the lanterns burning on street corners and in the pacing hands of night-watchmen, but Arthur knew the peace was just an illusion; all he'd heard in the city told him it was in just as much chaos as the darkspawn infested southern lands. Food shortages, riots in the streets, men and women in Loghain's colours being pelted with dung and stones in the street-if they were lucky- the Alienage locked down after Rendon Howe had decided to add genocide to his list of crimes and led a purge to avenge the death of Vaughn Kendalls in an 'elven uprising' as the gossips called it, and rumours of the plague the darkspawn spread loose in the city: Denerim's position so far from the war's frontline granted it no more immunity from the chaos engulfing Ferelden than anywhere else in the realm.

Arthur wanted to sleep, but the berth they'd given him in the lower decks was hardly comfortable. Isabela had offered him a place in the captain's quarters, but judging by the noises coming from there- yells, gasps, groans and screams of delight, ecstasy and relief, along with demands for more and cries of jubilation – Isabela, Zevran and Arabella were by no means finished with their _exertions _inside. Up on deck, there was no one else about save for a crewman keeping watch, Edward curled up asleep outside the captain's cabin and Sten, sat cross-legged with his back to the main mast, Asala across his lap, eyes closed, chanting the same passage of dialect over and over. Arthur made his way over to Sten's place, listening to the dialect the qunari was repeating to himself. '_A form of meditation?'_ Arthur wondered.

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun"

"Can't sleep either?" he asked the qunari.

Sten shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still shut. "It is hard to rest or meditate, when you are constantly disturbed by noises like a pack of wild dogs rutting"

"I won't argue with you there, but if you seek distraction, there are other ways"

"Such as?"

"We could spar"

"And what purpose would that serve?"

"You can learn more about a person in combat than you can through simple conversation"

"I've fought countless humans; I need learn no more about you. But it would make a distraction from listening to the corsair, elf and saarebas copulating, and it will give me a chance to see"

"See what?"

"To see what you can do. It might give me an opinion of what will happen when you face the archdemon"

Asala whipped out at Arthur's head before he could draw his own blade; ducking under the greatsword's swing, Arthur whipped out his own blade and the pair began to circle each other, a stab met by the block of a shield, a slash parried at neck height, and countless other blows in a dance of clashing metal that rang out across the harbour in the still night air.

"I have been mistaken" Sten suddenly said as they locked blades, their faces barely inches apart.

"What do you mean?"

"You are a soldier worthy to stand amongst the Beresaad. I did not think that when we first met" Sten replied as he pushed Arthur away and brought Asala down in an descending strike from high that Arthur blocked with his shield, staggering back a few steps from the force of it.

"What changed your mind?" Arthur asked.

"You did" Sten replied, a quirk at the edge of his mouth that could almost be a wry smirk. "The day will come when the Arishok sends us here. On that day, I will not look to find you on the battlefield" he concluded solemnly as they pulled away from another blade lock.

"You think the qunari will invade Ferelden?"

"In time" the answer came with a small shrug. "But there is no point in dwelling on it; either it will happen or it won't. Whatever the Qun demands"

"Oi, keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep!" a voice behind them called out. Arthur and Sten looked round from their sparring match to see Isabela emerging from her cabin, her hair tousled and wild without the bandana to constrain it, hastily buttoning up her shirt, even though it still barely managed to keep her breasts covered.

"You were doing many things in there, corsair, but I do not think sleeping was among them" Sten replied. Arthur chuckled at the notion of the stoic, sullen qunari having a sense of humour.

"Ha ha, very funny" Isabela sarcastically jibed at the qunari, before turning her attention back to the Warden. "Casavir got the information you need. Your boy Genetivi's got a house in the Market District. One of my boys will take you there in the morning"

"And you couldn't have told me that before you three started with the racket?" Arthur replied.

"I had a handsome elf and a gorgeous woman naked in my quarters; forgive me if I was a little distracted" the Rivaini chuckled.

"I'll assume this information doesn't come without a price?

"But of course. Quid pro quo" Isabela replied, wagging a finger. "I did something for you; now, I need you to do something for me"

"What sort of something are we talking about? I mean, I don't do work involving children and animals"

Isabela laughed "Good thing I don't need your wit, just your skill at violence. Me and my boys are planning a little heist tomorrow; just meet me and my boys in the back alley behind the Gnawed Noble when you're done. Now, you coming in or what?" Isabela nodded towards the open door of her cabin. Looking in, he could make out the forms of a semi-naked Arabella and Zevran lying spread-eagled and entwined on the mattress.

"Not right now"

Isabela threw back her head and gave a rich laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the day when a man would actually turn me down. The only reason I can think of why a bloke wouldn't want to jump in with me is 'cos his heart, or at least his eye is set on someone else. I get that right?"

The only thing Arthur gave by way of an answer was a sly smirk.

"Then, if what Zev and 'Bella tell me is true, she's a lucky girl".

"What have they told you?"

"Arthur Cousland, knight and hero, slayer of darkspawn, dragons and demons, rightful heir to the terynir of Highever and many other things beside; I'm sure when this Blight is done, they'll be writing stories about you for a long time to come". She batted her eyelids in a final attempt at seduction. "Sure I can't tempt you to add 'lover and ravisher of the most notorious pirate ever to sail the Waking Sea' to that list of epithets?"

"Thank you again, but no" Arthur insistently replied.

"Then make yourself comfortable out here" Isabela said as she reached in and tossed a pillow to him "cos trust me, it's gonna be a long night in here" she finished with a lascivious wink and closed the doors. The noise resumed almost immediately.

###############

They returned to dry land around midday and swiftly made their way to their destination, led by one of Isabela's crewmen to the house in the Market District. Arthur had, at Isabela's request, ditched the templar's heavy plate in exchange for a suit of studded leather armour akin to those her crew wore. He could only assume that this 'task' Isabela wanted him on hand for to repay her involved some form of larceny, burglary, arson or other criminal activity, something for which the presence of a templar would be rather suspicious. After a quick stop at the Gnawed Noble to inform Ignacio of Paedan's 'accident', they received two more new assassination contracts; one for a band of qunari mercenaries Loghain had ordered to try and deal with the Dalish attacks on Gwaren, now camped in the Brecilian Forest, and the second for one of his lickspittles, cloistered in Orzammar. Arthur had taken both and the group had departed swiftly for their destination.

Brother Genetivi's house was a rather simple, nondescript affair; one of dozens of terraced houses ringing the edges of the Market District. Arthur had been about to knock, but when he rapped on the door, it swung open. "Not a good sign" the Warden muttered as he and the others stepped inside.

The house's interior looked to be neatly ordered-as one might expect of a scholar's abode- but Arthur got the feeling no one had lived there for some time. Nearly every surface-the tables, the bookcases, even the pictures on the walls- were covered in dust. Arthur cleared his throat to announce their presence, and from a side room, a flustered looking man in servant's garb emerged, his small eyes narrowed nervously as he regarded the intruders.

"May I help you?"

"Brother Genetivi, I presume?" Arthur asked, extending a hand.

"No, no!" the man replied, a soft smile crossing his lips. "I am Weylon, Brother Genetivi's assistant. When I saw you, I thought you might have news of Brother Genetivi...wishful thinking, it seems" Weylon trailed off sadly, his expression morose.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked.

"I haven't seen Brother Genetivi in weeks. He sent no word; it's so unlike him. "I am afraid something has happened. Genitivi's research into the Urn may have led him into danger."

"Why would searching for the Urn lead him into danger?" Arabella questioned, confused.

"Perhaps the Urn has been lost of a reason" Weylon shrugged. "I pray for Genitivi's safety, but hope dwindles with each passing day. I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I sent them after Genitivi and they too have disappeared."

"How do you know they disappeared?" Zevran snapped, his tone brusque.

"Well, they... haven't returned, and they sent no word either."

Zevran's right eyebrow rose, and his eyes acquired a rather cold look. "Are you so close to the knights? Why would they send _you_ word?"

"I... I don't know. After what happened to Genitivi, can you blame me for thinking the same could've happened to the knights?"

"Where did you send them?" Arthur pressed, but Weylon shook his head desperately.

"No, don't ask me where they went. You'll go after them, and what if ill-luck should befall you, too? This search is a curse, on us all. Some things are not meant to be found. I know that now."

"I need to find the Urn, or Arl Eamon will die. Tell me everything you know" Arthur snapped, cutting across the man's fretting. Weylon looked wary for a moment, then gave a resigned sigh and spoke in a conspiratorial voice.

"All he said before he left was that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area."

"What exactly was he investigating?"

"I don't know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn."

Zevran's amber eyes narrowed. "But you just said that he spoke to you and told you that."

"Y-yes, of course he told me, but I also went though his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts."

The assassin took few steps closer to the man. "You sound nervous. Hiding something, perhaps?" His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was a predatory undertone to it.

"That's n-not true. I told you everything I know. Brother Genitivi told us- t-told me about the inn and that's all!" Weylon took a step back from the elf. Zevran smiled like a shark that had spotted a wounded seal.

"You're lying; we both know it. And what's more, I believe you're standing in front of what we need"

"Fools" Weylon snarled, his face taking on a feral aspect. "I gave you a chance to turn aside and forget you ever heard of Genitivi and the Urn. But you persisted. Now it has come to this... Andraste forgive me. I do this in Your Name!"

Magical lightning crackled in Weylon's hands; Arthur and Zevran's hands flew to their weapons, but before they could move, there was a roar of "KATARA, BAS!" accompanied by a flash of steel, and the magic guttered away as Weylon's hands flew to his gut, trying to stop his viscera spilling out of the ragged furrow Asala had carved through his abdomen. The greatsword flicked out again like a rapier, cutting through the flesh of the assistant's neck, blood spurting in a crimson fountain as the corpse toppled to the floor, thrashing in spasms before lying still. "Ebost issala" Sten muttered as he wiped his sword clean on Weylon's back.

"I knew he was lying," Zevran commented casually as if a disembowelling and decapitation were perfectly ordinary sights to him, which considering his profession, they probably were. "Now, let's see what we can find in the way of clues, no? I want to know what was so important it required this fool to die defending it"

Most of the books out in the main room had little value, save an interesting text that Arthur pocketed; a treatise regarding the nature of cults that worshipped High Dragons as deities, and whether these were just a corrupted form of the once widespread worship of the Old Gods, or a seperate entity entirely. But when Arabella opened the door to the backroom and then slammed it shut, choking and coughing in disgust, they knew they'd found what they were looking for. Inside the room was a long-dead corpse, likely the real Weylon, rotted beyond recognition, bloated and crawling with flies. The stench of rotting flesh was so powerful Arthur was amazed none of the neighbours had complained about it, but as he looked away from the rotting form of the real assistant, he saw a chest in a corner. Darting through the swarm of flies, Arthur seized the chest, dragged it back into the main room and slammed the door behind him. A quick blow with Asala made short work of the lock and Arthur upended the chest's contents.

Most of it was a mishmash of maps, ancient charts and transcripts of local legends from numerous arlings, but one useful thing was buried in the middle of the chaff; a leather-bound journal, one heavily used by the looks of it. The last entry had been written just over a month before, indicating that the Brother had gone to investigate a potentially promising lead in an out-of-the-way village called Haven, deep in the Frostback Mountains, about two days journey from Redcliffe. '_Looks like we'll be hiking' _Arthur thought morosely to himself, not enthused by the idea .

"We're done here. Now let's see what Isabela wants and be on our way". After dumping the body of the imposter along with the real Weylon, the group departed Brother Genetivi's house and made for the rendezvous point in the alley behind the Gnawed Noble tavern where Isabela had told them to meet. The pirate captain was waiting, with over two dozen of her crew, all armed and ready for battle. At the head of the group was a burly, ginger man, talking swiftly to the pirate captain. Zevran's eyes lit up at the sight of him.

"I should have known you'd be behind this, Slim" he called out as they approached. The man looked round, grinning from ear to ear, and pulled the elf into a bear hug.

"Still robbing your betters, Slim?"

"You still killing them?"

"Slim?" Arabella chuckled. "Was that man ever truly 'slim'?"

"I only earned my gut recently" the man laughed with good humour, patting his paunch affectionately and clearly unoffended by the jest. "Name's Slim Couldry, and if you've heard of me, then I've been doing a right poor job of it, haven't I?"

"He used to be the finest burglar, pickpocket and racketeer in Denerim. Now he provides other people with the information for robbery in exchange for a cut of the take" Zevran chuckled by way of an explanation.

"Hey, do you really see me breaking and entering with this belly?" Slim replied. "With my luck, I try to sneak in through a window these days, I'll get stuck!"

"Hate to interrupt the friendly reminisces, but I'm on a schedule" Arthur interjected. "Why are we here?"

"Straight to business, Warden; I like that" Slim nodded. "Very well, I'll cut to the chase. Arl Howe owns this warehouse. Word is, the Arl's been discreetly dipping into the treasury and moving silver ingots to his usurped estate in Highever" the fence said with a nod to Arthur. "There's a fortune in this warehouse for the taking, and for those of you who give a rat's arse about the politics, we get this done right and Arl Howe gets a _big _black eye!"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Arthur said with a wolfish grin, more than eager to take part in any scheme that might hurt Rendon Howe, particularly in the area he cherished most; his coin purse. "Any guards?"

"Couple of the arl's hatchet men. Normally, I'm opposed to killing, but stealth's hardly an option here. So good luck, I'm rooting for you!"

"Come on, lads! Let's crack some heads!" Isabela shrieked, drawing her cutlass and leading the charge. Her crewman charged in behind her, with Arthur and the others bringing up the rear.

What followed was a rather one-sided slaughter.

###########

Three hours later

Rendon Howe was in a spectacularly bad mood. He'd been angry enough when he'd been called out to the docks by the city guard to find that four of his most capable agents had been found chopped into pieces, deposited in a sack and dumped in the river behind the Pearl brothel. Since none of the scum who Paedan and his hirelings had been rounding up for trying to support the Grey Wardens had the competence or ability to take down four of his supposed 'elite', Howe could only assume the fools got overconfident and paid for it with their lives. 'Someone says the password, fools open the door and get set upon by a mob of thugs; wouldn't be the first time it's happened'.

In the mouth of Paedan's severed head, a vellum scroll had been rolled up and placed between his teeth. Taking it from the hands of the guardsman, Rendon opened the scroll and read the brief script scrawled on it, looking as if it had been suspiciously written in the man's blood.

'_If this is the best you can do, you really have no hope'_

_AC._

Howe had cursed Arthur Cousland with every profanity he knew, then ordered the guardsmen to get rid of the mutilated remains; if the fools had allowed themselves to be killed by a witless stripling like Bryce's pup, he was not going to fork out the funerary tithe to the Chantry to have such dregs properly cremated. But the trouble hadn't stopped there.

Upon returning to his estate in the hope of removing that unpleasantness from his mind with a good meal and a bottle of fine vintage plundered from the late Arl Urien's private cellars, the bad news just kept coming. Another messenger from the city guard burst into his study, saying they required the Arl's presence at the sight of an incident in the market district. He'd been confused until he saw where the guardsman was taking him.

The warehouse now more resembled a slaughterhouse; the mangled and wrecked bodies of his men lying about the place, dismembered, decapitated, disembowelled. Many had barely had time to get their weapons out, suggesting whoever. But that didn't concern Howe; his attention was diverted by the half-dozen chests at the back of the warehouse. Their locks had been smashed open and their contents taken; the fortune in silver ingots he'd 'appropriated' from the treasury all gone. He'd been shaking with anger that he barely noticed the guard trying to get his attention until the man had dared to presume he could speak to the Arl like an equal and placed a hand on his shoulder. Howe whirled round with a balled fist and struck the man a hard blow across the face, bending down to seize the scrap of parchment from the guard's limp grasp, inked once again in the blood of the dead.

'_Are you even __**trying**__ to kill me?'_

_AC'_

Howe cursed angrily, crumbled the parchment into a ball and tossed it into a brazier as he stormed out. All his hard work, all that effort spent in preparing the silver for transportation, in making sure no one found out (not easy, when Loghain and Anora's agents were watching him like hawks for any sign of wrongdoing they could use to send him to the scaffold) and that the ship to Highever was ready to depart at midnight, and that boy had stormed in and laid waste to all his plans, as he seemed to live to do since the moment Eleanor had opened her legs to spew the little bastard into existence.

'_I ought to have every last one of the city watch executed for their incompetence! Did the gate guards pay no attention whatsoever to the Wanted posters? Did they not see him bloody walk into the city?'_. But the madness passed; a mass execution would only cause trouble. Loghain and Anora would want to know why, and if they found out he'd let one of the most wanted criminals come and go from Denerim as he pleased, Howe would never hear the end of it. He'd be lucky if Loghain merely had him flogged for incompetence if the regent got wind of what had been happening in his abscene.

"Dump the bodies in the harbour. No word about this is to get out, do you understand me?" he snapped at the ranking guardsman present, a sergeant by the name of Kylon who gave a respectful nod and began passing orders to his men. As the guardsmen began to move the bodies out to be dumped, Howe departed the warehouse, cursing his ill luck, the incompetence of his men, the collapse of his plans yet again, and most of all, Arthur Cousland, with as much vehement contempt and anger as he could muster. He was so wrapped up in his anger, he barely realised he was being followed until the errand boy was practically shouting in his ear.

"Message for you, milord" another runner said, depositing another scroll into Howe's hands, before scurrying away. Rendon quickly unrolled it and read the elegant script written on it.

'_Your Warden is gone. My agents are following them. Very soon, our plan will come to fruition'_

_M._

For a moment, the anger and the bitterness receded, replaced by a malicious jubilation. _'Let Arthur Cousland have his little victories, but we'll see who laughs last when he and his Orlesian whore are waiting at my pleasure in Fort Drakon!'_

Howe rubbed his hands together gleefully at the thought of Arthur and his whore racked and flayed in the dungeons of his estate. It was a beautiful image.

#############################

"So, what happens to you after the Joining?"

Alistair looked up at the question. He'd been relieved to see Arthur. The past two days had gone by so slowly, and the others hadn't been willing to make much conversation while they lingered in the village. Leliana and Wynne had been pacing about inside their lodgings, too nervous about those in the city to speak, and for the most part, Morrigan had had her nose buried in that strange book of hers, but in the last few hours, she'd put it away, as if revolted by what it contained, and her face had acquired a rather wary, uncertain look. She also kept shooting glances at Arthur, as if desperate to talk to him, but uncertain how to do so. Morrigan was...for want of a better word, _afraid_; something in that book had scared her. Part of him wanted to ask what it was, but he knew the witch would rebuff him with her usual caustic indifference. '_If she wants to talk to Arthur about it, let her work up the courage to do it; it's not my problem' _Alistair told himself.

Arthur and the others had returned some hours before, and the group had swiftly packed up camp, Arthur ditching the studded leather armour he'd acquired from somewhere in the city, slipping on the gambeson and then donning his favoured silverite plate armour over it. The others had questioned him about what had happened, but he'd kept his answers concise and to the point, simply saying he knew where they needed to go. Alistair knew a better explanation was due, and Arthur had promised it, but only when they got back to Redcliffe. Alistair's spirits had raised a lot when his fellow Warden told him they were heading home...or at least the closest thing he could consider home.

After an hour on the South Road, they'd made camp on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest, Sten, Edward and Morrigan taking up watch. Alistair had been about to toss some more wood on the fire when the question came.

"You mean, other than becoming a Grey Warden?"

"You've been a Grey Warden longer than I have" Arthur replied fairly.

"I'm not sure. You know, I asked Duncan about this once, but all he said was 'You'll see'".

"He wouldn't tell you?" Arabella asked, sounding a little surprised as she sat down beside the two Wardens, clearly having been eavesdropping on their conversation. For a moment, Alistair felt a little uncertain about replying, but then he remembered once they got the materials, Arabella would be a Grey Warden. She had as much a right to know as Arthur.

"Well, it's not that he didn't want to; I just got the impression it's not something the Grey Wardens talk about. Do you really want to know?"

"Yes" Arthur replied bluntly. "I want to know if in ten or twenty years down the line, I'm going end up looking like Avernus!"

"Avernus?" Arabella asked warily. "You _really_ don't want to know" was Arthur reply.

"Well, the first change I noticed was an increase in appetite. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder; I thought I was starving! I'd slurp down every dinner like it was my last!"

"So it was a joke?" the mage girl replied with a raised eyebrow. Alistair shrugged his shoulders as he said "More like an initiation; it wasn't so serious all the time. Being a Grey Warden isn't all running for your lives and epic battles with no hope against the darkspawn on a day-to-day basis, there is some levity to it!" Alistair joked, a touch of his usual humour returning to him, before his expression grew sombre as he remembered what Duncan had told him what would come after the Joining, something that felt like it had happened to someone else a lifetime ago.

"And then, there were the nightmares. Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn; we tap in their-well, I don't know what you'd call it, their 'hive mind', I suppose. And when we sleep, it's even worse" he finished, the memories of what he saw in his sleep still present; the dragon enthroned in the Black City, its roar almost a mocking war cry, hundreds of darkspawn screaming its name in adulation. "It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How's it been for you?" he asked with a look of concern at his fellow Warden.

Arthur gave a brief shudder, a sight that made Alistair even more unnerved at the thought of what his friend was seeing when he slept, then gave a brusque nod. "Nightmares...yes, I know what you mean".

"Some people never have trouble sleeping, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their whole lives; they're just more sensitive, I guess. Every Grey Warden ends up the same, though. Once you get to a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come..."

"His time has come?" Arthur replied, raising an eyebrow at Alistair's choice of phrase. Alistair cursed himself for giving so much away, but then decided the pair had a right to know. '_Better to hear it from someone they know and trust than a..._creature_ like Avernus, or some Orlesian or Anderfels Warden who views them as little more than soldiers to follow orders' _he knew.

"Oh, that's right, we didn't get round to telling you! Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying of old age!" Alistair smiled in another attempt at levity, but stopped; the subject really didn't allow for much. "You've got thirty years, give or take. The Taint...it's a death sentence. In truth, the Joining doesn't grant full immunity to the Taint, really just a stay of execution. Maybe Avernus's work will be able to change that, I don't know. Ultimately, your body won't be able to take it. When that happens, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle, rather than waiting. It's tradition"

Arthur nodded understandingly, having likely been educated during his noble youth on the significant relationship between the Order and the greatest of the remaining dwarven cities but Arabella seemed confused; Alistair didn't know if the Circle would have bothered with that in its curriculum. "Why Orzammar?" she asked.

"You'll always find darkspawn down where the dwarves are" Arthur replied. Alistair nodded and then took up the tale "The oldest Grey Wardens head down into the Deep Roads for one last glorious battle. Not that there's any shortage of darkspawn during a Blight, but it's traditional. The dwarves respect us for it..."

"It seems a high price to pay" Arabella muttered; clearly, she'd been thinking in the short term when she'd agreed to join the Wardens to escape the vengeance of the templars. But Arthur looked resolute as he replied "Maybe, but we're the only ones who can stop the Blight. Is there any price too high to pay for saving the world? And besides, many people have gone on to do great things in the Wardens, things they might never have been able to accomplish had they not. Would Garahel be anything more than another elf, unnoticed and forgotten in some alienage had he not taken the Joining? Would any of us be here had not the first of us risked everything on a gamble like the Joining in the first place, in the hope it would stop Dumat?"

"Duncan once said to me sometimes we can do nothing in life but play with the hand fate deals us" Alistair added. "That's really all we can do now..."

"Maybe you're right...you've given me a lot to think on" Arabella replied thoughtfully, leaving to go on watch at the edge of the camp. Arthur made to follow, but Alistair pulled him aside, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know, Duncan...he'd started having the dreams, he told me that in private. He said it wouldn't be long before he'd go to Orzammar himself. I guess he got what he wanted...I just wish it had been something worthy of him"

"He'll be remembered. As will all the others" Arthur promised with a comradely hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"I know...ending the Blight, that should make everything worthwhile" Alistair nodded. As Arthur walked away, Alistair allowed himself a soft smile. If someone had asked him six months ago what chances he thought a pair of novice Wardens had against an archdemon and a deranged general after their blood, he would have said a snowball's chance in hell. But now, with Arthur leading them, and the companions they'd gathered, he wasn't so sure. One only had to look at what they had achieved so far; two treaties accomplished, the beginning of an army being assembled, and judging by Zevran's presence, they had the regent and his cronies running scared. And while they had a very long way to go yet, and victory still seemed a very distant possibility, Alistair allowed himself the beginnings of an ember, the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe...they could do this.

'_Maybe that snowball's got more chance than I thought'_.

###################

"The stars are out"

"For once, a clear night" Arthur opined. He'd never had much interest in astronomy, and the first thing that had come into his head was relief that the storm clouds that had been shadowing them since Soldier's Peak hadn't yet caught up to them and burst. 'But I imagine she doesn't want to hear my musings on that' Arthur knew as he gave his full attention to humouring the bard.

"It comforts me to know the stars will remain untouched by the Blight, that no matter what happens here, their light will shine undimmed" Leliana finished with a wistful smile, pointing to a particular constellation above them.

"Do you see that cluster of stars over there? Do you know the story? That of Alindra and her soldier?"

"Can't say I do"

But as Leliana opened her mouth to begin the tale, the moon emerged from behind a cloud and Arthur caught a glimpse of something in the bushes behind them...like the glint of light off metal.

"What is it?" Leliana asked, confusion on her face as Arthur looked past her. But before he could answer, the Warden heard a noise; a creak...like the sound of a bowstring being drawn taut.

"TO ARMS!" Arthur roared, pushing Leliana out of the way as an arrow flew straight at them. The missile missed slamming into the Orlesian's side by a hairsbreadth, hitting the Juggernaut's breastplate and ricocheting off. A feral roar came from the bushes as a number of tall, horned, well armoured figures emerged, weapons drawn, ready for combat. Several more arrows slashed through the air, but Wynne shouted an incantation and an arcane shield flickered into existence around them, sending the arrows skidding away.

"Tal-Vashoth vermin!" Sten roared. "The Qun demands your death!"

One of these Tal-Vashoth hurtled towards Arthur, swinging at him with an axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. Arthur managed to block the axe blade with his shield, but the dagger nicked his arm, finding a gap in the plate and stabbing deep. The qunari pulled it free with a jubilant exclamation, but as the dagger came loose, a spurt of blood droplets came with it, spattering the mercenary's face...and its triumphant yell turned into an agonised screech as the qunari dropped its weapons and began clawing at its face, screaming as though it were on fire. Arthur caught a brief glimpse of the warrior's face...and saw patches of burnt flesh; for some reason, the qunari had reacted to his blood as if it were acid.

Dabbing the finger tips of his right gauntlet into the cut, Arthur seized the qunari by the throat and pressed his bloody hand to its forehead. The mercenary roared in pain and staggered back, a vivid red handprint burned into its forehead. As it staggered, Leliana leapt onto its back and drove her daggers into the gap between helmet and gorget; the qunari fell to his knees, bleeding in torrents down his front. Leliana kicked the mortally wounded warrior off her blades without preamble.

"_Avernus's work?'_ he wondered, looking at the burned patches of flesh on the qunari's face and wondering if a detour back to Soldier's Peak might be of benefit in the near future. _'First things first'_ he shook himself aware as another arrow slammed off his armour.

Leliana nodded to Arthur, and then was blasted sideways as a fist sized piece of stone slammed into her side; she hit the ground hard, clutching her side. Two arrows slammed into the ground a hairsbreadth from her. "They've got a mage!" Arthur yelled, but Morrigan and Arabella were already on it, Morrigan trapping the young female elf in a block of ice, which Arabella shattered into icicles with a magically conjured boulder, Zevran ducked under the swing of a maul by another 'Tal-Vashoth', then blocked desperately as the maul descended towards his head, catching it by the haft in a cross. The qunari was so focused on the elf, it didn't realise Zevran was merely holding it in place until too late; Edward hit the mercenary like lightning, slamming into the qunari's left side and sending it toppling. The mabari's fangs were closed around the victim's throat before it had time to rise. Alistair brought his mace down on the knee of another foe, before staving in their chest with a second blow, and Shale, holding another 'Tal-Vashoth' by the throat, merely tightened the grip of its fist until there was an audible crack as armour and bone gave under the relentless pressure, leaving Shale holding a limp, headless corpse.

All that was left was their leader, desperately loosing arrows in a vain effort to save himself, but with a warrior bearing down on him, a shield of arcane energy warding off such projectiles, it was futile. The man was still trying to loose another arrow when Arthur brought Asturian's Might down on his forearm. The man screamed as the force of the blow broke his arm at the elbow, his mouth opening to yell...and then freezing in place as the enchantment of paralysis took effect. Grinning wolfishly, Arthur brought his sword up for a decapitating blow.

"Stop, don't kill him!"

"I'll assume there's a reason for this pointless display of mercy, or is it just the insipid teachings of your precious Chantry reasserting themselves?" Morrigan sneered as Leliana stormed over to the paralysed mercenary.

Leliana glared at the witch's acerbic comment and coldly replied "He is no common bandit; none of them were. Their weapons and armour are of fine make, and they're well trained. Keep this one alive for now; the only difference is that we might get some useful information out of him"

After waiting five minutes for the paralysis enchantment to wear off, Arthur seized the mercenary leader the second the spell was gone and drove a knee into the fellow's balls. Wincing, the fellow collapsed to the floor and Leliana went on the offensive.

"You know full well what I'm talking about, so don't bother trying to lie. Who are you?"

"Someone who regrets taking you on" the mercenary griped. "Someone dumps a purse of gold in my lap, tells me and my boys it's an easy job; kill the little red-haired girl, deal with the others as you please"

"Kill the-You came to kill me?" Leliana seemed shocked, but it was gone in an instant; she was back to the calm, controlled air of indifference she was trying to project.

"Who sent you? Why am I wanted dead?"

"I don't pay to know why someone wants someone else dead. I just need to know where to go, and where to get my money. Bah, money!" the mercenary cursed. "I'll be lucky to get away with my life, way things are going..."

"Pity" Arthur replied in a voice so cold even he barely recognised it "There's no reason to let you live if you've nothing to offer in return" and the mercenary's eyes went wide with fear.

"Wait, wait. I do have some information..."

"Speak quickly" Leliana snapped, and the mercenary began to get to his feet, pulling something from a pouch at his belt and holding it out. Arthur snatched it and quickly examined what he'd been given; it looked to be a crudely drawn map of the Market District. One of the houses was ringed; clearly the location he was talking about.

"I've no quarrel with you. Wasn't me who wanted you dead, but I know where you can find the one who does. I've directions to the house; it's in Denerim. Best I can do"

"Thank you. Now leave. I never want to see you again" Leliana spoke in a hoarse voice little more than a whisper. Arthur nodded in agreement, raising the sword in his hands warningly.

"Get lost, before I change my mind".

"Don't worry, I'll not trouble you no more" the mercenary muttered as he hobbled away, his broken arm dangling at his side. Leliana turned away to examine the information; as soon as he was sure she wasn't looking, Arthur made a discrete nod to Zevran and Sten, who departed without question after the trail the mercenary had left. _'No one will ever know but the wolves'._ He had no wish for whoever had send those thugs to know their men had failed until they were breaking down the paymaster's door. _'No sense in leaving loose ends'._

"It's Marjolaine, it has to be"

"I thought you'd escaped her..." Arthur asked, surprised.

"So did I" Leliana replied, a fearful look in her eyes. The girl was scared, terrified that the source of all her woe was about to bring her world crashing down once more. Her voice was choked, as if she were trying to stop herself bursting into angry tears.

"Maybe someone saw me...maybe she's finally found me and decided to finish what she started". Her shoulders fell and then she reluctantly began to gather up her things. "I must go. I have to resolve this now, and the longer I stay, the more I put you in greater danger. I'll go to Denerim, try to sort this out and...try to catch up to you after-afterwards..." her voice trailed off, sounding as if she were trying not to sob.

"No, we'll all go".

"Arthur, I can't ask you to...

"You're not asking, I'm telling you what's going to happen. I swore that I would defend you against her and anything she dared to send against you, and I don't intend to go back on that now".

"Marjolaine will learn sooner or later her agents have failed, and when she does, she'll send more and more until she gets what she wants...me..." the bard's voice trailed off again, as though she couldn't bear to say the word all knew she meant to: 'Dead'.

"Not if we strike before she realises this attack has failed" Arthur countered. "If we turned about now, we could be back at Denerim after dark".

"That might be a problem" Arabella interjected. "I overheard the guards talking; the city gates are shut at sunset. I really don't think after what we did there, we'll want to go back there in the daytime..."

"Even if we can, I still say this is pointless" Morrigan snapped. "We're already wasting our time on one useless endeavour, and you would have us all commit to another?"

"As much as it pains me to do so a second time, I agree with the saarebas. If you had any sense, you would press north to the mountains and seek the aid of the dwarves, not waste your time on the pointless search after Orlesian vashedan and a jar of dust"

"By that logic, promising to look for your sword earlier could be classified as a pointless search" Arthur pointed out. Sten's face coloured an angry red but he fell silent. Arthur looked round at all of his gathered companions and said in a commanding tone "We have enough trouble with one paranoid lunatic sending hired thugs after us; I won't allow another to do the same. There is no logic in forcing one of our number to be perpetually looking over their shoulder, wondering where the next hired knife aimed at their back is going to come from while we have the Blight to deal with. Better to destroy the threat before it grows too strong that we may focus all our attention on the darkspawn!"

Leliana's eyes brimmed with grateful tears at this, and Arthur saw Morrigan had a rather hopeful expression in her own hawk-like gaze, though Arthur couldn't think why Morrigan would look at him in such a way.

"So what now?" Alistair enquired.

"Now we need to think of a way back into Denerim by night without the city guard or anyone else finding us"

Silence fell as the group were momentarily stymied, and then there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. All eyes turned to the source of the noise to see Zevran slipping back into their number, a sly gleam in his bright eyes.

"I may have a cunning plan..."


	31. Chapter 29: The Sins of the Past

_Little later than I promised but here it is; I hope it works! I kinda wanted to get this done so I can get onto the next chapter which will, hopefully, pretty much set the seal on Arthur and Leliana (they'll realise they love each other, falling into bed follows, etc)._

_Glad to see everyone thought how Arthur and co managed to make it into Denerim without arousing suspicion and well, frankly, Isabela was too much fun not to put in (one of my favourite DA characters, though I think most of you will agree she looks MUCH better in DAII). Hopefully you'll enjoy the confrontation with Marjolaine as much._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or favourites; special thanks as always to __**Ygrain333**__, __**spectre4hire, GoldenDevil06**__ (by the way, oh yes, I watch Blackadder, I bloody love it, and don't worry, I'm hoping when I get to it to make the final confrontation between Arthur and Howe a good one!) __**InuManKa91,ethan89, cakeisalie, strifeandpestilence **__and __**koopatrooper **__for your reviews, and to __**demonman, GoldenDEVIL06**__ and __**TraineFresh**__ for adding to favourites._

_Not sure when I'll have more for you (real life's a real bitch at the moment) but I plan what follows (i.e., the build up to Arthur and Leliana's first time) to be something special, so if it does take a while, hopefully it'll be worth the wait!_

_Just a quick story note: Morrigan's shapeshifting abilities reappear a fair bit in this one, and I've often wondered why, considering she's often turning into a spider or a bear much bigger than she was, her clothing still looks fine when she's back as a human, so I've just made a slight reference to that in this. Hope it works for you all as it did for me._

_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_#############################_

'_Can you feel it, my son, closing in all around you?...The sins of the past have finally caught up to you'._

_############################### _

"She's returning" Zevran observed as the falcon descended with alarming speed. Arthur raised an army for the raptor to land on, and then gently lowered the falcon to the floor; with a brief shimmer of light, the falcon's form twisted and shifted, growing taller and thinner. Within seconds, the bird of prey was gone, and Morrigan stood in its place, hands covering her modesty. Wynne quickly held out her clothing, which the witch replaced with surprising alacrity, throwing a baleful look at Zev and Alistair to keep their mouths shut regarding any lascivious comments.

"Well?" Arthur asked, eyes averted to allow Morrigan some dignity.

"She'll be here soon" was Morrigan's blunt reply as the witch secured her vest's dubious cover over her chest.

They were stood by a tributary of the River Drakon, several miles outside of Denerim, and at Zevran's suggestion, Morrigan had shape-shifted and entered the city to request aid. According to Zev, during his evening in Isabela's cabin, the pirate had, among other things, intimated to him that while the routes into Denerim by dry land. There were no river patrols, and what ships remained of Ferelden's navy (most having been destroyed in the opening days of the Orlesian invasion, and despite thirty years having passed since the end of the occupation, Cailan had been less than hasty in replenishing the fleet's numbers) had been re-tasked with moving troops and supplies out of Gwaren, the land routes all but impassable because of the continuing Dalish attacks against Loghain's terynir. By all accounts, smugglers and criminals were getting away with murder by using the river. By all accounts, the regent was too busy pressing on to engage the Bannorn at Winter's Breath, and from what Arthur had heard his mother and Nan gossip about Rendon Howe's running of Amaranthine and the continually rising problems with crime and smuggling, the Arl of Denerim would be more inclined to encourage the criminal activities of Denerim's underworld then suppress them, provided he got a cut of the profits for himself. As Zevran reasoned, if so many were getting out of the city by the river, odds were it would work just as well getting in.

Minutes later, a pair of rowing boats, like the kind that would serve a galley or frigate as lifeboats appeared round a bend in the river. The crewmen of the _Siren's Call_ manning the boats quickly brought them alongside the river bank and the party ashore tossed their packs to the crewmen who quickly secured them, before extending hands for the group to pull themselves aboard, with the notable exception of Shale, who'd been chosen to remain at the camp. Arthur was grateful the golem hadn't raised a fuss about being left behind, because it would be difficult enough trying to get into the city without attracting attention with the racket a walking pile of rocks would create, and frankly, Arthur didn't think any boat that would sneak them into the city without causing attention would be able to support the weight of Shale without the golem crashing through the hull. When the only ones left on dry land were himself and Zevran, Arthur quickly gathered up his backpack and made for the river bank.

"Well done" Arthur muttered with a nod to Zevran, patting the elf on the back, who gave him a grateful inclination of his head. Like Arabella, Arthur finally began to feel his decision to let the Crow keep his life had been the right one. Arthur doubted that he would have come up with an idea like this, and even if he had, without Zev's friendship with Isabela to provide a means of travelling by water, trying to sneak back into the city. He couldn't deny that he had some misgivings about it, but the only alternative would be to wait until dawn and try to sneak in the same way as before, and after the havoc they'd caused to Howe during their search for Genetivi, it was doubtful they'd be able to get away with it a second time. This matter needed to be resolved, _now_.

He quickly leapt into a boat, only to realise his mistake; Leliana had placed herself in the other boat, thereby preventing him from talking to her, or to put it more accurately, reassure her, and found himself next to the voluptuous form of Captain Isabela, who gave a wide smile at the sight of him.

"I knew you wouldn't resist me forever" Isabela laughed wryly, before she became all business. "We know the place you're looking for. We'll try to get you as close as we can to the Market District without attracting attention and I'll have one of these left nearby so you can make a quick exit when your work's done. Now cast off!" she snapped to the rowers. "I want to be back in my cabin before midnight! First boat into the city can join me!"

#######################

Denerim was far more imposing during the night. The streets leading to the Market District were all but deserted, the only signs of movement the occasional lantern glow and booted footsteps of a night-watchman on his rounds or a patron of the Gnawed Noble Tavern staggering out to vomit in an alleyway. The Market District was just as unnerving in the night, the merchants long gone along with their wares, locked away inside safe, warm buildings, the vibrant, garishly coloured canvas awnings overhead soaked, rain collecting in them that would not be emptied until the morning. Most of the windows of the houses around the Market District were shuttered closed, few lights from within streaming in, for which Arthur was grateful; fewer open windows meant a darker environment and less chance of being seen.

As per her word, Isabela and her men had deposited them at a jetty alongside the bridge between the Market District and the Alienage. It had begun to rain heavily, and Arthur had been both relieved and worried, wincing as the rain clattered noisily off his plate armour, even under the heavy cloak Arthur and all the others were wearing to disguise themselves. His only comfort was that at least the storm would provide them some cover and hopefully dissuade all but the most desperate or foolhardy from being out in the streets, thus limiting any chance of them being seen and recognised. As they hurried up the stone steps from the river to the pavement, Arthur chanced a look at the ramshackle wooden gates to the Alienage, locked and chained with no signs of life on either side of the gates. Arthur felt a great pang at the sight of them, wondering if his old friend, Niamh Tabris was still in there; he'd heard how Howe had responded to the riot that had claimed the life of Vaughn Kendalls, among others, with a near genocide of the alienage, an action that to Arthur merely showed how rotten to the core Howe was; as far as he was concerned, the elf who'd killed that jumped up little prick Vaughn should have been knighted by Cailan for services to Ferelden. Still, there was nothing he could do for the occupants of the Alienage for the time being save battle to keep the Blight from reaching them, and with reluctance, he followed the others and Isabela's first mate to their destination in the Market District.

"That's the place" Casavir gestured to a non-descript building, one of the dozens of crudely constructed terraced houses lining the edges of the Market District. "I'm heading back to the river; give me a whistle when you need out" he said with a nod to Zev, disappearing into the stormy night. Arthur quickly scrutinised the building; two figures were lingering outside, trying to look nonchalant, but failing miserably. Arthur sighed; it was a near impossible task for two qunari, based on their build, clad in heavy steel armour, to look nonchalant. Looking closely at the building outside which the qunari mercenaries stood, Arthur could see no signs of movement, but he didn't lower his guard; there could easily be dozens of eyes watching in the shadows, waiting only for the signal to strike.

Quickly, he divided his companions into two groups; those who'd come with him into the viper's nest, and those who'd remain and keep watch. Leliana was an obvious one; she had to come, had to face her demons here and, with luck, know that the one who'd caused her so much time would no longer be able to do her harm. Wynne was another obvious one; if this, as Arthur suspected it inevitably would, come to bloodshed, then her healing abilities would be of great use, since according to Leliana, this Marjolaine had married into the Orlesian nobility, which no doubt gave her the deep coffers needed to hire a large number of mercenaries, which made Alistair and Sten necessary additions to the party. Both were clad head to foot in red steel heavy chainmail now, courtesy of Mikhael Dryden. While Alistair had laid claim to the plate armour of the Warden-Commander, that still remained at Soldier's Peak, the blacksmith doing his best to put it back in working order and remove all traces of the armour's last wearer. In any case, Arthur was glad his fellow Warden hadn't chosen to don it; coming into the regent's seat of power wearing a suit of armour that all but screamed "Look at me! I'm a Grey Warden!" was hardly the kind of thing you wanted to wear when you were trying to infiltrate.

As for the other three remaining outside, Arthur quickly issued his only instruction to them.

"Zev, Morrigan, Arabella, I want you to stay out here and keep an eye out for trouble; who knows what this bitch may try to stop us? You see anyone coming out of the house while we're in there who looks like they're trying to make a break for it, you make sure they don't get to talk of it".

#################

A slender hand pulled back one of the curtains lining the windows a fraction of an inch, just enough to see out, but not be seen by those outside. A wide smile split the woman's lips as she saw the party of people heading towards the door, trying to keep to the shadows and pretend they weren't all moving towards the same place. Turning to the two runners waiting for instructions, she gave her orders quick and simple.

"Go to the Arl of Denerim's estate. Inform Arl Howe that, as I promised, I have our mutual quarry in my power. Tell him his assistance will be required" she demanded, passing each messenger a slip of parchment bearing the same words she'd just told them.

Her two messengers bowed low and departed, making to leave the house by one of the side doors and the woman eagerly rubbed her hands together, sinking into an armchair by the fire to ward off the autumn chill and poured a glass of white wine from the bottle on the table for herself, idly taking a sip.

'_Now my sweet one, we shall have our reckoning. We shall see what you intend for us. And then, I shall have my fun'._

##################

Pascal ran through the alleys, trying to remember the directions the bardmaster had given him to the Arl of Denerim's estate. Personally, he didn't know why she wanted to involve the lord of this backwater hovel of a city, a lord who, by all accounts, would sell his own mother for two, but his place was not to question Lady Marjolaine's orders, merely obey them. He exited the Market District and began to move in the directions of the bridge that would lead him to the city's noble districts, where the Arl's estate could be found, trying to avoid looking suspicious, and thus attracting the attention of a city guard-not a good plan in a country where distaste for Orlais seemed to have been bred into every generation- or even worse, cutthroats or street thugs who'd likely rob and murder him for the few silvers in his pockets.

But all seemed to go smoothly. He made it to within sight of the bridge of the Drakon, seeing no sign of movement ahead or behind, no indication of pursuers, but as he passed by a dark alleyway just a yard or two from the bridge, he heard it.

A loud chittering came from above him; an insectile clicking that seemed extremely out of place in the streets of a capital city. Something brushed against the shoulder of his footman's attire, soft and sticky. He brushed his shoulder, his fingers coming away sticky and covered in a strange, almost silk like substance. A similar sensation brushed up against his other arm and the small of his back. '_What in the Maker's name is going on?_' the messenger wondered.

Then, with surprising strength and speed, Pascal was jerked up, dragged into the rafters, rafters lined with the same strange silky substance as that dragging him up. And that insectile chittering had grown much louder and _much_ closer...

That was when Pascal realised what had happened to the rafters. They had become a gigantic spider's web.

The last thing he saw were eight black eyes and razor sharp mandibles dripping venom sinking into his neck.

#################

Eugene heard a scream in the distance, but dismissed it. It would have been odder if he didn't hear such; footpads and criminals were always on the loose, even more so in a time of war and civil unrest, and robberies and murder were commonplace in any city in Thedas after dark. Deciding to take a short cut he'd found that would get him to the bridge across the River Drakon, he darted into an alley that exited within a yard of the river, its only occupant a small, slight figure, likely an elf, wearing a hooded cloak and begging by the side of the alley.

"Spare a few bits for an old, blind beggar?" the elf croaked in a hoarse voice, shaking a simple clay bowl at his feet in which a few silvers rattled. Eugene tried to walk past but the elf tried to grab at the hem of his doublet, still pleading for a few coins.

"Get out of my bloody way, knife-ear!" he snarled at the elf beggar, aiming a kick to get the wretch to move, but before his foot could connect with the beggar's side, the elf moved with surprising speed for a blind, old cripple, seized Eugene's ankle and pulled; already off balance in mid-kick, the errand boy was flipped off his feet, landing heavily on his back. The elf was on him before he could recover; the last thing Eugene saw was a flash of silver as the elf stabbed him thrice in the heart, and then slit his throat for good measure.

Zevran smiled as he cleaned his blades on the dead man's outfit. A quick riffle through the messenger's pockets uncovered what he expected to find: a slip of parchment requesting the aid of Arl Howe and his household guard. Smiling to himself, Zevran crumpled the parchment into a ball, making a mental note to drop it in the first open fire he found. _'This is one message that won't be getting delivered'_.

Stripping off the cloak he'd donned to impersonate the beggar, Zevran covered the dead man with it, dumped him on a pile of rubbish in the middle of the alley- no one would find this particular corpse until long after they were gone- and then broke into a run back towards the Market District. High above, a black widow spider the size of a horse looked up from the remnants of her meal and began to scurry across the rooftops in the same direction.

###############

"Ah, Leliana! Oh, so lovely to see you again!"

The voice of the room's sole occupant came at them the second they stepped through the door. The approach into the house had been easier than they'd feared; a pair of qunari mercenaries on guard outside the door whom they'd dropped from a distance, each falling with an arrow in the eye. Sten and Alistair had quickly dragged the bodies out of sight and Leliana had slipped to within reach of the door, ostensibly to check for traps. Arthur had kept a close eye on her, because he'd seen the raw fear in Leliana's eyes, the terror warring with determination; she wanted to go in, to confront the one who'd torn her life to shreds and left Leliana to pay for her crimes, but at the same time, she was afraid to, afraid she wouldn't have the courage to face her past. The look in Leliana's eyes was so much like a frightened rabbit about to bolt that Arthur had to do something; he barely managed to place a supportive hand on her shoulders as she made to move towards the house to check; for a moment, it looked as if she wanted to fall into his arms, press her lips to hers and do nothing but remain, but she pulled away, looking as if she weren't willing to give in to that impulse, and quickly moved off. Still, Arthur kept a close eye on her, and more than once, he felt himself stepping forward when it looked as if she were about to bolt in the opposite direction, only to have one of the others stop him and realise she was merely checking to see if she'd missed anything.

When Leliana rejoined them, reporting there was no sign of any traps, magical or otherwise, waiting for them, Arthur could only come to one conclusion.

Marjolaine had been expecting them to come.

"She's waiting for us" Leliana muttered, her voice choked with fear. "She has to know, or at least suspected her men wouldn't be coming back. She'll have prepared Maker-only-knows what for us in there...!"

"If she wants to hurt you, she'll have to go through me, and everyone else here" Arthur promised, but Leliana shook her head despairingly.

"Marjolaine's good at maiming all in her path. She knows a good many ways to cause pain, and so few of them require physical touch. Arthur, please be careful. I will never forgive myself if she harms you because of me, and she will try to harm us all, be certain of it..."

"Well, she can try, and we'll see how well just how well her ways compare against cold steel" Arthur replied calmly, fingering the hilt of Asturian's Might at his belt as he raised a plated foot and slammed his boot into the door, smashing it open.

The room that lay before them was an embodiment of the decadence of Orlais that was what most Fereldan veterans of the occupation held in contempt. The furniture elaborate and finely decorated to the point of being ridiculous, the artwork-tapestries and paintings-lining the walls, all appearing to be depictions of some of Orlais's greatest military victories and all, Arthur noticed, aggrandising the exploits and prowess of the chevaliers in an extremely unsubtle manner, and the lamps made from glass in a garish variety of colours throwing a rainbow of light around the wall. Clouds of strong-smelling incense emerged from an elaborate brass incense burner in a corner, projecting a sickly cloud; Edward shook his head and sneezed at the assault on his sense of smell, while the humans wrinkled their noses in disgust at the sickly sweet scent.

Two more rooms lay to either side of the chamber in which they stood, but both appeared to be locked. The only occupant of the main room looked up as the door slammed open, her face splitting into a wide smile as she saw who was at the front of the group.

"Leliana! Oh, so lovely to see you again!"

Arthur scrutinised the woman sat in the luxurious arm chair by the fire, sipping idly from a glass of white wine with an almost bored expression, looking at the group as if their intrusion was little more than a minor annoyance, rather than a threat. She was a striking figure, somewhere between Leliana and Eleanor Cousland in age-late thirties, early forties at a guess. Her figure, covered by a dress of crimson velvet that clung to her frame, was not quite voluptuous, but it was clear this was a woman who'd spent more time in recent years sending others to do her work, rather than attend to the task herself; she had the look of someone who had a few too many of the indulgences nobility allowed. Her brunette hair fell almost to her shoulders, glossy and lush without a trace of grey, but it was her eyes that made Arthur stay on guard; cold, brown orbs, quickly taking in everyone who'd entered the chamber, assessing what threat they might pose, how best to deal with them, how and when to strike. They were in a spider's web now; Arthur did not lower his guard and he could only hope the others didn't too. If what Leliana said was true, then appearances were extremely deceptive as far as Marjolaine was concerned.

"Spare me the pleasantries" Leliana snarled. "I know you're-"

"Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations" Marjolaine commented with a dismissive wave of a hand, airily cutting across her former protégé's outburst as if Leliana hadn't even spoken. "I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with" she said with a shudder, the picture of Orlesian disdain at perceived Ferelden barbarity. "This country smells like wet dog! Even now, it is everywhere, in my hair, my clothes...Urgh!" she griped with a haughty shiver of contempt.

Edward growled angrily at this, and Marjolaine's lip curled at the sight of the mabari. "Yes, I'm referring to you, you mangy, flea-infested brute! You should be locked in a zoo, not wandering about a parlour! Just look at you, dripping mud and who knows what on my carpets...!"

"Enough! We're not here to banter about whose homeland is the better!" Arthur angrily interjected. "Why are you sending assassins after Leliana now, after all this time?"

Marjolaine turned her attention to him for the first time, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. "So business-like, your companion. And not a little handsome too; I can see why you left the Chantry in such a hurry" Marjolaine commented, rising from her chair elegantly and circling Arthur like a cat around a trapped mouse, raising a hand as if to touch Arthur's face with a smirk; Arthur batted away the probing fingers with a gauntleted hand.

"I wouldn't have thought him to your taste, but I suppose after two years locked away in that stifling Chantry, you take what you can get. Tell me, my dear, are these Fereldans so enamoured of their dogs that they rut with women in the same manner as their hounds?"

"I don't have to tell you anything of that sort" Leliana snapped, only to flush as she realised her mistake.

"My, my, someone has a soft spot for the Warden! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; you were always too soft and sentimental for your own good; one of your few failings, I'm sad to say. Trying to help a poor young noble who's lost everything, interfering in matters that weren't your concern to begin with...nothing ever changes with you, does it?"

Leliana flushed, looking away, but when she turned back, there was steel in her gaze. "I was trying to help you, to protect you from harm because I, because I- I _LOVED _YOU! And how did you repay me? You framed me, had me caught and tortured! I thought that in Ferelden, I'd be free of you, but it seems I'm not. What happened between us to make you hate me so?" she demanded. "Why do you want me dead so badly?"

"Dead?" Marjolaine repeated, looking affronted by the accusation. "Nonsense, my Leliana. I know you, just as I know what you're capable of. Four, five men, you can dispatch easily. They were sent to give you cause to come to me, and see? Here you are".

"Forgive me if I don't believe a word that comes out of that mouth of yours" Alistair drawled dryly, even though his expression was nothing short of murderous. Chancing a look at his fellow Warden, Arthur saw Alistair glaring at her with a look of disgust; he could tell Alistair felt as much fury towards this woman as he did.

"You are so transparent" Leliana snapped, her voice quavering a little, and Arthur flicked a worried glance at her; any sign of weakness would only encourage Marjolaine to press her advantage. "Why are you in Ferelden? And no riddles this time, I want the truth!"

The mask of civility fell away from Marjolaine's face, a rather ugly scowl taking its place. "Fine" she spat coldly "No more games. In truth, I'm here because you have knowledge you can use against me. For my own safety, I can't just leave you be. What?" she snapped at Leliana's incredulous expression. "Did you think I did not know where you were, that I would not watch my Leliana? I knew where you were all the time, and at first, I admit I was confused. 'What is she up to?' I wondered. 'The quiet life, the peasant clothes, hair ragged and messy like a boy; no, this is not her'. You were planning something, I told myself, so I watched. But no letters were sent, no messages; you barely spoke to anyone. Clever, Leliana, very clever! You almost had me fooled...but then along comes a dashing, handsome Grey Warden, and you can't get out of the Chantry fast enough! What was I supposed to think? What conclusions should I draw? You tell me! Or why don't you?" she snapped suddenly, turning her attention to Arthur with an accusing finger. "What did she promise you to get you to agree to kill me? Gold? Political favour? Alliance with Orlais? Or did she just spread her legs and offer you the one thing my sources tell me you cannot resist? Oh I know a great deal about you, boy!" she sneered at the incredulous look on Arthur's face. "Will you still want your handsome, chivalrous Grey Warden when I tell you how many elven serving girls and tavern wenches he's had?" she sneered at Leliana. "You think you mean _anything_ to him? T'is my understanding that you'll be nothing more than a notch on a bedpost that's been worn for quite some time..."

"Could you be anymore revolting?" Alistair snapped at her, his face contorted in repulsed anger.

"Parshaara, vasehedan!" Sten nodded in agreement. "Draw a blade if you intend to confront us, else hold your tongue. Only weak and craven foes use insults and taunts to undermine their enemies, since they do not have the skill to face them honestly"

"Be silent!" Marjolaine snapped, glaring at both of them with a look of aristocratic disdain that two of the lower orders would _dare_ to address her. "When I want the opinion of the 'indiscretion' of a rebel prince or a Tal-Vashoth thug, I will ask for it!". Both men fingered the hilts of their weapons, all but begging for an excuse to kill this wretch where she stood, but Leliana was talking again, and they held their place.

"You think I left because of you?" Leliana snapped, incredulity in her gaze. "You think I still have some plan for revenge? You are insane, paranoid!"

"Neither my past nor Leliana's is of any concern to either of us now!" Arthur added in agreement. "She is assisting the war effort against the Blight, nothing more, nothing less". Marjolaine's eyebrows

"Ha-ha-ha! My, my, Leliana! You've really done your work well, my sweet! But let me give you some advice, boy; if I were you, I would trust _nothing _she says; not a word! She will use you; you may look at her and see a friend, an innocent girl, trusting and kind, warm. I assure you, it's an act; it's the very way I trained her to be. Trust me, boy, she'll do anything, say anything to get what she wants, just like a true bard".

"I am not you, Marjolaine! I left Orlais because I did not want to become you, didn't want to become the monster that life turned you into!"

That same cackle came again, nothing short of deranged. "Oh, but you _are_ me" Marjolaine crooned viciously. "You can't escape it. No one will ever know you like I did, because we are one and the same!"

"We're not the same, we'll never be the same!" Leliana screamed desperately, looking close to tears now, but Marjolaine pressed her advantage mercilessly, her face now a cold, cruel mask of contempt.

"Do you know _why_ you were a master manipulator? It is because you _enjoyed_ the game; you revelled in the power it gave you. You can do as many penances as you like before your precious Maker, flagellate yourself for your sins until there's as much blood on your back as your hands, but don't try to pretend otherwise. You cannot change or deny what you are; the truth will always come out. And when that day comes" she sneered with vindictive glee "he'll want nothing to do with you whatsoever. You see the way he looks at me; the anger, the hatred, the disgust? When he realises you're no different to me, he'll think of you in the same manner, and see if anything you tempt him with can convince him otherwise!"

Leliana gave a choked sob, turning away in a vain effort to hide her tears, clearly distraught that the person she'd served, respected, loved, even perhaps idolised, had become so bitter, so cruel, so callous towards her. But the straw that broke Arthur's back was the sight of Marjolaine with a triumphant smirk, as if she found it amusing, found it satisfying to have reduced her apprentice to a sobbing wreck.

"Oh enough!" Arthur snarled, accompanied by a rasp of metal as he pulled Asturian's Might from its scabbard and levelled it at Marjolaine's throat, the blade's tip bobbing an inch from slicing open her jugular. For a second he saw fear in those cold, calculating brown orbs and revelled in it; he wanted the bitch to feel the same fear for him Leliana felt for her. The only thing holding him back from driving the sword through the bitch's throat was the fact he'd never harmed an unarmed opponent in his life that hadn't tried to harm him first, hammered home since he first took up a blade as a child, but this one was sorely testing his principles. The bard clearly didn't realise her old student was not the woman she'd once known, once held complete sway over, hadn't seen the woman Arthur knew; the defender of the weak and the desperate, the champion of the righteous cause, encouraging them to do what was right, rather than what was easy-to save the mages, to free the werewolves of their curse, save Connor- and most of all, the penitent, desiring nothing more than absolution for her sins. Marjolaine might have known one side of Leliana, but Arthur knew another, and he would be damned before he let this pampered, deluded strumpet destroy the spark of goodness the Chantry had imbued Leliana's soul with by tormenting the girl with her past.

With the bardmaster at blade-point, Arthur stepped forward until their faces were all but touching, and hissed to her in a cold, soft voice, emphasising every point to her.

"Leliana has changed. She is good, kind, righteous and so many other things you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Say what you like, spout whatever lies and half-truths you want, given a choice between taking her word and yours about her past, I'll take hers any day. I believe her when she says she has turned away from that dark path, and I trust Leliana, no matter _what_ you say". Leliana looked round at him, surprised by his vehement denunciation of Marjolaine's rant and his defence of her, his unshakeable, unyielding belief in the goodness within her, her gratitude cutting through her grief-stricken pain.

"Thank you" she replied demurely, a thankful look in those soft green eyes, wet now with tears of joy. Clearly she'd been terrified that the dark secrets of her past spilling from Marjolaine's lips would turn him against her, and for a second, Arthur felt a little offended that she hadn't had more faith in his judgement of character, but he kept silent. She needed him strong and supportive, and that was what he would be.

Back to herself, Leliana turned back to Marjolaine, and there was nothing in those bright green eyes but hate.

"You will not threaten me or my friends ever again, Marjolaine. I want you out of my life. _**Forever**_".

Arthur paused for a moment, uneasy about what he was about to suggest, but it had to be done. His principle railed against it, but what he was about to say was necessary. They already had one paranoid lunatic trying to kill them on a daily basis, and he knew full well that if this one were allowed to live, Marjolaine would prove to be as implacable an enemy as Loghain, driven on by the deluded belief she was in the right, and that the only way to keep herself safe was by all their deaths. And of all the lives in that room, Arthur knew whose he valued the least.

"You know full well she'll hound you, and us, for as long as she lives. I will not allow that".

Leliana looked stricken for a moment, as though, in spite of everything her former mentor had done to her, caused her to suffer, she couldn't bring herself to harm her former lover. But then it passed; a reluctant nod from the girl told Arthur she agreed that Marjolaine needed to face justice, not just for herself, but for the countless others the bardmaster's machinations had brought to ruin.

"You've caused too much pain for too many, Marjolaine. It ends here"

He'd expected the veneer of indifference to fall away; for the bardmaster's resolve to crumble at the sight of the armed group advancing to take her life, for her arrogance to be cowed by the knowledge she was seconds from death, to fall to her knees, beg for her life, offer anything in exchange for mercy. So when Marjolaine simply threw back her head and cackled in a deranged, mocking fashion, Arthur knew something was dreadfully wrong.

"And you think you can kill me, just like that?" she sneered with a click of her fingers. "I _made_ you, Leliana. I can destroy you just as easily!"

"And how do you plan to harm us?" Sten snapped. "Not all of us will quail before that viper's tongue, and you do not have the skill or the ability to kill us all".

"Now who said I would be the one to do anything?" Marjolaine smiled, a cruel leer devoid of any mirth, before it devolved into a venomous scowl as the bardmaster screeched two words in a language Arthur didn't know: "Vinek kathas!".

Arthur risked a look over his shoulder: the others looked completely nonplussed by this declaration, save one, his violet eyes going wide with shock...

"To arms!" Sten roared, Asala already halfway out of its scabbard as the doors on either side of them were smashed open from the inside and from each side, two qunari mercenaries apiece emerged, armed and ready for battle; two in heavy plate armour, the others wearing black robes adorned with what looked suspiciously like chains and a large, wrought iron collar placed around their necks, the upper portion of their faces hidden behind crudely wrought gold masks. At a guess, Arthur would have called them mages, though he hadn't been aware the qunari kept such, given their disdain for magic.

"Daemon-spawn!" Sten spat at these creatures. "Tal-Vashoth saarebas! I will exterminate the threat you pose to us all outside your karataam!"

With a bellowed war cry, Arthur slammed the pommel of his sword into Marjolaine's gut; the Orlesian woman doubled over, winded, and for good measure, smashed the pommel again into her jaw, feeling a great satisfaction as a wad of white and red flew out of her mouth, teeth having parted company with her jaw; he would not, as he suspected she intended, have her use the distraction to affect an escape. Before she could get up, Arthur placed a foot on her chest to pin her down and turned his attention to the fight.

"How many more Fiends of Seheron must I slay?" Sten bellowed as he blocked the maul of one. Leliana threw a handful of dust, mixed with crushed glass into the eyeholes of one Tal-Vashoth's helm, a tactic she'd used before; before the brute could recover, she drove both her daggers through the eyeholes of the helmet, and the qunari toppled like a rag doll. Sten grappled with the other long enough for Edward to charge across the floor and sink his fangs into the back of the warrior's right knee bring his mace down on the warrior's knee; the qunari yelled in pain. Distracted by the mabari's teeth trying to tear out the back of its knee, the Tal-Vashoth mercenary forgot to pay attention to Sten until the Beresaad had driven Asala through the gap between gorget and helm in a spray of blood. Sten gave a jubilant cry of victory, and then was pitched across the room as a fist sized stone conjured by one of the qunari mages hit him in the side of the head; he crashed to the foot of a wall, somewhat dazed.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack of glass being smashed from above. All looked up, and Marjolaine screamed in a childish, girly manner, all pretence of aristocratic haughtiness gone at the sight of a gargantuan spider smashing its way in through the skylight over their heads. As the spider fell from above, it twisted and writhed in midair, landing on top of one of the qunari mages, venomous fangs stabbing through the robes and into the grey-bronze flesh. The mage spasmed in its death throes, green-tinged blood trickling down its front as the toxins in the spider's venom took effect; the second saarebas directed its attention towards the giant spider, magical lightning curdling in its fingertips, but Alistair's templar training came to work; a burst of blue energy and the lightning dissipated. Before the qunari mage could amass its power for another attack, the spider shot a web of silky strands from its rear, entrapping the mage in thick strands that tightened the harder it struggled to get free. Motioning for Edward to keep Marjolaine pinned, Arthur strode over in two steps and ran the saarebas through without aplomb.

With the danger gone, the companions relaxed, though never taking one eye off Marjolaine. The spider contorted and shifted, light emitting from its body, limbs shrinking and fading away, its bulky form becoming slender and lithe, until once again a decidedly under-clothed Morrigan was standing before them. To the great surprise of all, the witch tossed a small round object into Marjolaine's lap; the bardmaster gave a scream of revulsion as she, and the others, saw it was the severed head of a man, his final expression one of utmost terror.

"Your men are dead. The Arl and his thugs aren't coming to save you" Morrigan replied coldly, idly picking something out of her teeth before riffling through Marjolaine's wardrobes for something to cover herself with.

"You're lying!" she spat at the witch, a look of horrified desperation in her gaze, but another dark shape leapt into the room through the skylight, landing on their feet lightly with a flourish. Zevran gave a soft laugh and nodded to Morrigan "The beautiful creepy-crawly tells the truth. Your errand boys didn't make it halfway to the Arl of Denerim's estate. One's lying with his throat cut on a rubbish heap, and the other" he said with a laugh, nodding at the severed head in the Orlesian woman's lap "Well, I don't think there was a piece of him left big enough to identify as human after dear Morrigan was finished with him!"

'_Howe?'_ Arthur wondered. Had this been a trap for a different prey all along? Had the attack against Leliana been simple to draw another quarry into the open? Raising his sword to Marjolaine's neck, pressing hard enough to draw a thin line of blood, he demanded imperiously "That your plan, then? Lure us all here, hand us over to Loghain and Howe and hope the regent lets an Orlesian claim the bounty on our heads?" he sneered. The berserker raging in the dark corners of his mind whispered for him to stir that particular hornet's nest, to draw Howe in if it provided the chance to kill him, but Arthur put it aside. There were too many unknowns, too many variables to spring that trap while they were still standing in it.

"Only Howe." The bardmaster replied calmly, showing no disappointment or anger that her plan to trap them had failed, wiping the blood from her wrecked jaw line with an indifferent shrug. "The regent's... prejudice... towards my homeland is well known, even across the border; the Arl hoped that my assistance in helping to apprehend the traitorous Grey Wardens to justice would soften his stance on the issue. Plus, there were numerous..._personal_ benefits to such an alliance; Howe's influence and presence in the Ferelden court would have been a useful thing to have when I returned home"

"If you actually thought Howe would keep his word in any kind of bargain with you, you're a bigger fool than I thought" Arthur sneered disparagingly, but there was no fear in Marjolaine's eyes, merely a sly avarice and cunning as she looked at Arthur as though she were seeing him in a new light. It was a look that repulsed him.

"Perhaps. But as your precious Chantry girl will tell you, when the Maker closes a door, he opens a window, does he not?. My current deal seems to be over, so why not make a new one? Think boy, I'm only of limited use to you as a corpse. Alive, so many possibilities open up..."

"Don't trust her; I've seen this before. She's just trying to save her own skin. Don't believe a word she tells you "Leliana's voice wavered, almost pleading, and when Arthur turned to her, she lowered her eyes, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"I know that," the Warden said softly, reaching out to try and lift Leliana's chin, to look her in the eye and offer her a smile of reassurance, but the girl shied away. "I know," he repeated, feeling a little disheartened by her reaction.

"Let me go, and I will go straight back to Val Royeaux. I can assure you we will never meet again, and even better for you, I could bring word of your plight to the Grey Wardens of Orlais; my sources tell me they and their Chevalier escorts still wait on the border," Marjolaine insisted. "All they know of what's going on is Loghain's anti-Warden propaganda. Let me live and I assure you, they will hear the truth of matters"

"Because you're all about truth, of course?" Alistair sneered dryly, his face looking as merciless as Arthur's.

"I can be truthful when it is of advantage to me" the bardmaster replied with what was clearly meant to be an innocent expression. "Leliana's escape was most...inconvenient, and left me in an awkward position. While killing her would grant me a temporary satisfaction, it will hardly restore what I lost in terms of prestige and influence back in the Empress's court when the scandal of her betrayal and escape became common knowledge. Gaining the gratitude and trust of the true power in Ferelden would have been of benefit in that regard, but if that's not to be, then I will settle for the favour of the Grey Wardens."

"You really are shameless?" The templar shook his head in disgust, turning to his fellow Warden. "I know that they say that the Grey Wardens take their allies where they can get them, but -"

"Do they?" Arthur kept his expression blank. "Funny thing is, I don't recall Duncan ever saying that, do you? And I don't recall ever reading such a thing in a Warden's handbook, do you? And of course, nobody ever got around to explaining Grey Warden procedure and conduct to me before they all died..."

Alistair's lips twitched slightly as if he were trying not to snigger before settling back to a suitably serious mien. "Now that you mention it, I can't remember where I heard that, myself. And we can't go around making up rules, can we? I mean, they'd have people believe we're murderers and traitors; we can't add 'liars' to that list, surely not?"

"Oh, come on!" Marjolaine protested. "I'm offering to bring you help against the regent and the Blight, what more do you want? I'll even swear never to harm you and Leliana again, I can't say fairer than that" she insisted, desperately looking for some sign of acquiescence, of agreement in Arthur's eyes, only to realise that it was futile, that she might as well be trying to bargain with a glacier trying to bargain for mercy with those cold, blue flecks of ice looking down at her.

All she saw in those cold blue eyes was her own reflection.

"No deal" Arthur snarled. "Now you pay for all the pain you've wrought" he intoned, pulling back the sword for a decapitating blow, but stopped before he could make the strike, lowering his weapon, the blade coming to hang limply at his side.

"What's the matter, boy?" the Orlesian sneered, taking his hesitation for weakness. "Don't have the courage to take an unarmed woman's life?"

Arthur coldly spat at her "Your life is not mine to take", taking a step back, reversing the sword and holding it out to the one who could. "It's hers".

"No" Leliana pleaded. "She lured you here with the intent to turn you to your enemies; you've as much right to..."

"You're the only one she's wronged personally" Arthur insisted, holding out the sword to her, taking one of her hands and placing the hilt in her grasp. "You're the only one who has the right to decide what sort of justice she deserves..."

"Look out!" Alistair suddenly blurted, as Marjolaine surged to her feet, hand darting into a fold in her dress, emerging with a glass bottle in her hand, hurling it into their midst. The group scattered as the bottle shattered, its acidic contents splashing everywhere, and Marjolaine darted towards the gap in their ranks, towards the door out and freedom. Arthur and the others made to stop her, but Marjolaine had a head start...

There was a dull twang, and suddenly Marjolaine stopped, her outstretched hand inches from the door knob, staring down at the silver arrowhead jutting from her chest, the others staring at the shaft and fletching protruding from between her shoulder blades. The bardmaster fell to her knees, clutching at the arrowhead as blood poured down her chest and her back, staining her dress an even darker red, while Arthur looked round and saw Leliana, lowering a longbow calmly.

"I decided I couldn't let her get away. I was foolish...you're right, let her go and she will make us rue such mercy...I couldn't let her go, not after all she'd..."

Even now, dying, on her knees in her own blood, Marjolaine was still as vicious and spiteful as ever. Arthur tried to put himself in front from Leliana, not wanting her to have to listen to any vindictive rant her old mentor might throw at her, but the serpent still had venom, even in death, and only one target in mind to vent it on.

"So I was right. You would try to kill me when you saw the chance, just as I would you. I was right, Leliana; we're the same" she spat hatefully with her last breath.

"We're not the same! WE'RE NOT THE SAME, WE'LL _NEVER _BE THE SAME!" Leliana screamed in defiance and seized Asturian's Might from Arthur's hand; the Warden was so shocked he made no move to stop her. The silverite blade flashed out, and Marjolaine's head rolled away, along with the last embers of her spiteful, self-serving life, her final expression one of malevolent disdain. Leliana spat on the corpse once, but then something faded from her eyes, and she collapsed beside the body, tears spilling down her cheeks as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd done. She reached out a hand to pull the arrowhead free, and her hands came away stained with blood, her leather gauntlets and her bare fingers painted scarlet in the stuff. Leliana looked revolted, though at what, Arthur did not know. He would hate to think that after all the bitch had done, all the evil she had wrought, a lone act of which would be enough to want her dead, Leliana might well regret what she'd just done so much it might cause her to start hating herself, even though, as far as Arthur was concerned, she'd just done the right thing.

'_First things first'_ he told himself; it was too much to hope someone hadn't heard the raised voices and the sounds of fighting and gone to raise the alarm.

"Come on! I doubt very much these walls are soundproof, and I'd like to be long gone before the city guard comes to investigate!". The others nodded and raced out the door back towards the river, save Zevran, who lingered behind for a moment to loot anything of value from the house and the bodies, coming away with several sovereigns worth of coin, a suit of plate armour that looked like it might have belonged to a chevalier, and a longbow of exquisite make and design, and Leliana, who remained by Marjolaine's side. When Zevran tried to rummage through the folds of her dress, Leliana shot the elf such a vicious glare that he desisted.

"Come on, we have to move" Arthur insisted as he seized Leliana by her shoulder and dragged her towards the door, but she wouldn't budge. "It's over. She's dead...she's dead because of me..."

"And we'll soon follow if we're not gone before. Leliana, you did what you thought was right. And I think it's a little too late for regrets..." he said with a nod towards Marjolaine's severed head, lying beside the door with its accusatory look. Leliana didn't reply, but this time, when Arthur pulled her to her feet, she didn't resist and allowed herself to be dragged out into the Market District; the rain had stopped, though thankfully the square was still mercifully empty.

The second they were out of the house, Morrigan, Arabella and Wynne each shot a fireball into the building, setting it ablaze; hopefully a sufficient distraction for them to escape the city by river while the watch were busy putting out the blaze. As Leliana fell into step with the others, chancing a last look back at Marjolaine's lair and now her funeral pyre, Arthur was sure he heard a last regretful sigh.


	32. Chapter 30: Love's Labours Won

_Well, here it is; the next chapter of this tale, and a pivotal one for Arthur and Leliana. Hopefully, I've managed to make it good. This is the first time I've really written a romantic scene, as well as an in-depth sex scene and I'm not sure about it, but every writer needs to try new things sometimes to improve and so opinions and constructive criticism will be particularly welcome this time. I could keep tweaking this forever, but the time has come to let it go and see; to quote Flemeth, "_It's only when we fall that we discover if we can fly_", so let's see if this flies or falls._

_There probably will be some more scenes with Arthur and Leliana in bed together, but most of those will probably be to do with camp conversations, and while there may be some hint towards sex, it probably will be more hinted at (I try not to do blow-by-blow accounts because it's not something I feel skilled at writing. Hopefully, what I've written here is detailed enough but at the same time still tasteful)._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes: particular thanks to __**Traine-Fresh **__(in answer to your questions, yes, Leliana will remain unhardened, I and Arthur are too much softies to harden her up, and I read the link you sent me; the idea about Morrigan's shapeshifting is a good one, I may incorporate something similar when she obtains Flemeth's real grimoire), __**ethan89**__, __**spectre4hire, strife and pestilence**__ (you'll get your arduous battle next chapter, my friend; you forgot the High Dragon!) __**cakeisalie **__(I hope you like this), __**MysticGohan88, InuManKa91, koopatrooper **__and __**Insidious **__for your reviews, and to __**Revan616, Grin-Grin, GamerCJ, Felanador **__and __**Maben00**__ for subscribing or adding to favourites; know my work is so enjoyed gives me the impetus to keep going._

_Just a quick note on the chapter; as you may or may not have guessed, there is some sexual content in this one (enough for me to change the rating to M, though with the violence in this one, I think that would have happened sooner or later). Most of my idea for that came from reading a lot of the "A Song of Ice and Fire" books, particularly "Storm of Swords: Steel and Snow" (my inspiration for the Leliana/Arthur in bed section came from reading the portions with Jon Snow and Ygritte, if any of you read them and are interested). As I say, hopefully, I've managed to be engaging yet tasteful in my writing in a similar manner._

_Things are probably going to slow down a bit: I have the joy of an exam resit to look forward to and then I'm on holiday at the end of the month. Will try to get the Gauntlet and return to Redcliffe done before I go; if not, they'll be up as soon as I get back, I promise._

'**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**

And as always, above all else, enjoy!

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Marjolaine was dead.

Saying it again didn't make it seem anymore real.

It had been more than two days since they'd raced away from Denerim, heading along the south road along the edge of the Brecilian Forest back towards Redcliffe, but the memory of that dark night just past still haunted her.

After all they'd had together, all they'd shared, Marjolaine was gone, forever now, and it was her hand that had made it so.

The stark reality of it still made Leliana's mind reel. The memory of the woman, of what she'd done, had hung over her like a cloud for so very long, and to her shame, even after all that had happened, part of her had still clung to the _stupid, ridiculous_ hope that one day Marjolaine would appear, say that it had been a terrible mistake, beg her forgiveness, sweep her off her feet back to Val Royeaux and everything would return to normal.

_Idiot_. She wasn't sure what stung worse: the utter stupidity of such a hope or the knowledge that, having given herself over to the Maker, spent so long in the Chantry, tying to attain absolution for all she'd done in Marjolaine's services, turning her back on what she had been, she could still entertain such desires. She had not lied to her companions- she wanted no part in the deceptions and intrigues, nothing more to do with the casual destruction of lives- but the creature comforts, the praise and commendation received for a job well done, the feeling of being adored, cared for, safe…that was what she had missed most of all, even if now, it seemed to have all been an illusion.

That illusion had been shattered two years ago, yet betrayal and torture had apparently been unable to entirely erase that pathetic hope, though she'd kept it so well hidden that even she had not known that she still harboured it until now it had been destroyed.

_You believed what you wished to believe_. Marjolaine's voice, cold and dispassionate, her eyes hard with malice, brushing aside her protests as she always had and stripping Leliana bare with her words in front of them all. In front of _him._

She pushed herself up from the centre of the camp; Shale, Sten and Arabella were on watch. Arthur was allowing them a short while to rest before they had to get back on the road. All of them were exhausted, but they were only allowed a brief respite; with the information they needed in the group's possession, there was no point in lingering when they didn't have time to waste for Arl Eamon's sake, and it was too much to hope Howe wouldn't send pursuers after them when he realised he'd been humiliated by the wanted Grey Wardens coming and going from Denerim right under his nose for a second time. Arthur had spared her from watch duty, clearly trying to allow her some time alone to recover herself, but Leliana couldn't bring herself to sleep, not when it would allow the spectre that haunted her thoughts to have free rein over her mind.

She didn't look at Arthur's tent as she passed, but she knew the Warden was there and awake. He should be sleeping, resting; they had raced away from Denerim, back to the river, barely escaping the notice of the city guard as they raced to investigate the cause of the blaze raging in the Market District, rowed out along the River Drakon, disembarking back at their riverside camp to collect Shale and their belongings, then racing away, stopping and dismounting from their horses for little more than moments to rest; otherwise, they ate and slept in the saddle. This was the first period of length they'd had to rest, and while she desperately wanted to talk to him most of all, someone who'd understand how it felt to lose everything, Leliana kept her distance. Arthur had already risked far more for her than she deserved.

Her past with Marjolaine had come dangerously close to delivering the Grey Wardens into Howe's hands. Arthur's determination to protect her had put them all in danger; Leliana knew that if Arthur, Alistair and the others, her companions, comrades, her-'_Dare I hope to say it_?'-friends had fallen into Howe and Loghain's grasp because of her, she would _**never**_ forgive herself. That the Warden had trusted her enough to risk his own life...

She had trusted Marjolaine like that once, and that trust had been repaid with a knife in the back. The older, more experienced bard had been her friend, her mentor, her lover, and yet, it would seem Leliana had never truly known her at all. Looking back, the warnings had been there, but she hadn't bothered to recognise them, unable to contemplate that the ruses and manipulations that Marjolaine used to get what she wanted from the world, had taught Leliana to use, would ever be turned on her protégée. And the most painful thought of all: perhaps what she thought to be Marjolaine's true face, what she thought she knew had been a lie all along, and she had been so desperate for approval and love that she had not seen it.

Had been so desperate for approval and love that she had used those same manipulations that Marjolaine had taught her to ensnare an innocent as she had been.

_I was right, Leliana; we're the same._

_We're not the same_. She walked faster, trying to outpace the unwelcome thoughts, but they kept up with her, borne on the memories of his and her light flirtations of the last few weeks, flirtations that had begun to develop a more serious undertone in spite of herself as she had become aware of emotions that she had thought she would never feel again for another. Saving her life in the Brecilian forest, talking to him about life in Orlais, her past and his, singing songs and telling stories, and that kiss...

And always the memory of Arthur's eyes on her, friendly and warm, or intent and serious, but never spiteful, never cold. She could see him trusting her, just as Leliana had trusted Marjolaine...

"Leliana?" She flinched at the unexpected sound of Arthur's voice. How had he gotten so close? When she lifted her eyes, she realized that he was wearing the Juggernaut armour he'd come to favour, could hear the scrape and creak of the silverite plate as he took another step toward her. _'Andraste's blood, we could have been overrun by a legion of darkspawn and the archdemon to boot, and I'd have been none the wiser..._' she cursed, blind and deaf to anything but the torments her own mind inflicted upon her.

She was surprised, and a little wary to see him; he looked nothing short of exhausted. Dark shadows were visible under his eyes and his hair was clearly in need of a comb. She could help but notice he too looked a little wary approaching her, and remembered the venom Marjolaine had directed at Arthur, asking if he saw anything more to her than just another piece of supple flesh for his pleasure. _'Was there any truth to what she said, or was Marjolaine not satisfied with destroying my life and wanted to do harm to him as well? _

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I was about to ask you the same question" he said with a half-smile. His eyes were so warm, so full of concern, it almost made her want to weep with joy. '_What Marjolaine said meant nothing to him'_. She didn't know when she'd acquired such trust from him, and even now, she wasn't certain she deserved it.

"It's nothing, I'm just..." she made to turn, to walk away, but a hand on her shoulder made her stop.

"Leliana, talk to me. Please. Let me help".

She was torn; part of her wanted to take what she felt now-the regret, the self-loathing, the pain-with her to the grave. The other part...Arthur had been more than reasonable with her, had shown her so much trust and understanding at a time when, after all he'd been through, one might have thought he would have become more guarded and suspicious. Leliana remembered a similar moment to this, around a campfire in the same forest, with her trying to convince Arthur not to give in to his grief and anger as Zathrian had. Now, it was his turn to console her and her need to get her past off her chest loosened her tongue.

"Marjolaine...I knew she was ruthless, but I didn't know how far she would go. She was self-serving, cruel; she used people then cast them aside, but that was how she survived in the life she led..." Leliana paused, trying to work up the courage to speak the thoughts that plagued her most of all.

"What if she's right? What if we _are_ the same? Oh, I-I should have just stayed in the Chantry"

Yes, that was what she should do. Flee, run back to the Chantry and hide, immerse herself in the Chant and abandon her foolish pride and delusion about the Maker wanting her to help combat the Blight. Leave before she proved Marjolaine right.

"I thought you said the Maker wanted you to leave..."

"I could have been wrong about the Maker!" she snapped, angry that he was trying to joke about this "I know you doubt me sometimes; well maybe, maybe you're right! Maybe I just tell myself he's there to console myself, to know I'm not alone!"

"You're not alone" Arthur replied, soft and without a trace of jest this time, trying to cup her face in his hands, but she shied away.

"But I was, I was alone and desperate when I fled to Ferelden. I went to the only place I knew would take me. I forgot my life as a bard in the Chantry; I felt safe and comforted, not having to watch my back all the time. Don't you see?" she pleaded, wanting Arthur to understand what she was afraid of, what she dreaded was going to happen. "That's what made Marjolaine the person she was! It ruined her and it will ruin me too!"

_I was right, Leliana; we are the same._

"It's already happened. When we killed her, I felt... Seeing her dead gave me satisfaction". How sweet it had been to see the arrow punch through her flesh, the look of surprise as Marjolaine stared at the arrow head jutting from her breast, the sound as the sword cleaved her head from her neck...

"She did you a great injustice" Arthur replied earnestly. "What you feel is no different to what I will feel when Rendon Howe lies dead at my feet"

"But that is no reason to rejoice at her death" she countered. "That is what Marjolaine would do, were our positions reversed, and I don't want that". She let out a deep sigh, again mustering the last reserves of her courage, to speak what was terrifying her most of all before the fear choked it.

"What we're doing, what we've done-hunted men down, killed them- part of me loves it. It invigorates me and this scares me. I...I feel myself slipping" she trailed off, looking away, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in her eyes as she was forced to confront the guilt of her past. But a gauntleted hand caught her chin, and she looked up into those bright, blue eyes, devoid of jest, mockery, scorn or anger, but wide with compassion and warmth. A single, silver finger reached up to her eye, catching a tear about to fall and wiping it away.

"Don't ever think like that. You're a good person, you always will be. Don't let Marjolaine destroy that spark of goodness in you"

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, caught offguard by his impassioned declaration.

"Since I've met you, you've endeavoured to do the right thing and encouraged all of us to do so. You were the one who helped free Swiftrunner and his kin from their curse, to go to the Circle to save Connor, to save the mages; you strive to be good and that's what's important. We all have sins in our pasts-what Marjolaine said about me was true, I was young and arrogant, buoyed up by my own sense of desire, my self-assurance about my looks and the protection of my family's status, but now, I know better now-as you know, losing everything you had tends to knock some sense into you about what's important. And I know this; regardless of what we have done in our past, you and I are here now, doing our utmost to save this world from the Blight. In that, who we were doesn't matter; who we are does "

"Do you really think so?" Leliana pressed, a spark of hope at the Warden's faith in her blooming.

"I don't think. I know so"

"Hearing you say that...gives me comfort" she admitted with a reluctant smile. "I, I would like some time to myself. We...will talk more later". Arthur looked as though he might say more, but choose to hold his silence, moving towards the edge of the camp to speak with those keeping watch. She made towards her tent, hoping to get some sleep before they had to move on; she pulled back the flap...and saw a rather unusual sight.

Lying on her pillow was a silverite dagger. She recognised it from one of the stories she'd been taught; one of the three Thorns of the Dead Gods, fashioned from a fragment of the blade used by the Grey Warden who'd killed Toth, the Archdemon of the Third Blight. The dagger was a fine weapon, its blade and jewelled hilt of exquisite make, in spite of the legend of the curse attached to it and its brethren, but that was not what held Leliana's attention. Wrapped around the dagger's blade and handle was a single, beautiful rose, two stalks of Andraste's Grace entwined around the rose's thorny stem, adding their own scent to the rose's distinct fragrance. Beside the gift of the dagger and flowers, a scrap of paper lay folded up on her pillow. She unfolded it and saw a single sentence, written in fine calligraphy in an educated hand.

**A gift of strength and beauty. Much like you are.**

Leliana felt tears in her eyes well up. The unshakeable faith, the unyielding trust in her had been enough, but this...for him to call her such, to know that the man whose unyielding determination in the face of all he'd endured and faith in her derived similar emotion from her...it tugged at the heartstrings so much, it was at once wonderful and terrifying.

Part of her railed against it; what her heart was doing went against everything her training as bard had taught her; not to form attachments, to keep one's loyalties and affections fluid, lest they become a hindrance. She had done it once, with disastrous consequences, but this was so different. Arthur was not Marjolaine- there were no reservations, no half-measures with him and with her old mentor, the only one she'd felt similar emotion for, gone, the only thing that could taint what she wanted so much was erased for good.

Try as she might, Leliana could no longer deny it.

She was in love with Arthur Cousland.

She couldn't deny it. And now, she didn't want to.

############################

Another two days hard riding brought them back to the outskirts of the village. All were exhausted by the lengthy periods of time in the saddle, but they had shaved good time off the usual week's journey from Denerim, time that they desperately needed if they were to have any chance of saving Arl Eamon.

The group had ridden straight to the castle and relayed their findings to Bann Teagan and Isolde. Though disappointed to learn Genetivi was not to be found in Denerim, Teagan and Isolde had been relieved to know the brother was near to hand, as well as mirroring Arthur's surprise to learn about the existence of a secluded village. Arthur had excelled at his geography studies under old Aldous, and no map he had ever seen mentioned a village by the name of Haven in that part of Ferelden. He was not the only one to be caught offguard by this.

"Curious; I had not even realised there was a village in that part of the Frostback Mountains. Still, if that is where Genetivi is to be found, then I fear that is where you must go, Arthur; Eamon's life depends on it" had been Teagan's blunt response at this. "Redcliffe is at your disposal; ask, and what you need will be provided"

"We'll need fresh horses, about a week's worth of supplies and a wakeup call; we leave immediately after sunrise" Arthur replied. "It's going to take us a day's journey to reach this Haven, and it may take us longer to find the brother. I would have us prepared for a lengthy absence"

"It will be done" Teagan replied curtly. "I will have someone both make the arrangements and show you to your rooms for the evening; I imagine you wish to get as much rest as possible before setting out"

A brief evening repast in the castle's main hall, and then Arthur insisted that the companions he was taking with him after Brother Genetivi, and with any luck, the Urn of Sacred Ashes itself, retire to their quarters for an early night. All but two were coming; Sten, who'd made his distaste for the notion of traipsing up a mountain after a pot of dirt plain, would remain to train the Redcliffe militia. Some of Redcliffe's captains had protested this, but as Arthur pointed out, the qunari had more experience fighting darkspawn than likely the entire militia put together, and with reports of darkspawn forces growing in size with each new report encroaching into the Bannorn, it was imperative Redcliffe's standing forces had some training to ready them to face the enemy before the Blight reached them.

Wynne was also staying behind as well, in the hope her healing abilities would keep Arl Eamon alive long enough to find and return with the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If their quest ended in failure, Arthur had no clue what they would do. Teagan would likely take up his brother's mantle as Arl of Redcliffe, and while Arthur would support him in that, Teagan was not his brother. Arthur feared that the Bann would not have the same charisma and political acumen as his brother did to convince Ferelden's nobility to desert Loghain and rally to face the Blight.

'_We cannot fail'_ Arthur told himself. '_If we lose Eamon, we lose our best chance to throw down Loghain...'_, but his musing was interrupted by a sight that drove all else from his mind. The door to his quarters was ajar. Arthur began to draw his sword-if Loghain had already stooped to send one assassin into another man's home and another after the Grey Wardens, it was all too likely he'd try his luck again, but as the sword came part-way from its scabbard, the intruder made their presence known.

"Do not be alarmed. It is only I" Morrigan's voice said clearly as he approached. Moving his hand away from the sword hilt at his waist, Arthur stepped inside. Morrigan was sat on the bed, but judging by her tense expression, her arms folded in her lap, this was no social call. The leather-bound tome Arthur had purloined from the Circle for her lay on the bed, and Morrigan's eyes kept darting back to it with a look of revulsion in her gaze, as though it were fresh entrails that rested near her.

"I have been studying Mother's grimoire. Do you wish to know what I found?"

"What did you find?" Arthur asked, curious despite himself. After all, based on Morrigan's description of the book, it gave an insight into the mind of a figure of legend, and the boy who loved tales in him was intrigued at what secrets Flemeth might hide in such a work.

"T'is...not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of her spells, a map of the power she controls, but this, this is not it".

"And yet you look disturbed" Arthur noted with a raised eyebrow at the nauseated looks Morrigan kept directing at the tome.

"Disturbed?" Morrigan replied with a note of almost hysteria in her voice, and that unnerved Arthur more than anything. This was a side of Morrigan he had never seen; the witch was frightened, and judging from her expression, it was not a state she was fond of.

"Yes, perhaps that is the right word. One thing in particular in her writings disturbs me" Morrigan continued as she flicked the book open to a particular page and held it out to Arthur. "Here, in great detail, Flemeth describes the means by which she has survived for millennia".

The text was written in a language Arthur did not know, so Morrigan's showing to him the words scrawled on the vellum meant nothing to him. "Let me guess. She drinks blood? Eats children?" It was meant to be sarcasm, but judging by the sour look that crossed Morrigan's face, he'd touched a nerve.

"That is closer to the truth than you think. Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifespan. The Chasind tell stories of we 'Witches of the Wild', yet I have never seen one and always wondered why". The witch's eyes dropped to the ground and she cast the book away from her, rubbing her hands on her legs as if merely holding the thing had stained her in some way, making her desperate to get it off.

"And now I know. They are _all_ Flemeth. When her body grows old and wizened, she raises a daughter, and when the time comes, she takes her daughter's body for her own"

"Are you sure of this?" Arthur questioned, disgusted by this revelation. The stories of the Witch of the Wilds were hardly the sort that painted Flemeth in the best light, and his encounter with the old bat had done little to change that impression, but this...this knowledge was beyond abhorrent.

"Indeed" Morrigan snapped. "That is primarily what this tome details; the various daughters Flemeth has...acquired. Their preparation and training. I recognise all of it. I am to be her next host. This is my purpose, the sole reason for my existence" she spat angrily.

"But, if she wants to use your flesh to replace her own, why would she risk sending you with me?"

A confused expression also appeared on Morrigan's face as she tried to fathom Flemeth's reasoning; a task one could liken to trying to make water flow uphill. Arthur got the suspicion that while Flemeth had taught Morrigan all she knew, the mother hadn't taught the daughter everything _she _knew.

"I am uncertain" she admitted after a short pause. "Perhaps it was as she said; the darkspawn threaten her just as much as anyone. Flemeth is strong, powerful and cunning beyond measure, but I do not know if she could best even ten thousand hurlocks, not to mention an archdemon. Perhaps she hopes this journey will increase my power. According to the tome, if the..._host_" she spat the word as if it were the vilest profanity "is already well-trained in magic, it takes less time for Flemeth to...'settle in'".

That seemed a far more likely explanation to Arthur; the old witch clearly coveted power, and would likely want her new vessel to possess as much as possible before. "So if you died, she would simply acquire another daughter?"

"Not by any natural means. Perhaps I should take this as a vote of confidence from Flemeth regarding my abilities?" she asked with a deprecating laugh. But then, a thought occurred to her, because her next statement seemed to have a certain sense of certainty to it "Or perhaps she simply wished me gone from the Korcari Wilds so she could prepare her ritual in peace. A disturbing thought" she concluded, her voice choking; she sounded almost like she might burst into tears. It was a state Arthur had never seen, nor expected Morrigan to get into, and it made him wonder if Flemeth's upbringing had been to strengthen her daughter, or train her in such a way that she would be more pliant and less likely to fight back when the time came for the demon to take over.

"You must forgive me; this takes me completely by surprise" Morrigan continued, her voice soft and uncertain. "I thought I would have some notion, some inkling..."

"You and Flemeth were hardly friendly" Arthur noted; perhaps the antagonistic nature of their relationship had caused Morrigan to believe there was little worse her mother could do to her_. 'How wrong she was'_.

"T'is just her way, or so I assumed"

"What do you intend? I will help you if I can" Arthur replied bluntly. Morrigan looked surprised, as caught offguard by his declaration of support, and Arthur wondered how long she'd been toying with herself about asking for his help, only to stop for fear of being thought weak. Arthur rolled his eyes; he could understand Morrigan's stubborn pride and distaste for wanting help from others- she'd been self-sufficient her whole life, never needed help or companionship from others- so her difficulty in requesting assistance was understandable, but had she lingered because she feared her request for assistance wouldn't be granted, or how it would make her appear?

When Morrigan finally answered, her tone was to the point and blunt as a hammer blow. "There's only one possible response to this: Flemeth needs to die. I will not sit about, waiting like an empty sack to be filled. Flemeth must be destroyed, and I will require your aid to do it. Before you ask why I need your assistance" she added with a raised hand to forestall any questioning on Arthur's part "If she is slain when I am nearby, I am not certain she will not simply take possession of my body. So obviously, it follows I cannot be the one to do it. And before you ask, yes Flemeth can be slain. She would like everyone to think she's immortal, but I highly doubt that's the case".

"Tell me what needs to be done, and I'll see it is" Arthur replied. He had no idea how it would be done, but one thing was certain; he was hardly going to stand by and let Flemeth obliterate her daughter's mind, consume her soul and use her flesh to perpetuate her twisted existence. While he might owe Flemeth a debt for saving his, Alistair and Edward's lives atop the Tower of Ishal, there was no law of man or Maker that said he had to stand aside and allow the creation of a new abomination to satisfy that debt.

'_Everything has its time and everything dies. Even you, Witch of the Wilds'._

"Then what must be done is for you to go back to Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds, without me. Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will be truly dead even then, but it will take her many years to recover her power and acquire a new body...if she is able. What I must have is her true grimoire; with it, I can defend against her power in the future. Anything else she possesses in her hut is yours"

"Very well. When the opportunity arises, I will do as you ask" Arthur replied swiftly.

"I am grateful. The sooner this is over, the sooner my mind will be set at ease". Morrigan got up from the bed and made to leave, but as she reached the door, she turned back and said "I must admit, I find such fervour in my defence welcoming, though I hardly expected it to be forthcoming..."

"Why? Because you have a brusque manner and the subtlety of a sledge hammer? Morrigan, I'll admit you're not the easiest person to get on with at times, but after what I saw in the Circle tower and Conner, demonic possession is a fate I would wish on no one. If what happened to Leliana didn't show you enough, you should know I don't leave those in my company to the whims of fate"

"You...I am...grateful for such fervour" Morrigan replied, looking a little offguard by his response. The look on her face told Arthur plain as day she was holding something back, but before he could press her for it, she turned the handle of the door and made to leave.

"I should go. Thank you for your assistance" she said in a firm voice, all business again, and slipped out without another word. Arthur marvelled at the witch's strange dichotomy, so strong yet so vulnerable, for a moment, then put it out of his mind and began to remove his armour. Flemeth would be dealt with, but not at that precise moment; for now, his most pressing concern was a good night's sleep. It was likely to be several days journey to Haven and back, and he wanted as much rest as possible.

###############

Morrigan left the chamber in a daze. She hadn't expected Arthur to be so willing to assist her against Flemeth, had expected him to demand a price for his aid. For all her life, Flemeth had schooled her daughter on the carnal, eternally-shifting nature of men, how such would merely seek to wring whatever use or pleasure they could from her, then cast her aside without a second thought. It had been the reason she'd wanted as little interactions with the outside world as possible.

And yet, now Flemeth, the one who'd taught her what Morrigan had come to believe was the way of the world was now her mortal enemy, and a man had stepped forward to defend her, without thought or demand for reward. It was a curious reversal and not unwelcome, she had to admit. While she had initially assumed Arthur would be like other men, driven on by their primal urges, and what little she knew of his past seemed to confirm it, but...she couldn't deny there was much about the young Cousland that didn't fit with Flemeth's teachings.

'_Don't let yourself soften now'_ a voice at the back of her mind snapped angrily. _'We still need the Warden and the chance to confront the archdemon he will provide_!'. But Morrigan paid it no heed; it sounded far too much like Flemeth. The plan had changed when Flemeth had seen fit to betray her. '_I will see you dead, Mother dear'_ she thought sarcastically 'a_nd I will take the power of the archdemon for my own, and if I have to, I will use it to blast you back into the Fade piece by piece if I must. As for Arthur..._'; she didn't know her own thoughts about the Warden yet. Should he prevail over Flemeth...

A flash of motion out of the corner of her eye caught Morrigan's attention. Looking round, she saw a most entertaining sight; Leliana, clad in a diaphanous white nightgown that clung to her willowy figure, her ears hung with gold earrings studded with garnets and reeking of a flowery perfume that made Morrigan want to sneeze. The gown, the jewellery and the perfume were likely all purloined from Isolde and Morrigan couldn't help but be amused by the fact that, despite the similarities between the two Orlesian wenches, Arthur viewed Isolde with little more than disdain, while one only had to see how he looked at Leliana to known his thoughts on her.

"What were you doing in there?" the bard snapped, clearly thinking the snigger directed at her and Morrigan saw the glimpse of silver in her hand; the Orlesian carried a dagger of fine make in her right hand. Morrigan raised an eyebrow coolly, feeling no fear of the drawn blade. _'She's far too high and mighty to use it on me'_

"Not that it is any concern of yours, but I had something I needed to discuss with our Grey Warden companion"

"And why couldn't you have discussed it with Alistair instead of lingering about here like a carrion crow?" was the waspish reply.

"Because I wished to speak with someone who would have the intelligence to grasp what I was saying. Of the two Grey Wardens we know, Arthur is the only one that falls into that category. You can stop fretting; I haven't spoiled him for you, if that's what you're wondering. I leave that in your capable hands"

"And what's that supposed to mean?". Morrigan answered Leliana's demand with a bark of derisive laughter.

"The way you look at him so intently, so hungrily... one would think you have never seen a man before"

"Where I look is not your concern"

"It is almost as though you wish he would feel your gaze upon him, and notice you" Morrigan sneered coldly; everyone in the party had seen the doe-eyed looks the bard had been shooting at the Cousland. "And maybe he does notice you, but what does he see? A girl, skinny like a boy, with wild, ragged hair"

"What is your point, Morrigan? That I am not attractive?" Leliana retorted coldly. "I do not need to make disparaging remarks about other women to make myself feel better. I know who I am". A vicious glimmer appeared in her eyes, accompanied by a cruel smile on those full lips as Leliana pressed on her attack.

"You say that I am the one who tries to be noticed, when it is you. He has ignored your advances, hasn't he? Perhaps it's time you stop projecting your own troubles on someone else.

"Such venom. Your Marjolaine would be so impressed"

Leliana went white with outrage, but Morrigan pressed on. Contrary to what the girl's jealousy would have her believe, Morrigan had no designs on Arthur, but if the bard was going to strike below the belt, then Morrigan had no qualms about doing likewise.

"You think you are cultured? Worldly? Powdered, perfumed, you ooze elegance, but what man wants a woman who lies limp and frigid beneath him, frozen in place by the thought that she might ruin her hair?"

Leliana scoffed mockingly at this. "So you're saying you're wild and uninhibited? I could only imagine what it must be like when a man takes you; you probably sound like a genlock being murdered -a sweet, sweet sound to a Grey Warden. Maybe we should test that, see if you scream so loud at the climax that they hear you in the Anderfels!"

"Tsk, tsk, Leliana. Watch your jealousy, or you'll give yourself wrinkles" Morrigan replied with a condescending look and a patronizing wag of the finger. Leliana, her expression colder than a glacier, pushed past Morrigan, raising the dagger in her hand in a manner that was clearly meant to be threatening.

"Get away from me, or I shall have to take drastic measures".

"Resorting to violence. And here I thought you were civilized" Morrigan called out as the Orlesian stormed past without a backward glance. '_That girl's bloody jealousy..._'; Morrigan needed Arthur to help her acquire what she sought from the archdemon, but she didn't wish to consider what Leliana's reaction would be if the bard discovered what particular form of 'help' the witch sought from the Warden.

##############

"What did Morrigan want?" Leliana asked with a raised eyebrow. Arthur rolled his eyes; clearly he'd heard the raised voices outside his room.

"There was something she wanted to discuss with me" he replied. "Purely business" he added quickly at the look on Leliana's face, but in a tone that implied it wasn't for further discussion at present.

He'd removed his armour- the silverite breastplate and helm rested on an armour stand, his gauntlets, boots, sword and shield at its feet in a corner- and was dressed in a simple nightshirt and woollen trousers. He looked tired but, and strangest of all, she saw wrapped around the palms of his hands were bloodstained bandages. She didn't know when he'd been injured on the hands, but he spoke before she could ask.

"Can I help?"

He said it in such a throwaway manner, as though he hadn't already done so much for her, that it almost overwhelmed her. There was so much she wished to say to him, but not for the first time, the words caught in her throat, and all Leliana could manage to ask was "Where did you get the gift?", holding up the Thorn of the Dead Gods and the flowers entwined around it.

"Ah, I see you found it" he said with a smile. "The dagger I purchased in Denerim; the Wonders of Thedas has such a rich selection and considering its history, I thought you might like it. As for the rose, technically it was yours to begin with. I'm really just giving it back to you".

"My rose? What do you...?" she began confused, before comprehension dawned. "From Lothering? The one I told you about? When did you get it?"

"Back when you and I went to speak with the Revered Mother about freeing Sten. I saw it, but I didn't realise what it meant to you until later. It was obviously special to you and, well...maybe I should have left well enough alone, but I couldn't. What would have happened if I did? The darkspawn would have come sooner or later and their taint would have destroyed it. I remember thinking ...'How could something so beautiful survive in the midst of such chaos and darkness?'"

His expression became a little more reserved, as if he were uncertain how she might react to his next pronouncement. "In some ways, I think the same of you. In spite of everything, you haven't given up, you haven't stopped seeing the good in people and you never stopped trying to do the right thing. In some ways, you were a rare and wonderful thing to find in the darkness that fell upon me"

"I could just as easily say the same of you" Leliana replied, touched so deeply by Arthur's faith in her, and the fact that, like her, in spite of all he'd been through, he hadn't given up, hadn't abandoned his duty and strove to be the better man, when he could just have easily. She might be a light in the darkness for him, but she still remembered her dream, of Arthur burning like a flame in the face of the Blight's darkness, and leaping to her defence against Marjolaine...maybe she enjoyed the old stories from her training as a bard a little too much, but chivalrous, courageous, just and compassionate; Arthur was truly a knight in shining armour.

'_Help the young Warden save my creation from the Blight, and your trust and your faith will be rewarded; you will find absolution, trust and love. Find him, child. Help him'_.

"I wish I could think of a better way to thank you for it, but I can't, so you'll have to make do with this" Leliana added as she threw her arms around Arthur's neck and pulled him close. Their bodies pressed together in the embrace, she could feel the muscles of his torso pressing against her through the simple woollen nightshirt he had donned. There was no doubt he was handsome, but then so had Marjolaine, but she knew the woman she had loved and the man before her were as different in soul as they were in body. Arthur was no Marjolaine, nor would he ever be; one only had to look into his eyes to see no sign of deception or malice directed towards her, only a great deal of compassion, affection and- '_Dare I hope to say it?_'- love?

They pulled apart after a short moment, but Leliana wasn't done with him by far.

"It has been a long time since I left Lothering. When I stepped out of the cloister, I did not know where my path would take me. But I walked where the Maker led me and...he rewarded me for my faith. I found _you_"

"Are you calling me a divine gift from the Maker?" Arthur asked with a chortle. An impish smile crossed Leliana's lips in response.

"Something like that. The Maker wants his children to be happy. Would he have created in us the capacity for love if he didn't wish us to find it?"

"Love?"

"Yes, love. That gloriously rich and decadent emotion one finds oneself hopelessly stuck in. Much like caramel pudding"

"That's an apt, if rather different analogy"

"Thank you, dear" the bard replied with a smile, moving down to press her lips to his neck, moving up his neck, along his cheek, to the lobe of his ear, teeth nibbling gently, eliciting a low moan from Arthur as her tongue traced a path from ear, across the cheek, to his mouth, their lips brushing for seconds before she pulled back, a playful gleam in her eyes, putting all her weight behind a hard push that sent Arthur stumbling back; his knees collided with the bed, sending him sprawling onto the mattress.

"Oh I could regale you with tales of pudding until the sun comes up. Maybe you should get comfortable and I could regale you?"

"You have no idea how much I'd like such, but" and at this, he lifted her chin up so that her emerald eyes were looking into his. His gaze was so solemn, so worried that she feared he might refuse, and when he spoke, it was in a hesitant, gentle voice, looking at her as if she were made of porcelain that might shatter at any moment. To know that someone, after so long alone, so long fearing she might never know such ever again, cared about her and what she wanted so much was heart-warming.

"I can't deny I want this Leliana, but I won't force you, not so soon after...Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Oh don't second guess me; it's not becoming" she replied, trying to scowl, but she couldn't; the night was too wonderful, held too much promise now for harsh words. Standing up from the bed, her hands moved to the straps of the diaphanous nightgown and eased them off her shoulders. There was a brief rasp of silk over skin as it came off, the garment catching on her hips for an instant before it fell away entirely, pooling in a crumpled heap around her ankles, leaving Arthur to stare openly at the naked slender curves displayed before him.

"Now come here, and no excuses this time"

Arthur did not need to be told twice. He tried to rise from the bed, but Leliana's hand pressing on his chest pushed him back. Long, dextrous fingers tore away the buttons of his shirt, leaving his chest bare, then ran through the hair that covered the muscles of his torso and abdomen. His own hands wrapped around her, running down her back, over the lattice of scar tissue that criss-crossed her spine, the eternal mark of Marjolaine's betrayal. For a moment, Leliana shuddered, wondering what he would say when he felt those old, bitter wounds, but to her delight, he made no comment as she felt his callused, swordsman's fingers run down the curve of her back with the same reverent feel to each caress. Her hands worked their way down, finding their target; the waist of the woollen trousers Arthur wore. In one swift motion, she pulled, stripping away the trousers and the underclothes beneath them, and there was nothing but bare skin touching.

Their lips met again and again, man and woman rolling over so that their position constantly alternated, one on top then the other. After a few moments, Arthur took the upper hand, Leliana pinned beneath him, his mouth moving down her neck to her collarbone, lingering for a moment on the scar Swiftrunner had given her, pausing. Leliana caught a disconcerted look in Arthur's eyes-clearly he still remembered how close that scar had come to claiming her life, and judging by how as his mouth passed over it, his exertions seemed to grow more intense, he was clearly not wasting the chance to show how grateful he was she had been spared that fate.

"What're you doing?" Leliana moaned in a husky purr of a voice that made her accent more noticeable as Arthur's lips moved ever lower from her neck, down her body.

"Having a bite of your fruit" came the whispered reply, and Leliana let out an involuntary grasp as she felt Arthur's mouth upon her breast, teeth raking over the nipple, tongue teasing in a manner that she had forgotten felt so good...

Long-fingered hands ran through tousled red-brown hair as his head alternated from one to the other, Leliana pressing his head pressed against her skin, writhing as his lips continued to dip lower. The motions of his hands, mouth and tongue told her he was no novice in this, the circular motion of his tongue around the taut peak, the soft pressure as he traced a path down her belly to what lay below, drawing a mewling cry of want from Leliana as the fingers reached her hips, moving back and forth, slipping between her legs, coming tantalisingly close, only to tease her and then pull back; it was almost too much to contain. Leliana couldn't hold back...

"I need you, Arthur" she whispered, pulling his head up to look in those bright blue eyes, overflowing with affection for her, seeing her own gaze mirroring his, the desire in his gaze as plain to see as it was easy to feel in every kiss, every caress. "_In_ me"

"Your wish is my command" he said in a hoarse voice as she guided him, directed him between her legs, both of them gasping as there was a brief tightness about their loins, and then it was gone, and he was _in_ her, her legs locked around his waist, his head in her hands, his left hand stroking her hair as his right kneaded her breasts, their foreheads resting against each other and their lips pressed together again as their bodies committed to the dance all lovers instinctively know.

It did not take long; every thrust was direct and precise, knowing how to bring them both to the brink, both gasping and moaning with pleasurable exertion as they fell over the edge into the oblivion of climax. They learned much about each other in that night; it was better than she could have imagined. It was not like the dalliances she'd undertaken as a bard, merely meant to serve a purpose, and it was certainly not like Marjolaine, who had always made love to her student with, Leliana knew with hindsight, a reservation to it, taking all the pleasure for herself and giving barely any in return. Arthur was not like that whatsoever; he gave everything of himself freely, wanting nothing in return, but she gave back everything he deserved. She knew how focused Arthur was in battle, when a particular task was set to him and now, when that focus was directed entirely towards her pleasure...she lost all track of time, how long they were lost in each other, but it ceased to matter; all that mattered to her was showing Arthur how much he meant to her, to give everything she could, and to take what was offered in return.

As waves of ecstasy crashed through them, they collapsed against each other, utterly spent, his head resting against her chest, her pounding heartbeat calming as passionate frenzy slowed, becoming calmer, giving way to a more intimate pace.

"I love you" she murmured, running her fingers through that tousled mane of reddish brown hair of his, feeling his own hands mirroring the motion through her red locks. It felt so good to say those three simple words out loud. She'd never dared speak them when she was a bard, nor ever dared say them aloud to Marjolaine; such would only have caused trouble, and even as foolish and naive as she had been, she knew better than to ask for such from the bardmaster. But here, now, content in the arms of a good man who gave himself willingly to keep her safe and happy, the words felt so right, and came so freely.

"I know" Arthur replied. "For so long, I have been nothing more than wanton, taking what pleasure I could and moved on, but this...this is wonderful. You are wonderful...I never thought I would feel, never thought anyone again would make me want to say...but you...I...I..."

"Say it"

"I love you" Arthur replied, and Leliana felt something in her soar as Arthur's head rested against her heart again, the siren song of her heartbeat lulling him asleep. "I love you now, and while my heart still beats, so shall I always"

_You cannot change or deny what you are; the truth will always come out. And when that day comes" she sneered with vindictive glee "he'll want nothing to do with you whatsoever. You see the way he looks at me; the anger, the hatred, the disgust? When he realises you're no different to me, he'll think of you in the same manner, and see if anything you tempt him with can convince him otherwise!_

The voice rang in her ears again, but it was softer, and even as it repeated itself, Marjolaine's voice was slowly but inevitably drowned out by another; _his_, repeating the words that had taken root in place of her old love's hate.

_I trust Leliana, no matter _what_ you say...I l_ove_ you'_.

'_The Maker wants his children to be happy. And now, after so long, I am'_ Leliana thought contently as she and her lover slowly drifted off in each other's arms.

################

The cockcrow woke him from sleep, far too soon. Arthur felt the soft, warm weight beside him and opened bleary eyes, smiling softly as he saw Leliana resting beside him, her back to him, one of his arms wrapped around her waist. Her eyes seemed closed, her lips curved into a contented smile; she looked so beautiful, so peaceful at rest, her face devoid of all the hurts and woes life had inflicted upon her. '_I wonder if I look the same to her asleep'_ Arthur mused.

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well. Admittedly, he had woken in the night, the taint-fuelled dreams of darkspawn jerking him awake, only to find Leliana tossing and turning in her sleep, waking from the torments of her own mind. He'd held her gently, listened to her as she spoke in a hushed, scared tone of how she'd dreamt of herself in Marjolaine's clutches, naked, broken, in chains, with him and all the others lying about her dead, but Arthur had merely brushed the loose strands of hair out of her eyes, pulled her close and reassured her that she was safe, that Marjolaine was gone and he was still there, still strong, still alive, still _hers_.

Comfort had inevitably turned to passion, kisses and touches growing hungry, and they had made love again, trusting to each other's warmth to banish the darkness around them, and when their energy had been spent and they finally drifted off to sleep, it was peaceful and without interruption.

Looking at her, he understood now what he'd missed from his shameless philandering of youth, what Fergus and Oriana, what his own parents had shared; a feeling of companionship, completeness. Sex for its hedonistic sake alone was well enough, but this...making love to someone who you understood and who understood you so well, who desired nothing more than to be with you and the happiness you gave them...it was a new experience for Arthur, and one he didn't dislike.

Arthur gently pressed his lips to the back of Leliana's neck, working his way down, his mouth brushing the scars that marked her spine, not shying away from them; scarred or unscarred, she was still beautiful. His hands also began to move as well, moving up from her waist, over her belly, cupping the soft weight of her breasts before moving back down to repeat the cycle, each caress lasting a little longer, every touch on her ivory skin feeling better than the last...

"Hello"

Leliana's voice sounded a little hoarse as Arthur looked up to see her looking over her shoulder at him. She rolled over on her side so that they were facing each other, and the impish grin on her lips spanned almost ear to ear.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Arthur asked, even though that had been his intent.

"No, I've been awake for some time, watching you sleep. I was drifting off, before your hands started roving" she replied with no heat in her voice. "Did you know your eyelids flutter when you dream? And you have such pretty eyelashes"

"It's not just my eyelashes that are pretty" Arthur replied, a little bemused by such a strange compliment. "So I hear" came the reply as Leliana's eyes dipped lower, towards the blankets covering his hips and what lay beneath them. The bard curled up, her head resting under Arthur's chin, her mouth kissing and nibbling at the skin of his neck, tracing a path from ear, to cheek, to neck, to shoulder, all the while whispering in a soft, almost disbelieving voice, as if she couldn't quite believe what they had given each other in the night, as if it were a dream she feared she would soon wake from.

"I'm so happy; I haven't slept so soundly since I fled from Orlais. I feel safe in your arms; safe, loved and accepted. This, this is where I belong..." She looked up, moving until their faces were barely an inch apart, those brilliant green eyes overflowing with joyful gratitude.

"Thank you" she whispered, leaning forward for another kiss, Arthur mirroring her motions, eager to reciprocate his affection for her...

At that moment, there was a knock on the door; their wakeup call. '_Maker's breath, why did I ask for a wakeup call?'_

"I suppose we'd best get up..." Leliana began to say, trying to slide out of Arthur's grasp and retrieve her clothes, but Arthur caught her wrist and pulled her back to the bed.

"What's your hurry?" he asked with an amorous look.

"Come on, darkspawn wait with bated breath for you to put them out of their misery!"

"The Blight will still be there in five minutes..." Arthur replied as he rolled Leliana onto her back and moved on top of her, his mouth brushing against her neck with a gentle kiss, moving lower as his hand moved to her right breast, sliding around the curve even as his mouth descended upon her left, teeth tugging and teasing the nipple to hardness...

"What are you...oh" Leliana's questioning was cut off as she realised what her lover intended. "Well, I suppose the darkspawn will have to wait a bit longer..."

As they moved against each other again, their passion blotted out everything else. In that moment, Loghain, Howe, Marjolaine, even the Blight itself was forgotten.

####################

Story note: I know you can't get a silverite Thorn of the Dead Gods from the Wonders of Thedas but I needed an item and that one served a purpose. I also admit to shamelessly pilfering Alistair's romance dialogue: what can I say? I'm a hopeless old romantic!

Until next time,


	33. Chapter 31: Dragonslayer

Even for someone who hadn't spent so much of their life trusting their gut instinct as Zevran, it was plain to see there was something very wrong with Haven. The villagers had been extremely unwelcoming, exhibiting frosty indifference to their presence at best, open hostility at worst. But it was more than just distaste for the presence of outsiders; there was something hidden in the village, something that they didn't want the intruders to see at any cost.

It hadn't taken them long to find out what that secret was; as they passed by one of the houses, Edward had taken one sniff of the air and started barking angrily, running back and forth between his master and the house. While Morrigan, Arabella and Shale had kept watch to make sure none of the villagers saw what was going on, Arthur, Alistair, Zev and Leliana snuck round the back of the house. The bard had deftly picked the lock on the back door and the group had slipped inside. The place seemed like a perfectly normal cottage inside...except for the altar in the far corner of the room, inscribed with Chantry symbols and drenched in blood. Even Zev's hardened stomach twisted; the stench was sickening, as was the sight of the hundreds of flies crawling over it. He reluctantly dabbed his fingers in the stuff; the blood was cold, but had only just begun to congeal, so whatever had bled its last on the altar had done so recently.

"I did not expect to find something so unsettling" Leliana said, flicking an uncertain glance towards Arthur, her Warden looking revolted. Everyone in the party knew about their relationship-Zev, Alistair and Arabella having greeted the pair with a mix of wolf whistles, bawdy jokes and lecherous smiles when they joined the others for a swift breakfast in the Redcliffe mess hall before heading off for Haven- and while Zev couldn't help but feel a little disappointed one of the beautiful women whose company he found himself was now no longer eligible for a tumble in the bushes, he felt good for the pair of them. Arthur and Leliana were good people-Zev could feel the Warden's initial hostility to him was almost gone, in favour of a more cordial relationship; Arthur was no fool, and he could clearly tell how useful the Crow's skills had proven, and it was becoming more than that: hell, Arthur sometimes even made time to speak with him, cracking jokes with the elf and asking questions about his past in Antiva- and after all they'd been through, the bard and the Warden deserved a little happiness. '_After all, we could all die before this Blight is done. Let them take what pleasures they can while they still have the chance'._

"Used for food preparation, perhaps?" Alistair put forward half-heartedly.

"Zev, do you mind?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes at the templar's idiocy. "Not at all, my dear Warden" the elf replied, and abruptly whacked Alistair round the back of the head. "Don't be such an idiot? You ever known a pork chop or a side of beef to bleed that much?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to be optimistic, because the other explanation is somewhat more unsettling"

A loud bang from outside brought them out of their contemplation; racing out the front door, they saw that the villagers had set upon the rest of the party, Morrigan and Arabella launching fireballs and lightning bolts into the mob of charging peasants, devoid of torches and pitchforks but still charging into the teeth of the mages' fire without fear or hesitation. Edward and Shale were already in the thick of it, a ring of broken, mangled bodies surrounding the golem, whose fists struck out without mercy or pause, smashing limbs like twigs, the mabari picking off the wounded and the dying. With a bellowed war cry, the quartet drew their blades and charged into the fray.

It was almost too easy; these were just peasants, and even in the throes of some strange, blood-thirsty frenzy they seemed to be exhibiting, most of them were unarmed and probably hadn't killed anything bigger than a fatted pig in their lives; they fell like wheat before the scythe. As they proceeded up the slopes towards the focal point of the village-the Chantry, positioned at the very summit of the hill- their foes became a little harder-men and women in armour and with weapons, who fought with the same rabid frenzy as the villagers, but despite being better equipped, it did them little good; their arms and armour looked to have been scavenged and cobbled together from what they'd managed to loot from other intruders to the village; scarcely a match for drakeskin, silverite and red steel; the armoured zealots fell as swiftly as the villagers. Shale proved its worth in this battle, taking up the bulk of the fighting, smashing limbs, crushing heads and staving in ribcages without pause, easing the severity of the battle, as it allowed the others to finish off the mortally wounded Shale left in its wake, rather than having to fight. They'd found more evidence, as if it were needed, that the village of Haven was certainly not what it seemed: the mutilated corpse of a travelling knight, the Redcliffe coat of arms visible upon the man's ruined mail.

Then they reached the Chantry, and like a living battering ram, Shale drove a boulder-sized fist into the door; it gave way like matchwood. Inside, a large congregation of men, women, even children- the remnants of Haven's populace who hadn't already thrown themselves to their deaths on the companions' blades- stood before a bearded man in robes more akin to a mage's than a priest's intoning a portion of the Chant of Light. More armoured thugs flanked him, and Zev was quick to notice how their eyes saw the blood of their fellows on the weapons and armour of the interlopers.

The man- Revered Father Eirik, Zevran remembered the watchman calling him- looked up as Arthur pushed his way through the congregation to stand at the foot of the altar, the priest's eyes narrowing suspiciously at the intrusion. The priest had made an attempt at cordiality, but Arthur had brushed aside with a dismissive wave of his sword hand.

"Enough! We are well beyond pretending this village is normal!"

Eirik hissed like an angry cobra. "This, brothers and sisters, is what happens when you let an outsider into the village. They have no respect for our privacy. This one will tell of us if we let him. He will bring others, and then what?" the priest demanded of his congregation. "You do not understand our ways, stranger. You would bring war to Haven, in your ignorance"

One of Eirik's thugs made to seize Arthur; the Warden cut the man down before he could take a step. "You're right about me bringing war down upon you. It's what you deserve"

"We don't owe you any explanation for our actions" was Eirik's curt reply. "We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven"

The villagers scattered like rats as Eirik waved his men forward, but like a charging bull, Shale hurtled forward, fists swinging. The tight confines of the Chantry favoured the golem, each swing that connected smashing two or three men off their feet. Several of the men managed to evade the golem's blows, only to fall to an arrow in the neck from Leliana or a spell from one of the two mages as the thugs were forced to focus on the golem bearing down on them. Revered Father Eirik even joined the fray, using the staff he wielded to cast spells of his own. Zevran appreciated the irony of this-'_The priest is not only a man but a mage! Oh, the Divine would have a fit'_- for a second before he was leaping over pews to dodge lightning bolts. The mad priest swiftly found a new target; Arthur, who took a full lightning bolt in the chest without flinching, the enchantments woven in to the silverite taking the brunt of the magic. The priest stood there, his face contorted with astonishment; an act that signed his death warrant. A casual backhand from Shale caught him in the temple, cracking his skull into pieces like a broken jug. The sight of their leader lying on the floor with his head closely resembling a smashed melon broke the will to fight of the remaining zealots and fled, scattering to the wind like crows; the party let them go. While Leliana and Morrigan looted the bodies and Arabella tended to the minor injuries, Arthur, Zev and Alistair explored the numerous side rooms of the Chantry, the elf's eyes swiftly scanning the rooms, the wooden chests and bookcases lining the walls, the statues and candles, the carved arch into the solid stone-

_That's odd._

Arthur sank down in one of the pews to rest for a moment and let one of the mages check him for injuries and Leliana joined him as she moved away from the altar. Zev didn't know how devout Arthur was- probably not as evident about it as his lover, but clearly, he had no objection with Leliana's eagerness to show her faith, nor to her making the odd prayer of thanks to the Maker for his and her continuing survival.

He broke off his musings, going to examine the curious archway that apparently lead into nowhere. The stone was a different colour from that which the rest of the Chantry was built, and judging from the looks of it, the archway had been bricked over recently; the mortar still looked fresh.

"Clearly, there's something behind this the villagers didn't want us to find..." Zev muttered. "How to open it, I wonder...?"

"Out of my way, painted elf" Shale intoned as the golem swung a fist with tremendous force into the stone archway; the crude mortar and stone collapsed, allowing entrance to a chamber beyond the barrier.

"Well, that's one way I suppose" Zev agreed as he stepped inside, followed the others into a small room, lined with bookcases that had the look of a study or library to it. On his back in the middle of the floor was a weary looking man of middle years who could only be Brother Genetivi.

"Who are you? Did they send you to finish it?" the scholar demanded. Zevran could see the man didn't look all that good; his left leg below the knee was at an odd angle, and his face was a mass of bruises and contusions. His eyes, however, were still bright, alert and inquisitive; clearly, the zealots had broken his body, but not his spirit.

Arthur knelt beside him and held out a hand to help the brother into a sitting position. "Brother Genetivi, I presume? My name is Arthur Cousland; I'm here to help you"

The brother's suspicious look melted into relief as Genetivi took the hand and allowed himself to pulled up."Ugh…you've no idea how glad I am to see somebody who isn't from this village. I-ah!" the man cried out, wincing as his weight inadvertently rested upon his bad leg.

Arabella produced some bandages and a vial of a powerful painkiller from her pack and set to work, speaking to Arthur as she channelled healing energy to return the bones to their proper alignment "I can set the leg and ease some of the pain, but I'm not Wynne, she's the better healer. Without her, he's gonna need a lot of rest to recover".

"I don't have time to rest. Not when the Urn is so close"

"How do you know this?" Arthur pressed for answers.

"My research led me here and I heard the villagers talking. The Urn is here. There is an old temple built into the mountainside to protect it. The door is locked, but with a bit of investigation, I learned where the key is. Eirik wears a medallion around his neck; it is the key to unlock the temple door."

"Er, is this it?" Leliana held out her hand, revealing a necklace with an odd brass pendant marked with the stylised emblem of the sun; the Chantry's symbol. Of course, the bard was always reasonably efficient about looting, after she had done her religious duties, Zev noted with a trace of amusement at the contradiction. Genetivi nodded.

"Take me to the mountainside and I can show you how to open the door with it."

"Are you sure you can make the journey?" Arthur replied worriedly, but Genetivi brushed off his concern.

"It is not far and...May I lean on you? For the Urn, any price is worth paying"

Genetivi had been true in his words; it was not far up the mountain, for which Zevran was thankful. The temperature was dropping fast and he was immensely grateful for his gloves and the cloaks Redcliffe's folk had bestowed on them; the hilt of his dagger would have taken skin with it otherwise. Morrigan was leaning heavily on her staff, plainly in need of a rest but too proud to say anything, and Leliana was looking a little worse for the wear as well. But with the promise of the Ashes so close, Arthur had become intent as a hound on a scent, and would likely not stop until they started dropping around him.

As they traipsed up the slope, Arthur turned to look at Genetivi, an arm thrown over the Warden's shoulder for support and said "Could I ask a question?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"Haven, it's a little odd?"

Genetivi chuckled as he nodded in answer. "Well, it was hardly what I expected either, lad..."

"What are those people? They seemed to fight with some sort of mania; I could only call it zeal..."

"The villagers call themselves 'the Disciples of Andraste' and they are very devoted; one might say fanatically so. They must be here to protect the Urn, but...t'is a curious thing, but they speak of Andraste as if she were still alive".

"They have to be talking about the Urn..." Leliana muttered softly, but Genetivi didn't look convinced.

"I thought so too at first, but now, I am not so sure..."

An uneasy silence fell, and Arthur broached it with another question. "The Ashes will cure Arl Eamon, won't they? That is why we came for them..."

"Cure Arl Eamon?" Genetivi asked, confusion writ on his face. "What's wrong with him?"

"The Arl was poisoned on Teyrn Loghain's orders. He's dying, Brother"

"No!" Genetivi protested. "He was always the picture of health! The Arl is a noble soul, but the Ashes...the Ashes will surely cure him. There are many tales of the sick being healed, the blind seeing again and the lame dancing in joy. Perhaps it is the Ashes that does this, or perhaps it is belief that makes it so; by believing the Ashes are magical, you make them so"

"It's Andraste" Leliana put forward, a fervent look in those bright green eyes. "Her compassion for others lives on"

"Perhaps" Genetivi nodded. "Such matters can be discussed further once we have the Ashes..."

Further conversation was prevented as they reached the top of the slope and found their path blocked by a large wooden door, simple in its construction, little detail or embellishment to it. After a bit of fiddling with the medallion, Genetivi inserted the key as he called it into a circular depression in the door's centre and twisted. There was the sound of cogs turning and unlocking, and then the door swung open. With a satisfied smile, Genetivi hobbled inside, followed by the others.

It was _immense_. The ceiling was so high overhead that Zevran could barely see it. Light poured in through windows many times larger than any he had seen in the great halls and fine houses of Antiva's nobility. Snowdrifts had blocked many of them, though not enough to block the light, and high above, spear-sized icicles hung precariously overhead, unnerving despite their beauty, sending light sparkling brilliantly off the columns that lined the hall. Murals slightly faded but still visible graced the walls, and mosaics decorated the floors, all clearly telling of the events that led up to Andraste's rise to power, her story and the aftermath of her battles. One mural to his left showed the darkspawn laying siege to a city that could only be Minrathous, the turmoil of the First Blight that led to the weakening of the Imperium and Andraste's crusade against the magisters, another showed Andraste with a great sword in her hands hacking off the chains of elven slaves gathered around her, while a third showed Andraste preaching to the masses who cheered to her every word, though a shadowy figure stood at her side, a dagger hidden behind their back-'_Likely Maferath plotting his betrayal' Zev_ assumed, remembering what little he bothered to learn about the Prophetess's tale.

At the far end, there were steps leading up to another set of doors, and a large bonfire sat in the centre of the hall. Leading off the sides in periodic intervals were more corridors. However, the beauty was marred by one thing; many footprints in the snow. Someone had gotten here before them, and even now likely lay in wait.

Genetivi leant on Arthur's shoulder, staring at his surroundings in wonder.

"This…oh, what I wouldn't give to see this in all its glory." With effort, he pushed himself up, limping over to examine one of the murals on the wall. "Just look at this." Zevran had not heard anyone breathe with such reverence as this man in a very long time. Well, he had, but judging by the noises coming out of Arthur's quarters that night, though the Maker's name had been invoked a good few times, what he and the bard had been up to was hardly religious.

"Still, sweep away the ice and snow, and traces of beauty remain"

"Stay alert, Brother. There may be more of those fanatics prowling about up here" Arthur remarked. Zevran applauded his powers of observation but Genetivi was too engrossed in his wonder to take in the warning for a few moments.

"These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about her life that we do not yet know. I could use some time to study them properly, and in any case, I could not keep up with you with my injuries. Go ahead; perhaps it was only my destiny to lead _you_ to the Urn"

"Is there anything more you can tell us? Anything your research says about this structure that might be helpful?".

"It was designed to protect the Urn from those who would steal or do harm to it...namely, the agents of the Tevinter Imperium"

"I have no intention of harming the Urn" was Arthur's solemn reply.

"Well, I would hope not. If the legend is true, no one will reach the Urn with malice in their heart. 'The Maker's gaze falls upon Andraste's final resting place; He weeps for His Beloved, and His wrath at her betrayers endures'" the brother intoned.

"So the Maker's wrath strikes down the unworthy here?" Arabella replied with a raised eyebrow. Zev couldn't fault the mage's scepticism; after all, her kind had hardly gotten a fair lot in life from the Chantry, so one could hardly blame her for being more than a little dismissive of Chantry dogma.

"Well, that's what the legend says, and the Maker may indeed watch over this place" the brother replied fairly. "Read between the lines, however, and you'll see it's nothing but a simple truth draped in hyperbole and metaphor. After all, no one wants to hear 'Willy toiled for many a year to perfect the curious mechanisms that would send a sharpened spike up the arse of the unwary intruder"

"Oh, _that_ sounds pleasant" Zev muttered sarcastically. Just what they needed, an abandoned temple overrun with deranged cultists and festooned with booby traps. '_This is turning into a spectacular set of events!'_

"I think my decision to stay here was the best one, don't you?" Clearly the brother's dry wit hadn't deserted him during his incarceration.

"Absolutely. We'll be back soon enough" Arthur replied as he and the group left the brother to his study, and made for the stairs into the temple proper.

##############################

"Stop! You will go no further!"

The others seemed quite happy to comply with the man's demand, but Arthur continued to advance, ignoring his aching legs and arms, weary from the arduous climb through the mountain and the near-constant battles they'd fought almost every step of the ascent. The cultists had been bad enough, but the ones in the tunnels and passages honeycombing the mountain were somewhat more of a challenge than those who'd assailed them in the village, clad in better armour, with better weapons and possessing a measure of ability their fellows in the village below had not. Even so, they were still fanatics, not warriors, and zeal could only compensate so much for a deficit in skill. They provided a more difficult fight than the villagers, but they fell all the same.

And then there were the _dragons_. It had been Arthur's understanding that dragons had only been declared back from near-extinction thirty years ago, so to discover such a large nest in the heartland of Ferelden was quite disconcerting. Even newly hatched, the dragonlings were each as big as a Nevarran crocodile and just as vicious. Even if their needle-like fangs had trouble biting through metal armour, the periodic gouts of fire and their numbers made them dangerous; particularly to the lightly armoured companions, such as Morrigan and Arabella, who now bore several deep bites on their arms and legs. Even worse were the drakes- far larger and far more aggressive than the hatchlings they guarded, their feral rage only increasing, throwing themselves at the group with abandon, and refusing to die until they suffered the most grievous of blows. After several encounters, the solution had been to let Morrigan and Arabella encase the charging drake in ice, then leave the beast to be shattered into icicles by Shale's fists, less dangerous and more effective by far. The presence of so many drakes and dragon hatchlings unnerved Arthur a little, because if he remembered his lessons, they usually indicated the presence of something far worse...

"You'll stand aside if you want to live" Arthur snapped in a warning tone but the man puffed up angrily, his bearded face reddening, and spat in an equally hostile voice "The righteous do not fear death".

The man stormed forward and Arthur took a good look at him; he was well-built, almost equal to Arthur in height, clad in heavy chainmail and armed with a vicious-looking battleaxe on his back, though Arthur wondered if he had any notion how to use it, or if, like the other zealots, the blade and armour were just for show. Further back in the cave they now found themselves in, there were other men moving forward- armed zealots and mages from the look of them. The rest of his party were weary from the climb, faces red, breath coming in short gasps, and Arthur decided to talk, if only to buy time for his companions to recover their breath and prepare for the inevitable battle...

He chanced a glance towards Leliana. She had largely escaped the worst of the damage, along with the mages, but still looked on the point of collapsing more than anyone else; her slender form and training clearly weren't meant for mountain climbing. Several times she had been forced to drop her bow and resort to her daggers, and while he'd done his best on every occasion to go across and defend her, she had still managed to accumulate a few gashes. Unthinkingly, he gave her a reassuring smile. She returned it, but then her gaze flickered over his shoulder, and he forced himself to remember they weren't alone, nor in the company of friends.

"You have defiled our temple. You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young. No more. You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?"

"Tell me your name, and I shall tell you my purpose" was the reply.

"I am Father Kolgrim, leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste" came the answer to one question.

"I'm here for the Urn of Sacred Ashes" was the answer to the other.

"You did this all for an ancient relic?" Kolgrim demanded incredulously. "Know this, stranger." Kolgrim's voice was a low growl as both men stared each other down. "Kill us and you will face Andraste. She will smell our blood and the blood of Her children upon you, and Her wrath will be great!"

"Children?" Arthur replied. "The only things approximating children I've seen up here are the hatchlings..." and then he fell silent as several things made sense at once. Morrigan gave a raucous shriek of laughter, ignoring the angry glares it earned her, and cackled "Oh, this is magnificent! These fools think their precious prophet has been reincarnated as a dragon!"

"She is so much more than that!" Kolgrim bellowed pugnaciously. "She is even more glorious than _all_ the Old Gods combined! The Prophetess Andraste has overcome death and returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you could imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now! What hope do you have?"

"And what have you done with the Sacred Ashes?"

"Well, they are still in this temple" Kolgrim replied with a blasé shrug to Leliana's demand "But why do we need ashes when we serve the risen Andraste in all her glory?" The bard's eyebrows rose incredulously at this and her fatigue seemed to melt away at such a brazen dismissal of the most holy artefact in the Chantry's eyes, but she fell silent when Arthur spoke.

"Good, then you should have no problem in handing them over"

"So you are after the Ashes?" Kolgrim questioned, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm...perhaps there is a way to make up for your recent transgressions"

The manner in which the zealot said it made Arthur's skin crawl. The others were clearly no fonder of what was being implied, if their suspicious looks were anything to go on. "You seemed quite happy to kill us all a second ago, why the sudden change of heart?" Zevran challenged Kolgrim.

"It may be because I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light. Perhaps, through Andraste's wisdom, her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion" he proclaimed, finishing with a gap-toothed leer of a smile that made the death's-head grin of a hurlock look reassuring.

"I sincerely doubt that," Morrigan muttered darkly, though thankfully in a voice too soft for any but those next to her to hear.

"Just say what you have to say."

"The Ashes reside in a temple atop this mountain, protected by an ancient guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the Risen Lady. The Ashes are a relic of her past life, and Andraste cannot truly realise Her new form while they remain. The Guardian knows the Disciples and we cannot touch him, but you...you can give Andraste what is Hers by right"

"And you want me to do what? Toss the Ashes out a window?"

"I speak not of destruction" Kolgrim retorted, sounded almost amused by the notion. "The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them her own again. The task is simple; I give you a vial of the Holy Andraste's blood, and you tip the vial into the Urn. Whatever magic is tied into the Ashes will be undone...and Our Great Lady will be freed from the shackles of Her past life!"

Arthur had never been the most devout of the Chantry's followers in his lifetime, but there was no doubt to him that what Kolgrim was proposing was the greatest blasphemy ever uttered to him. As if the notion of Andraste being resurrected as a dragon wasn't ludicrous enough- if not stolen entirely from the ancient practices of the ancient Imperium- to want to profane the Ashes in such a manner... It was offensive even to a near agnostic like him, and judging by the expressions on Alistair and Leliana's faces, to say they were outraged would be a gross understatement.

"If the Grand Cleric were here, her head would just explode, I kid you not"

"What is all this talk of blood and power? And he thinks Andraste is reborn? It's madness, and I don't like it" Leliana echoed Alistair's sentiment.

"There is nothing in his words but madness, Arthur. He's a fanatic, and a dangerous one at that. You'd be wise to listen to nothing he says" Arabella replied fairly.

"The rewards for such a service would be gre-!" Kolgrim began, but Arthur cut him off, raising his sword to chest height. Looking back, he'd realise in later years the _smart_ thing to do would be to agree to the task, take the vial and toss it into the void the second Kolgrim left them alone, but something in him refused. Leliana and Arabella were right- there was no truth in Kolgrim's words, only madness, and if the Ashes were real, then this madman and his cronies had been butchering for years countless pilgrims for no greater offence than refusing to believe the madness about Andraste reincarnated as a big reptile.

"I don't want whatever obscene trinkets you might give me for helping you lizard-buggering lunatics defile the most holy artefact in existence!"

"Then we cannot allow you to leave here!" the cult leader's face reddened angrily, the ingratiating smile gone in favour of a murderous scowl as his right hand reached towards the haft of his axe while his left waved his underlings forward.

"TO ARMS, MY BRETHREN! ANDRASTE WILL GRANT US VICTORY!"

Three cultists charged forward and died in as many seconds; Shale crushed the skull of one and smashed in the rib cage of another. The third lived a little longer, moving at the last second and taking Shale's blow on the leg rather than the chest. Even so, the blow shattered his right shin, sending him falling into a thrashing heap at the golem's feet; Edward darted forward and tore out the maimed cultist's throat.

The two mages tried to cast spells, but Morrigan and Arabella were too swift; the Circle mage shot a fireball at their feet, melting the snow. The cult mages had laughed and jeered at Arabella's poor aim, realising too late she hadn't been trying to hit them; that realisation came just a second before a lightning bolt from Morrigan's hands had electrocuted the melted snow at their feet and blasted them into the waiting hands of the Maker and whatever punishment He had waiting for heretics of their magnitude.

Seeing the last of his cronies fall, Kolgrim turned and ran; the man was no fighter, content to let other fight and die for him, rather than do the fighting and dying himself. Breaking into a sprint, the cultist had fled up a tunnel sloping up, light glaring at its end. Kolgrim reached its end, vanishing into the light and Arthur followed, emerging into a foul-smelling yellow haze. Great pools of steaming, murky water surrounded a raised path that led still further upward, from the mountainside to a great gorge directly ahead of them. Behind him, he could hear the others closing with him, and he could just make out the shape of Kolgrim fleeing through the sulphurous steam that rose from the murky pools on either side of him.

"Andraste, avenge the slaughter of your faithful!" Kolgrim cried out, running towards a great gong set up at the foot of the slope, his axe held like a drumstick. Three arrows hit him in the back, one from Arthur, one from Leliana and one from Zevran and Kolgrim went down like a sack of potatoes. Unfortunately, the force of the missiles knocked him forward, pitching him headfirst into the gong with a resounding clang that echoed all about the mountains. And it was answered.

Arthur noticed that Kolgrim was, amazingly, trying to get back to his feet, trying to pull the arrows from his flesh to fight on, but to no avail. Arthur's conclusion was right; the axe and armour were purely for show; Kolgrim no more knew how to use it than he knew how to convert total strangers to his heretical ways. Out of desperation, the cultist tried a desperate overhead blow; Arthur blocked it easily enough with his shield. His own strike was far more accurate, Asturian's Might punching with ease through Kolgrim's armour, through his stomach and out of his back. Alistair and Zev joined him, their own blades biting deep into the cult leader's flesh. Kolgrim slid to the floor with three swords in him, blood seeping down his front and his back, staining the snow underneath him scarlet, and with his last breath, screamed the name "ANDRASTE!" at the top of his lungs, the last of his strength given to a final cry to his false god.

His last desperate cry was answered by a roar that shook the stone beneath Arthur's feet, and as he pulled his sword free of the corpse, a great shape passed by overhead, momentarily blocking out the sun. "Go" he told the others, and Alistair and Zevran pulled their blades free and took cover as the fading sunlight shone dimly through membranous wings that spread wide and swept back as the dragon – no immature hatchling or marauding drake, but a High Dragon, fully grown and deadly, landed atop the mountain looming over their heads, its scales glittering like a trove of amethysts in the setting sun, beautiful and yet so deadly.

The dragon did not seem to see the others moving into position around it, however; its yellow, slit-pupilled eyes were fixed upon Arthur, standing directly below it, covered head to foot in blood, Kolgrim's corpse at his feet. It extended its head toward him with a serpentine undulation of the long neck, a hiss emanating from the open jaws, packed to the brim with teeth the same size and shape as carving knives. The carrion scent of its breath washed over him, causing him to gag as a long forked tongue darted out, once, twice, thrice, tasting the blood on the air, the blood of its brood, then the hiss rose into a screech, and the dragon launched itself from its perch straight at him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, part of him was yelling that this was not a good place to be, but the other knew that the longer he kept the High Dragon's attention, the others could make good of its distraction to move into position. Raising sword and shield, Arthur let loose a bellowed war cry to keep the dragon's attention on him, peppering it with taunts and insults, and while he doubted the giant reptile could understand a word of it, its attention was now focused on him entirely.

"_Come on, you overgrown iguana! Let's see what you can do!_"

The dragon answered his taunt with an angry screech of its own and lunged forward. Arthur leapt out of the way of the attack and brought his sword down, the blade cracking loudly against one of the dragon's horns. The dragon's head pulled back, taking it out of reach of his sword and Arthur prepared himself for another lunge, but instead its mouth opened wide, taking in a deep breath, an ominous glow appearing at the back of its throat...

Arthur brought his shield up just as the jet of flame passed between the dragon's fangs, feeling it break upon the shield, washing over him, trusting to the Juggernaut's enchantments to grant some protection, but even so, the heat was still overwhelming, like being dumped in a furnace, the air warming to an unbearable degree. Even with the armour's enchantments he felt his skin beginning to redden and blister, could see the beginnings of the shield warping in the heat, and then the air cooled suddenly, the pain of the burns and blisters fading away as Arabella channelled healing magic towards him.

Dimly, he was aware of the arrival of the others, but he did not even spare them a glance as he kept his focus on the foe, dodging aside from the gargantuan head as it darted in for another bite, slamming his shield against the eye socket, driving a gauntleted fist against the eye, feeling the wound on the palm of his hand open, forcing his own blood into the dragon's eye and taking the pained screech from the dragon as proof Avernus's research was again paying off.

As the others tried to move in, the great wings created a mighty buffet of air, sending the others falling backward, but Arthur ducked behind a snowdrift and the blast of air passed over him. Surging back to his feet, he drove forward, lunging again and again with Asturian's Might, trying to get in to the creature's blind spots and take advantage while it tried to work out where he'd gone. With a bellow of fury, it launched itself into the air, twisting and crashing back to earth a short distance away, blocking the way back to the tunnel.

Before he could close the gap again, he saw the jaws open and raised his shield in anticipation of another gout of flame. Instead, the dragon shot its head out like a snake striking, the full force of its blunt snout hitting him like a battering ram, sending him slamming onto his back in the snow. A shadow fell over him and Arthur rolled, seconds before an immense clawed foot descended where his torso had been an instant before. _Stomp, stomp, stomp; _the dragon's feet came down again and again, trying to crush him. He rolled desperately, dodging one, two, three, but the fourth he moved just a little too slow, and a clawed fore foot came crashing down on his lower leg. Arthur heard a voice scream, and realised it was his own as the dragon raised its legs and Arthur saw it was broken, if not crushed. He tried to get up, only to get halfway to his feet and then fall to the floor as a surge of pain shot through him from his leg. He didn't look down, for fear of what he might see, but he could tell it was bad.

'_Well at least I'm not crippled'_ he thought '_though a small mercy that'll be when she swallows me whole!'_ he thought as the High Dragon focused on him, her head moving down to finish off her wounded prey.

The teeth were within inches of his chest, when a large, grey object streaked through the air and impacted with a loud crash, and the dragon staggered back with a howl, pawing at its snout as blood and a good number of curved fangs fell away from its jaw. Dragging himself to one side, out of the creature's grasp, Arthur saw Shale heft another large chunk of masonry at the dragon, the missile as deadly as if it were hurled by a trebuchet, eliciting another bellow of pain as the stone collided with the dragon's left forelimb. Arthur couldn't help but feel elated as the creature screeched again as it tried to put weight on the limb, only to hastily lift it off the ground again. _'Broken, I'd hope'_ he thought. '_How'd do you like that?"_

"Face me, creature!" a female voice cried, and the dragon wailed as an arrow slammed into the right eye. The beast whirled round, looking for the source of its torment, and Arthur's gaze followed the dragon until both of them found it; Leliana, perched atop a ruined pillar. Arthur had no idea how she'd managed to climb up there, but what mattered was the fact she was raining arrow after arrow down on the monster, peppering the more vulnerable parts of its anatomy; eyes, throat, underbelly.

Arthur made to shout a warning as he saw the dragon's tail coil and then lash like a whip, but Leliana needed none; even as the dragon's tail connected with the pillar, she was already falling, gracefully back flipping off the pillar, tumbling to land lightly on her feet, ducking under the swipe of a clawed foot and breaking into a run, deftly notching and loosing arrow after arrow at her pursuer.

"Come on!" Leliana yelled as she ran, the dragon lumbering after her, so focused on its single target it didn't notice Zevran until the elf had leapt from the top of another pillar onto the back of the dragon's neck, stabbing viciously, trying to find and open the beast's neck, the dragon howling as his daggers opened wound after wound; taking advantage of the distraction, Edward was darting in and out of the beast's legs, biting and clawing where he could, not to kill, but to keep the dragon distracted from other prey. Arthur likewise took advantage; reaching with fumbling hands for his belt, Arthur pulled a flask of acid from a belt pouch and lobbed it. By chance, the dragon arched its head to screech as Zevran's blades bit deep in the flesh of the neck; the acid flask collided with the left side of its head, drenching the eye. The dragon's screams of agony only intensified as it writhed and twisted, pawing desperately at its ruined eyes and shaking its head, trying to wipe away the acid burning deeply into its skull. Elation turned to horror as the reptile's thrashings shook Zevran loose from his perch on its neck, sending him flying through the air to crash into the pillar from which he'd leapt onto the beast. He slid to the floor in a heap, motionless.

It was blind, burned and lamed, and yet the dragon still refused to die. As its head descended towards the unconscious Zev, jaws opening to snap him up, Alistair came out of nowhere; in mid-sprint, he leapt into the air with a bellowed cry of "For the Grey Wardens!", sinking his blade into the dragon's side, his weight dragging him back to the ground and carving a deep, bloody furrow through the beast's side as his sword tore downwards. The dragon let out a shriek, and Arabella went on the offensive, waiting until the monster's maw opened to let loose another torrent of fire, and shot a jet of ice straight into the dragon's gaping mouth. Fire and ice waged war in that space for an instance, the fire melting the ice even as it was doused out, drenching the High Dragon in a fine spray of water droplets.

"Let us end this" Morrigan spat angrily as she channelled magical electricity into her hands, the power curdling and forming into a glowing sphere that spat sparks, waiting until the dragon's head was turned to her-he could only guess the beast could smell her, or hear the magic being gathered- but as it made to lunge, she cast the lightning in her fingertips away with an almost dismissive click of her fingers, and the High Dragon's roar became a scream as lightning blasted its face and neck, moving down its body as the electricity spread through the droplets of snowmelt the beast was drenched in.

Even as lightning lashed it, opening deep rents in its scaly hide, piercing flesh, laying it bare to the bone in some places, the dragon's blind eyes focused on the source of its torment. Pulling back its head like a serpent about to strike, the High Dragon's attention was at Morrigan, clearly intending to take at least one of its tormentors with it. Forcing himself to his feet, bracing himself against a pillar, Arthur threw another acid flask at the dragon, the glass bottle smashing into the dragon's side, leaking its contents into an open wound on the beast's flank and yelled at the top of his voice:

"OI! Come and get me! I taste so much better than her!"

The taunt worked; the dragon's ears pricked up, and that huge, serpentine neck swung round to face him, pulling its head back to strike, before descending at alarming speed. Ignoring the pain in his leg, the tinge of fear as that gaping, tooth-lined chasm descended towards him, Arthur stood ready, his sword held ready, bracing himself against the pillar for the inevitable force of impact...

As the dragon's upper jaw blotted out the setting sun before him, Arthur mustered all his strength into one blow, stabbing upwards...

And Asturian's Might, aided by the enchantments woven into the silverite, punched up into the roof of the High Dragon's mouth, piercing flesh, bone and brain with ease, emerging from the back of the dragon's skull like a third horn. The moment hung for a second, and then the dragon jerked back, pulling Arthur with it, almost pulling him off his feet until his grip on the sword slipped, and he fell to the floor, his sword still embedded in the dragon's head. Leliana and Arabella raced to his side as he tried to drag himself away, lest the dragon deal him a mortal blow in its death throes.

Vomiting fire and boiling blood in equal measure from the mortal wound, the dragon vainly tried to stay on its feet, even though its brain was swiftly dying and taking the rest of the reptile's body with it. The monster fell to its knees, and then with a juddering crash that made the earth beneath their feet shake, slowly toppled onto its side, the bones of its wings breaking as the dragon's full weight crushed them beneath it. A rasping death rattle escaped the fanged maw, then the yellow, slit-pupilled eyes rolled up in their sockets and the High Dragon lay still.

Elation flared through Arthur like lightning - they had _done_ it, by the Maker, they'd actually slain a High Dragon! - but his fierce cry of triumph cut short as he nearly passed out from the pain of his leg. He could feel Arabella's fingers pulling off his plate boot, which looked a bit crumpled now, but it would have to do until they managed to find a blacksmith, seeing her pour healing energy from knee to foot, hearing and feeling bones crack and pop back into place, tendons reattach, muscles and skin knit back together, wincing as he felt a spike of bone slide back into his leg and fasten itself back together with his shin bone. As he watched, Alistair and Shale cautiously stepped over to the corpse; once they'd made sure it was dead, Alistair seized the hilt of Asturian's Might and, bracing his foot on the carcass, pulled the sword free from the dragon's skull.

"Bloody idiot!" Leliana scolded him. "What were you thinking?"

"Hey, I'm still alive, aren't I!" he retorted. "How's Zevran?"

"Cracked skull, broken arm, a few ribs too" Arabella replied. "Morrigan's working on him; she says he'll live but he's not likely to be fighting anytime soon"

"Glad to hear it" Arthur replied, and he was; the elf was beginning to grown on him, and Arthur would not wish him dead anymore than anyone else in the party.

"We should have brought Wynne" Alistair added as he joined them and handed Asturian's Might to Arthur. "Still, could be worse; none of us killed or crippled. We were lucky, really"

"Lucky: Arthur's lucky the dragon only dealt his leg a blow not too severe to heal and Zev's probably not going to be coming round any time soon, and you call that lucky?" Arabella asked incredulously.

"Please, if the archdemon's as much a pushover as that oversized gecko, ending the Blight will be a cakewalk!" Arthur replied in jest. "Now, come on, we've got no time to dawdle..." he replied, making a move to try and stand up.

"You cannot be serious..." Leliana protested, but Arthur waved her aside.

"We're within sight of our goal, we can't falter now" he retorted, pointing to the object of his gaze; a great door carved into the stone of the mountain beyond where the dragon had been guarding. Arthur gingerly got to his feet and then stumbled as his leg protested to such weight on it so soon. "Help me" he called out, Alistair pulling his fellow Warden's arm around his shoulder. The pain could be dealt with; to linger any longer when they needed as much time as possible to get back to Redcliffe was foolish.

"What about Zev?" Leliana asked, nodding to where Morrigan was crouched by the unconscious elf at the foot of the pillar, Shale and Edward standing guard beside her for any more of the High Dragon's brood or the deranged cultists who'd worshipped it.

"Go, find what you seek. Hopefully, this time when you leave me to play nursemaid, you won't come back to find me tied up and gagged by a mad elf" Morrigan called out, waving them away. With that, Arthur and the others moved towards the door in the rock face, Leliana and Arabella in the lead. As they passed it, Arthur bade Alistair pull the axe from Kolgrim's limp grasp and took it from Alistair, using it to support his weight so that his fellow Warden would have his hands free to fight whatever challenges lay before them.

'_We've dealt with the false Andraste. Now let us see if the real thing awaits us'._


	34. Chapter 32: The Gauntlet

_Here we are; the companions enter the Gauntlet. Bit emotional this one, as they have to face the challenges that lie before them, as well as their own dark secrets, but I think I've managed to make it work. Will try to have the return to Redcliffe and curing Eamon up by week's end._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work; it's always a great boost to the spirits to know so many. Particular thanks to __**cakeisalie, strifeandpestilence (**__I must admit, I only began seeing the similarities between Dragon Age and A Song of Ice and Fire after reading the books and watching the TV series but they do come at you in great numbers), __**ethan 89, MysticGohan88 (**__to answer your question, if I do write fan fiction for Awakening and Dragon Age II, then be assured, Arthur will certainly make an appearance), __**spectre4hire**__ for your great reviews and to __**Forscythe, KnightofHolyLight, BloodIronAngel and green eyed typhoon **__for adding my work to favourites._

_Should hopefully have more for you soon,_

_Since I haven't said it for quite some time, I do not (much to my regret) own Dragon Age; with the exception of my embellishments, all content belongs to Bioware._

_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"I bid you welcome, pilgrim."

The voice greeted them the moment they stepped into the atrium of the temple. The atmosphere inside the temple was still, serene, peaceful, like walking into a grand cathedral, the only illumination the fading sunlight streaming in from the great arched windows around them, the only sound the echo of their footsteps; there could be no doubt they were on holy ground. A figure stood directly ahead of them, barring their path, clad in armour of an archaic style, likely purloined or taken from the Imperium, and armed with a great warhammer strapped to his back, its haft within easy reach of his hands.

'_This must be the Guardian the cultists spoke of'._

Exhausted as they were from the battle against the High Dragon, Leliana felt that if roused to battle, the Guardian would take them apart in a matter of heartbeats, but the gentle smile and benevolent look in his eyes suggested that he would not raise his weapon against them unless they gave him an extremely good reason. Not for the first time, she was glad they had killed Kolgrim, rather than partake of his deranged heresy, since she imagined defiling the Ashes with the blood of a dragon might be a very good reason for the Guardian to cut them down without mercy.

"I have waited many years for this" the Guardian intoned.

"For us?"

"You are simply the first to arrive in a very long time. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Ashes and prepare the way for those who come to revere them. Such is my task, and so shall I remain, until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea"

"The Imperium is no longer as powerful as it was" Arthur stated and the Guardian's eyebrows rose in surprise at this news. "Is it not? Then perhaps this is the beginning of the end..." the ancient warrior spoke with a tinge of what might be hope in his voice.

"What of the cultists? They don't seem to hold you or your charge in high regard" Arthur asked.

"Kolgrim knows not of what he speaks. His heart is laced with poison, and he has led many astray" the Guardian replied sadly. "When my brothers and I carried Andraste's Ashes out of Tevinter, we swore an oath to honour and guard them. I watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their ancestors, joyful in their appointed task but now...they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise"

"From a certain point of view, you could say they haven't really forgotten her..." Alistair glibly cut in, but the Guardian's solemn look silenced his attempt at levity.

"They have forgotten she was just a messenger. They speak no more of the Maker, only of their false Andraste, an even greater sin"

"So just for the record, the High Dragon wasn't Andraste?" Arabella cut in, piquing Leliana's interest. The woman was a mage, had professed little love for the Chantry; what did she believe?

"No" was the Guardian's swift reply. "Our Andraste has gone to the Maker's side. She will never return. The High Dragon is a fearsome creature, and Kolgrim and his ilk must have seen her as a pleasing alternative to the absent Maker and his silent Andraste. A true believer would not require such audacious displays of power"

"Do you wish us to rid you of these heretics?" Leliana asked, fingering the handles of her daggers; after the sheer level of the blasphemy the cultists had professed, had tried to get them to partake in, it would almost be a joy to rid Thedas of such heresy. But the solemn look in the Guardian's eyes made her regret her vehemence. Leliana cursed herself: _'I went into the Chantry to rid myself of such evil thoughts. It is not my place to judge, only His'_

"The Maker will sit in judgement of them when the time comes"

"Then we should waste no more time" Arthur cut straight to business. "We wish to see the Urn of Sacred Ashes"

"You have come to honour Andraste, and you shall. If you prove yourself worthy" came the reply.

"So…I have to fight you?" Arthur's shoulders slumped; he'd clearly come to the same conclusion that, weary as they were, they didn't stand much chance of victory should measures of violence be required. To Leliana's relief, the Guardian gave a soft chortle and shook his head.

"It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we will see how your soul fares."

"Er, you should know I'm hardly one of the faithful." Arthur replied ruefully. "I believe in the Maker, but I was never that devout, and to say I have lost my faith in recent months would be something of an understatement."

"No matter; if you wish to find the Ashes, you will undergo these trials." He offered another small smile. "You need not do this task alone. As Andraste was aided in her quest by her companions, so you may be. Those who travel with you may follow you into the Gauntlet"

Arthur chanced a look behind him; Leliana graced him with a wide grin. "I will come. I would not miss this opportunity for anything"

"I'll second that" Alistair replied cheerfully. "Hey, I'm a Chantry lad!" he replied to their confusion at his exuberance. "Getting to see a relic even the Grand Cleric hasn't seen? It'll be worth it just to see her reaction when I send her a nice, detailed letter about it"

"Amen to that" Arabella agreed; the mage woman's eyes lit up with mirth and Arthur let out a bark of laughter at this. The weariness seemed to have fallen away from the companions, the strange, soft aura that filled the air seeming to lend new strength to the group; Leliana was beginning to feel revitalised, the ache in her limbs and back fading away and replaced with exuberance at the task ahead.

"Right. Let's get this over with, then" Arthur remarked.

He made to step around the Guardian, to enter the passage behind the warrior, but the Guardian did not move aside.

"Before you go, there is something I must ask." His eyes were fixed on Arthur, unblinking and unyielding as steel. "I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There was suffering in your past; your suffering, and the suffering of others."

She saw Arthur tense at the mention of this; an instinct rose in Leliana to clap her hands over his ears, but the Guardian continued before she could move, and when he spoke, she could see her love's blood run cold.

"You abandoned your mother and father, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy"

Arthur looked as though the Guardian had struck him full in the chest, his face slack with horror. The cheer that had begun to infuse them all evaporated as if it had never been, an awkward silence falling over the group.

"Tell me, pilgrim – did you fail your parents?"

"How do you know that?" Arthur demanded angrily, only to see there was no judgement in the Guardian's face.

"Your path is laid out before me and plain to see...in the lines of your face, and in the scars on your heart" the Guardian replied with no malice or contempt in his voice, merely a quiet solemnity and sympathy without condemnation. "Do you believe you failed your parents?" he repeated.

"I…" Arthur's anger dissipated as he struggled to find an answer, and he had to swallow a few times. When Arthur finally recovered his voice, he looked away from the Guardian, as if unable to bear looking into those non-judgemental eyes "…Yes. I couldn't save my father, but my mother...I could have saved her, I should...I should have forced her to come, dragged her out with me if I had to"

The Guardian looked at him with sympathy and nodded in acceptance at this answer. Arthur turned away at that silence, as if it were more hurtful than any recrimination, covering his face in a gauntleted hand.

"I see your remorse and your pain, scarred into your flesh, and forever upon your heart"

"You are too hard on yourself. No one's perfect" Alistair said, giving his fellow Warden a sympathetic look and a comradely squeeze of his shoulder.

"We all do things we regret. We cannot undo the past, but we can try to balance the scales in the present" Arabella added.

"You could not have known what happened. You did what you thought was best" Leliana earnestly told her lover, cupping his chin in one hand and turning his head to look at her. There was such pain in those brilliant blue eyes that her heart went out to him; as though she could see through the windows of Arthur's eyes into his soul, letting her see what lay at the core of the Warden's being; the grief, the regret and shame he carried with him every day since that dark night all those months ago, hidden away so deep so it couldn't be seen, hidden because he felt he had to be strong for the rest of them, hidden because he couldn't bear to face it. There had been hints of it, along their journey, but always kept hidden before anyone else could see it, could interpret it as weakness. Soon, it would have to be faced, if only so he could begin to heal.

'And when we return to camp, I will try to heal your heart as best as I am able, my love' she whispered in a voice low enough so only he could hear it.

After a few moments, Arthur gave her a weak smile and returned her compassion with a soft kiss on the cheek. Before he could say or do more however, the Guardian turned away from him to the others.

"And what of those who follow you?" the Guardian enquired, his attention turning to those behind Arthur. "Alistair, knight and Warden, you wonder what would have happened if you had been on the battlefield with Duncan. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died and not him?"

Like Arthur, Alistair was silent for so long, Leliana thought he might not answer. When he finally did, his voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Yes. If Duncan had lived and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance..." Alistair trailed off sadly, and Leliana's heart went out to him. She knew that Duncan had meant a great deal to Alistair; friend, mentor and probably closer to a father than either the man who'd sired him or the one charged with his upbringing. And the Grey Wardens...after so long being unwanted, cast aside where he could not do harm or cause offence to others by his mere existence, Alistair had found a place that would take him in willingly, closer to family than anything he'd ever had before...and with one callow act, Loghain had taken that all away from him. _'Arthur was not the only one to lose all he held dear' _Leliana thought as she took Alistair's hand and gave it a comradely squeeze. He looked at her with a grateful smile as he returned the gesture.

The Guardian had turned to Arabella now.

"All your life, you sought power through knowledge, yet to all your peers you said you would not succumb to the allure of blood magic. But when the templars came for you, you took the power and wielded it without a second thought. You betrayed your principles and killed good men...to save yourself. Do you regret becoming a blood mage?"

Arabella looked undecided for a moment, but then shook her head. "No. Without it, the templars would have murdered me out of hand. Without it, I would not have lived long enough to meet the Grey Wardens. And without it, I would not have been given the chance to make amends for what I have done. I have made many mistakes in my life, but looking at what it led to, I do not call this one of them"

"And you" the Guardian intoned, and Leliana flinched a little as those solemn brown eyes fixed on her, feeling herself being laid bare beneath their stare. "Why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know the Maker has left us? He spoke only to Andraste...do you believe yourself Her equal?"

"I never said that! I-!" Leliana protested, but the Guardian cut across her.

"In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticised what you professed, you were hurt, but you revelled in it none the less. It made you special; you enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative"

"You're saying I made it up for the _attention_? I did not! I know what I believe!" Leliana retorted angrily. She had hated the condescension, the mockery with which the Chantry sisters and lay-brothers had spoken of her talk of visions and claims the Maker had spoken to her. She had professed what she believed because it had felt right and true to her and because it inspired her to live by the Maker's teachings, not to obtain some sick form of awe from what she professed.

To her relief, the Guardian did not press the interrogation. Seemingly satisfied with their answers, he inclined his head and stepped aside. "The way is open. Good luck and may you find what you seek" his voice intoned as the Guardian faded away in a burst of white light.

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The first chamber was almost as big as the entrance hall of the temple had been. A still silence pervaded the air, along with a strong tingling sensation that was a clear indication of magic, but this was of a different sort to the acrid, bitter tang of the dark sorcery unleashed in the Circle tower; it added to the placid, tranquil air of the place, almost like the pleasant scent of incense burning in a Chantry. Arthur and Alistair looked about the chamber with caution; Arabella with an expression that was close to marvel.

"Can you feel it?" she whispered, clearly excited and in awe. "There's magic here, such powerful magic"

The great iron doors at the other end of the hall were shut, but there seemed no visible way to open them, no handle to turn or lock to pick; no obvious way to proceed forward. For the first time, Leliana turned her attention to the eight spectral figures lining the walls, four on each side. All things considered, it seemed fairly clear that these spirits clearly had something to do with opening the way forward.

Slowly, Arthur walked over to the first spirit-a girl clad in a simple woollen dress -which began to speak as he approached.

"_A small lark could carry it, as a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"_ The voice was as ethereal as the person, and seemed to sound from all around them.

Leliana reacted instinctively. "A tune." The smile the girl graced her with struck her heart; a vision of love and sorrow.

"_Yes. I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard Her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she spoke no more of simple things."_

With that, the spirit evaporated into nothing, leaving them all to stare in mute wonder at the spot where it had been. _'However long I live'_ Leliana knew '_When I'm old and grey, with grandchildren on my knees, I will remember this as clearly as I do now...Provided, of course, I live that long'_.

The next figure was a far more imposing shade-a thin, sour-looking woman, clad in navy-blue and gold robes in the style of a Tevinter magister of old, her face haggard and her expression bitter, her flame-red hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head, her dark eyes narrowed in cold scrutiny as they approached.

"_An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"_

"Vengeance" Arthur replied in a cold, hoarse voice before any of the others could attempt the riddle. Of course, Arthur would know all about the implacable desire for vengeance, and while she knew it had cooled somewhat in their journey, Leliana had little doubt the embers of hate still lingered in her Warden's soul, ready to burst into flame again at the chance to avenge himself upon Rendon Howe.

"_Yes"_ the shade replied with a cruel smile. "_My husband would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die publicly with her war leaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength. I am justice, I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood"._

The spirit faded away and they moved on to the next figure; a male elf, clad in a primitive form of the leather armour worn by the Dalish, a simple longbow strung across his back. There was something of Zathrian in the elf's features; the same aquiline nose, bald scalp and noble, yet sad bearing.

"_I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be, in this place I belong that belongs also to me_" said the elf. _"Of what do I speak?"_

"Home" Arthur replied before anyone else, his voice sad this time, and Leliana knew why; he could empathise with the elves about having your home, a place to be cherished and held dear no matter what, unjustly taken from you. The spirit nodded sadly in agreement and spoke:

"_It was my dream for the People to have a homeland of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste against the Imperium. But she was betrayed...and so were we"_

Arthur fell silent after that, saying no more on the other riddles that were posed to them; Andraste's mother, posing a riddle about her dreams of her daughter's life, glory and downfall. The two disciples, posing their questions about the role hunger had played in the war against the Tevinter Imperium and the choice of the mountains of Ferelden to serve as Andraste's tomb, to grant her spirit a place to view over her beloved Maker's creation. And last but not least, the shades of the two most important men in Andraste's life; Maferath, her earthly husband ruminating on the jealousy that had led him to betray his wife, lamenting that his wife had chosen the love of a distant god over him, and Hessarian, the Archon who'd chosen death for the Prophetess, only to soften and show mercy at the last moment. As Leliana cast a brief glance at Arthur, she saw his mouth remained firmly closed, his face as emotionless as if it were hewn from stone. Whatever was on his mind was a mystery, and Leliana could only hope that she could help him deal with whatever thoughts plagued him.

As the spirit of Hessarian winked out of existence, there came the sound of a lock turning from the end of the hall. The great doors swung open silently, opening the way forward to a short corridor to the next chamber.

A shimmering veil of mist, a pale blue in hue, clung to the floor, cloaking their feet beneath it, and Leliana could see shapes moving within it ahead of them. Arthur pulled a torch from its bracket on the wall to illuminate their way, but they had taken no more than a few steps into the corridor when they found their path blocked.

There was a figure standing at the end of the hallway. No, two, standing motionless and silent. Leliana pulled an arrow from her quiver, preparing to nock it to her bow, but Arthur raised a hand to stop her

"Who's there?" Arthur called out. "Show yourself"

And then they heard it. The voice.

A rich male voice, a pleasant baritone that resonated in the small corridor, echoing long after the speaker had fallen silent.

"My dearest child..."

Leliana felt a chill go down her spine. Evidently the Guardian's question hadn't been enough; the Gauntlet had another round of punishment for their leader.

"…Father…Mother..." Arthur gasped in shock as the light of the torch illuminated the faces of the figures standing before, leaving them in no doubt as to their identity. The man stepped forward; Leliana saw Arthur had inherited his father's height, broad shoulders and the shape of their face, the size of the nose. He was dressed in finery befitting a man of Bryce Cousland's station, a doublet of yellow-gold linen and crimson hose and boots. He was healthy and full of life, his eyes bright and his smile welcoming, no sign of the violence of his death upon him.

"My dearest child..." the spirit repeated and Arthur fell to his knees, the torch clattering to the floor as it fell from his limp grasp as he looked away, almost unable to bear the sight of his parents, the sight of them alive and well, something Leliana didn't doubt her Warden wanted more than anything, and was yet doomed never to have again.

"I wish with all my heart that it were not so, but I know...I know..."

"You know we are gone, and all your prayers and wishes will not bring us back" his father's shade finished sadly and Arthur's grief finally got the better of him; dammed behind walls of stone around his heart, it finally came through as Arthur turned his head away, a hand darting to his eyes to hide the tears that were inevitably welling up.

"I am so sorry. I should have known...should have seen Howe for what he was...I failed, you left me to protect them, to defend our home and I...I didn't stop him, didn't save Oriana and Oren from being murdered in their beds, didn't save anyone..." he tried to say, his voice choking, but his father placed a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur fell silent.

"No more must you grieve, my son. No more must you blame yourself, no matter how deep in your soul you hide it, for something that was not your fault. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge them and let them go; it is time".

"You have such a long road ahead of you and you _must _be prepared. And so I leave this in your hands...I know you will do great things...in all my life, all the deeds I performed, you and your brother were my finest accomplishments. I could not have asked for a better child, my son; no father could. Do not mourn us with grief; remember us with joy" Bryce Cousland said, placing a simple silver pendant in the palm of his son's hand and stepping back, his form becoming more and more faint until finally he was gone, faded away like morning mist.

As the man faded away, the woman- Arthur's mother, Leliana assumed- took the pendant from Arthur's limp grasp, fastened it around his neck. He looked away, but his mother's hand raised his chin up, that striking face set into a serene smile. Leliana saw her lover's eyes fill with tears, but the woman raised a hand to his eyes, brushing them away. Arthur had inherited his mother's blue eyes, she saw as the older woman's eyes flicked briefly to her, almost appraising. Leliana couldn't help but feel a little under scrutiny, as if Arthur's mother were apprising the woman her son had fallen in love with. It could have just been her imagination, but Leliana swore she could have seen an approving smile on the older woman's lips before Eleanor Cousland turned her attention back to Arthur.

"My little boy has grown so strong" she said, pressing her lips to her son's forehead one last time. "I love you...you've _always_ made me proud" Eleanor Cousland said, her voice growing faint as she stepped away from her son, her loving expression unchanging even as her form faded away with her husband's. Soon she was gone, leaving Arthur to stare at the spot his parents had occupied, gone where he could not follow.

"I wish they could have met you"

"As do I" Leliana replied. Alistair and Arabella both murmured agreements. Arthur took their condolences in silence as he tucked the pendant beneath his armour.

"Do you-?" Leliana began, but Arthur shook his head.

"Not here, not now. We still have much to do. Another time" was his brusque reply.

"I'll hold you to that" she said with a soft smile. She didn't know if Arthur meant to speak willingly of his own accord, but she would have him address it before long. As the old saying went, '_The heart that does not want to heal cannot be remade'_, and Leliana knew she would not allow the grief in Arthur to drive him. Though on the surface, he seemed fine, she knew now that it was not so beneath.

'_A festering wound must be treated swiftly before it can do more damage. And I will heal this one on your heart to the best of my ability, my love, I swear it'._

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"I love you. You've always made me proud"

That simple sentence meant more than anyone could possibly have known. He'd lost so much that dark night; more than just his family, but his belief. Since his early childhood, the love and approval of his parents had been the most important thing to him, and to know that, in spite of all his youthful mischief and indiscretions, they had been proud of his accomplishments, his choices, and the man he'd grown into.

'_Do not mourn us with grief; remember us with joy'_

'_I will. I swear it'_. To live shackled to your grief forever was a path that led to madness; the path the likes of Zathrian and Loghain had walked to its end until their hatred had kept them on it for so long they would not turn away. Arthur would rather remember the joyful time he'd had with his loved ones, than fixate and be driven to madness by the memories of their deaths. He would not forget, nor would he forgive the one responsible, but once justice was done, he would not look back, and he would not, unlike those before him, fixate so much on his hate that it would be the only context in which he remembered his loved ones. His family's memory deserved better than that.

But such thoughts of moving forward were pushed from his mind as the group stepped into the next chamber and its challenge. Looking up, Arthur saw another shadowy figure blocking their way forward; as Arthur watched, the figure stepped into the light, and he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature run down his spine as he recognised the man before them as himself.

His doppelganger was dressed in the fine attire one of Ferelden's nobility might wear. His hair was combed and oiled back, and in his hands were held an epee and poniard. His face was set into a mocking expression; the doppelganger was every inch the part of a preening, self-serving and cruel aristocrat. With a start of horror, Arthur recognised his double's attire; the same finely embroidered purple doublet, and the same red hose that Rendon Howe had worn that day, preaching friendship and brotherhood with his father, only to show his true intent with a knife to the gut in the night.

"Coward" the creature hissed. "Craven. Weakling. Your heart leapt when Duncan said he would take you away, not for the chance to see justice done, but to save yourself. You left your parents die, so you could save your own worthless skin"

"Shut up" he spat at his double as Arthur lowered the Juggernaut helm's visor, feeling rage kindle in his mind. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

"Or you'll do what?" the doppelganger sneered. "Cry and wave your fists? There's no king to do your justice for you-!"

Arthur threw himself forward with an inarticulate howl of berserk fury, swinging his sword at the monster's throat, but the false Arthur leapt aside, stabbing out with its rapier and finding flesh, the sword's blade finding the join between pauldron and breastplate and piercing through the gambeson beneath. Arthur cursed even as the pain ran through him, spinning round to face his foe with a high cut at the spectre's head. It ducked under the sweep of the silverite blade, but Arthur was launching another attack already; he bashed his shield into the doppelganger's gut and it fell winded to its knees, but as Arthur, there was a whistling sound and Arthur gasped as an arrow slammed into his wrist, finding the gap between gauntlet and bracer. As he watched the blood well forth from around the arrow, his gaze flew to the direction the arrow had come from and saw the next twisted mirror of the companions to join the fray; Leliana.

This Leliana was younger, not so demure and humble in expression, her face haughty and her hair longer and more lustrous, gleaming like burnished copper in the torchlight, pulled back into a long ponytail at the back of her head. She was armed with a longbow of finest make, and when she called out to her double, the spectre's voice was hers, but the accent was heavier and it was with a great shock that he realised how much the younger Leliana sounded like Marjolaine.

"_Hypocrite."_ The voice was a low hiss as the spectre spat at the real Leliana, making her legs turn to water with unease, judging by her expression. _"Why pray to the Maker when you know it is your skill alone that has got you this far?"_ The lips pulled back from her double's perfect teeth in a cruel smile reminiscent of a snake preparing to strike. _"You were nobody and nothing in the Chantry. And now you are somebody, using what you learned in Orlais, amassing glory and praise just like old times. The Maker did not speak to you. It was you, your desperate longing to be here. Any excuse to get you out of there, trapped between those walls. You weren't content. You were bored." _

"Shut up!" Leliana spat back. "You know _NOTHING_ of me!" she screamed, notching an arrow to the string of her bow.

The reflections of Alistair and Arabella stepped in behind them; a grim-faced warrior with shoulder-length blonde hair and a full beard streaked with grey, dressed in the heavy plate armour and regalia of a templar knight-captain, and a woman of middle years, her flowing ginger hair streaked with white, the mark of constant dabbling in dark magic, her cobalt blue eyes cold and without mercy, dressed in scarlet and gold robes of Tevinter design whose sleeves ended at the elbow, leaving her lower arms, criss-crossed with old scars and barely healed wounds-the mark of a long time blood mage. A pair of fresh cuts, still bleeding, scored the palms of the doppelganger's hands, which swiftly burst into flame as the spectre prepared a spell.

An arrow slammed into the wall a hairsbreadth from Leliana's head. As her double notched another arrow, the bard darted away, losing a shot of her own. The doppelganger was much more agile; it was a replica of the bard as she'd been back in Orlais, before the brands and whips had left their marks on flesh and spirit. While the travel on the road had done a great deal to make up for that and two years indolence in the Chantry, the spectre was mercilessly fast, loosing two arrows for every one Leliana fired back. She could barely dodge the arrows while releasing her own, and one struck her, catching in the leathering bracer covering her left arm. It only cut the top layer of skin, the leather enough to deaden the impact's force and prevent the arrowhead biting into flesh, but she was distracted long enough for another to thud into her thigh. She shrieked in agony, and the false Leliana smiled in triumph.

Arthur and his doppelganger fought blade-to-blade, his face hidden behind the visor of his helm, though judging by the ferocity with which he threw himself at his opponent, he was berserk with rage. The anger gave incredible strength to his blows, but it also made gaps as his heavy swings allowed the doppelganger to duck or leap aside, leaving openings to make its own attacks. Most were turned aside by the silverite, but other stabs found the gaps and the joints in the armour, darting in those and drawing blood. Each injury only seemed to increase Arthur's berserker rage, goading him to fight on with more ferocity. Roaring in fury, Arthur brought his sword down in a heavy hacking motion; the doppelganger evaded, but the sword caught the dagger in its left hand, shattering it into steel shards.

He heard a yelled curse from Leliana and saw her staggering back, an arrow embedded half its length in her shoulder. Her double crowed in jubilation and pulled another arrow from her quiver.

"Heads up!" Arabella shouted out as Leliana's doppelganger loosed another arrow for her double's heart; the air shimmered and contorted in front of Leliana and the arrow stopped dead in midair and clattered to the floor, thwarted by the arcane shield the mage had conjured. As the false Leliana gave a screech of anger and made to notch another to her bowstring, Arabella shot a spell at her, the doppelganger screeching as hoarfrost coated its limbs and chilled it to the bone.

"NOW!" the mage woman screamed as she ducked away from a spell shot by her own duplicate. Leliana, her own bow discarded in favour of her daggers, pelted towards her double at full speed, even as the doppelganger shook the ice off its limbs, seeing her racing towards it, but its motions were still slow, dulled by pain and Leliana seized her chance.

The Thorn of the Dead Gods in Leliana's left hand pierced her doppelganger's side, the silverite cutting through the leather and stabbing between the ribs. The spectre stared in shock at the blade jutting from her side, the dark blood pouring forth from the wound. Its face twisted into an angry snarl and it raised its own weapon for a final attack, but before the spectre could half-raise her blades, Leliana's sword swept up. With a final screech of rage, her doppelganger's head rolled free of her neck; both severed head and decapitated body melted into nothing before the skull could hit the floor.

Alistair was still fighting his attacker, the templar spectre shouting curses and sneering that Alistair had abandoned his duty, that he'd gone with the Grey Wardens not for the chance to do good in the world, but simply to get out of the monotony of Chantry life, just to get a taste of adventure rather than do the task the Maker had appointed him, but Alistair, his face white with rage, fought on regardless of the thing's insults. The templar doppelganger had knocked his sword out of his hand, but Alistair was not finished; backed up against one of the chamber's walls, Alistair ducked under a swing of his double's mace and seized the closest thing to hand; the stone head of a statue that had broken off, and brought it down with incredible force on his opponent's right knee with a loud crunching sound as metal plating gave way under sheer blunt force.

The false Alistair staggered back, desperately trying to stay upright on a leg that was clearly broken and the real Alistair seized his chance, grabbing his own sword and aiming high. The false Alistair toppled, its skull all but cleaved in twain, its form disintegrating as its body collapsed. Arabella stood over her own double. There was a rip in the left sleeve of her Tevinter mage robes, a deep cut beneath it bleeding profusely, but her right hand dripped with blood as she slowly closed it into a fist, her expression one of contempt. Her doppelganger was on its knees on the floor before her, its hands desperately clutching at its throat as it were being strangled. Its eyes were now wide with terror, shaking its head desperately, but Arabella merely gave a wicked smile and her fingers abruptly clenched into a fist. With a wet snap, the mage's doppelganger fell to the ground with its neck at an impossible angle.

The two Arthurs were still clashing furiously, spinning around the room, blades meeting and feinting and striking so fast the others could barely follow them. It was hard to tell what was driving Arthur on more; skill or fury. The two fighters clashed blades and the doppelganger's free hand darted out, wrenching the visor of Arthur's helm up and trying to claw at his eyes; in answer, Arthur spat a wad of bloody spittle into the thing's eyes, the doppelganger staggering back screeching and clawing at its face as if burned by acid. Even blinded, its tirade of taunts continued unabated.

"_Weakling,"_ the double spat, wiping the poisonous blood from its eyes, its face contorted in malicious mockery. _"What good do tears and regret do? Does such bring them back? Avenge their murders? Huh, still I suppose that's all a weakling like you can do about it..."_

"SHUT UP!" Arthur bellowed as he charged like a bull straight at the doppelganger. The false Arthur, caught a little offguard by the ferocity of the attack, tried to dodge aside again but Arthur's fury lent his feet wings, closing ground too quickly. Out of desperation, the false Arthur stabbed at the shoulder of the Warden's sword arm, but even through eyes misted red with battle lust, Arthur saw it. His shield came up, and the rapier bounced off it. His own stroke was far more effective, and far more brutal. Asturian's Might came down on the juncture between shoulder and neck, smashing into the spectre's collarbone with a meaty thud, shattering ribs and tearing through organs, all but cleaving the spirit in twain from shoulder to hip. As Arthur's doppelganger fell to its knees, mouthing words and making faint, unintelligible noises out of shock, Arthur's shield arm came up, punching forward. The sword slammed into the spectre's jaw, snapping the thing's head back with a wet snap as the force shattered the vertebrae of the neck and twisted the spectre's head to an impossible angle. Arthur's doppelganger fell back, its corpse dissipating into mist that was enveloped by the rest shrouding the floor long before it fell to earth.

As quickly as it came, the battle rage faded. Shaking his head to clear it, Arthur threw out a hand against the wall to steady himself as Arabella approached. Her hands ran over him, pouring magic into his wounds, closing them up, before turning her attention to the others.

"I need a moment."

"I think we all do." Alistair was looking around, his jaw set in a grimace that was far too reminiscent of his duplicate. "We'll stop here and rest for a moment."

The group all sank to the floor to rest but Arthur felt as though he could barely breathe. The Gauntlet had confronted them with the worst of themselves, the dark reflections of themselves, what they each had the potential to have been, that much was obvious, but even though the manifestations had been defeated, it didn't mean that those thoughts were gone. It seemed worse, in fact. What if his double had been right? What of the others? Did they still hold slivers of their own regrets in the darkest corners of their hearts, hidden so deep that it could only be seen by the eyes of the one who'd made them all?

He shook his head to clear it. _'Take the pain and the grief, acknowledge them and let them go. It is time'_

His father's words were right. There was no more time for grief, not when so much hinged upon them. Pulling the pendant from within his armour to look upon it, for a moment Arthur thought he saw the flash of a face reflected in the silver, giving him a brief, yet encouraging smile. It was a sight from which he drew strength.

'_Our family always does its duty first'_ Arthur thought, remembering some of the last words Bryce Cousland had ever said to his son_. And it's true. I have a duty now, to Ferelden and I will do it. I will do my duty to bring all of you justice, but first I have a greater task. I will cure__ Eamon, I will obtain the treaties, I will stop Loghain and the Blight, and nothing will stand in my way'_

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The group jumped out of their skin as they entered the next room, and a feminine voice spoke; though her voice was little louder than a whisper, it sounded as loud to them all as if she were speaking in their ears.

"_Andraste loved Her disciples as she loved the Maker. As we have faith in the Maker, so must we have faith in our friends."_

"That sounds a little more hopeful than usual," Arthur commented, before looking ahead and groaning. "I stand corrected." Alistair, Leliana and Arabella joined him, all of them seeing for themselves the reason for his consternation. A vast crevasse lay in the centre of the floor, ringed around the edges by a number of oblong stone tiles. There was no obvious way to get across, no pulley or lever to lower a rope or bridge, and even a fool could see that trying to jump the chasm to reach the door on the other side was suicide, plain and simple.

"How on earth do we get past this?"

Alistair was moving around, and Leliana began to automatically check for traps or triggers they could use. "I'm not sure…maybe if we…" Alistair's foot came down on one of the broken stones ringing the edge of the chasm and he started in shock as a teeth-rattling, grinding noise sounded out, and a section of bridge appeared out of thin air, hazy and translucent, suspended in the void.

"Alistair, you're a genius," Arabella declared, causing the templar to flush and beam at the compliment. "So, if we step on these stones…" she pressed down with her foot, and the section of bridge became more solid. Leliana placed her own foot down and the bridge piece became completely solid. They stared uneasily at the bridge piece before them; it seemed solid enough but they couldn't be certain if it would take their weight.

"We need to make sure it's safe before we can try and complete the bridge" Alistair remarked.

"I'll do it" a voice. It took a moment for Arthur to recognise it as Arabella. "Like hell you will" Arthur countered.

"I appreciate your attempt to be chivalrous, but seriously, I'll do it. I'm the only one of us here who's expendable" she replied with a despairing shake of the head at his foolishness, as if such should be obvious to us.

"You're not-"

"You're a Grey Warden, needed to save Ferelden. Me, I'm just an expendable blood mage" Arabella concluded. "I'll be fine. 'Sides, if I do fall through, it's a better way to go than plummeting down a dragon's gullet" she added with an easy grin. Arthur looked like he wanted to whack her round the back of the head and knock some sense into her, but he didn't move.

Arabella carefully put a foot out, testing the surface. Leliana was aware of her heart beating in her throat as the mage slowly leant forward, eventually setting both feet squarely in the middle. She remained where she was, the stone beneath her feet supporting her safely. "Now find the next one."

The other three quickly moved around the edge of the crevasse, pressing down the tiles, causing more portions of the bridge to appear, translucent at first, but becoming more solid. Arabella quickly scurried across the bridge as each new portion of the bridge as each new section appeared. After many nerve-wracking moments, it was finally done, and the bridge appeared in its whole, solid and strong. Arabella quickly raced across it, racing over the bridge to stand safely on the other side of the chasm.

"Well, that was fun," she declared. The rest of the group quickly followed across the bridge and when they were level with Arabella, Alistair and Arthur did something neither of them wouldn't have done little more than two months before and each in turn pulled the mage into a crushing bear hug, catching Arabella offguard, judging by the wince as both men crushed her against their armour in turn.

"You're as much a Warden as me" said Arthur "and you are _not_ expendable" he told her in a voice as firm and resolute as the tone in which he'd defended Leliana from Marjolaine. "You are as much a part of this company as any of the others, and I swear, I will do my utmost to keep you alive long enough for you to share in our victory over the Blight".

"Aye" Alistair agreed. "And we can't have you doing suicide missions all the time; I mean, us Wardens need all the friends we can get these days!" he finished with an attempt at levity, though there was seriousness in his hazel eyes.

Arabella looked surprised at such vehement words of approval, considering that barely more than a few months back, both men had been more than willing to kill her out of hand. Still, based on the grateful smile on her lips, she didn't dislike the display of appreciation. Arthur meant what he said, though; Arabella had been a Warden since the moment he'd used the Right, and he would endeavour to keep her alive, as he would every one of the companions they'd acquired on this long journey. _'These companions are as close a family as the one I lost, and I will fight to protect them as fiercely as I would my own'._

"Now come on. Let's see this done" he said, gesturing to the next chamber ahead.

###################################

The first impression of the final room was _heat._ The air crackled with it, and they all had to shield their eyes from the wall of flame that obscured their way to the end of the hall. Under the armour, the heat was almost overwhelming; even with the protective enchantments against flame woven into the Juggernaut plate, Arthur still felt it. Removing his helm and peering through the haze created by the fire, it was possible to make out a set of steps reaching upwards, topped with a gigantic statue of Andraste. _'Nearly there...'_

There was a stone altar in front of the flames, barely reaching as high as his waist, and Arthur crouched down as he walked forward to examine a barely legible inscription carved into the altar's top.

"_Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit._

_King and slave, lord and beggar, humble yourself before the Maker and be born anew in his sight."_

Arthur gave a sigh of amusement. The meaning couldn't be clearer. _'Andraste was placed atop a pyre. Instead of burning, the fire purified her. One assumes a similar metaphor is intended here'_. And king or slave, lord or beggar, all men come into the world with one thing in common.

With a soft chuckle, Arthur slid the silver gauntlet off his right hand and let it fall to the floor. Alistair stared at him strangely. "What is it? What are you doing?" he asked as his fellow Warden slid off the other glove and began to fiddle with the straps of his breastplate.

"What I'm told"

"You mean...?" Alistair's cheeks reddened as he finally caught the meaning.

"Yep, kit off" Arthur replied as the breastplate came away. The boots quickly followed it, along with the gambeson. The thin shirt and trousers were next and last but not least, the smallclothes. leaving Arthur standing naked with his front to the flames and his back to his companions, his skin begrimed with dirt, blood and sweat from the countless struggles they'd faced to get this far.

"My, my, you are a lucky one" Arabella muttered to the bard, her eyes tracing a path down his back. "I trust you're satisfied with the length of his 'sword' and how well he wields it?" the mage whispered in Leliana's ear, who bit her cheek to keep herself from laughing, though a cheeky smile crossed her lips.

"Ladies please, time and place" Arthur sighed. "Still, I suppose I should be glad Zev and Morrigan aren't here" he added; Arthur could already imagine the kind of comments the elf would make, something along the lines of 'Truly we are blessed by the Maker to see three beautiful women as naked as the day they were born!', just as he could imagine the reactions to such comments.

"Should we all...get changed?" Alistair asked, his ears as red as his cheeks. His fellow Warden shook his head.

"I'll go first. If I burst into flame, you'll know it's a good idea not to follow me" Arthur joked, even though his heart was in his mouth, pounding. Every instinct in his head was screaming not to do this, but there was no choice; they needed the Ashes, and if this was the final test, he'd face it without fear. They'd done too much and come too far to turn back now...not when their goal lay almost in arm's reach.

He took one hesitant step forward, feeling the heat of the fire wash over. Another step forward, and with the third, he was in the centre of the flame. He heard voices cry out behind him, but they fell silent as they realised the same as him; he was fine. The heat was almost overwhelming, but the fire did not burn. He took another step forward and he was through the flames, the wall of fire at his back. His skin was pristine as if fresh from a bath, the marks and filth upon it burned away, with no further mark upon him. He'd made it through. They'd done it.

"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet" a familiar voice called out. Arthur looked behind him to where the voice emanated, not surprised to see the Guardian standing there, an approving smile on his bearded face.

"You have walked the path of Andraste, and like her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. Approach the Sacred Ashes" he intoned, gesturing towards the stairs, before vanishing once more in another burst of light.

He quickly redressed, placing the armour back on over the clothes with some help from the others to ensure it was secure. Once it was so, they moved as one to the foot of the steps leading to the altar at their summit, and the object of their quest that sat atop it. As he and the others behind him took the first step towards the altar, Arthur found himself looking back on his own relationship with the Maker, of how his faith had waxed and waned through his life.

_I believed Mother Mallol's teachings once. But as I got older, it seemed less real, You seemed less real, and I was left no longer sure what to believe. So much of what the Chantry teaches us...It seemed less like Your Will and more the wishes of those who wanted to make it seem to be Your Will._

They took the first step up to the altar...

_You made this world, and then you abandoned it. You unleashed the darkspawn on us all for the hubris of a handful. It made no sense to me. It still doesn't. Maybe it never will._

Another step.

_After all she did for you, You let your Beloved die like a common criminal, then be hidden away on this mountain when she could have brought so much hope, allowed men to twist her words, wring the means for so many wrongs from her teachings. Why?_

Another step closer.

_I doubt you can be real when so much evil exists in this world, is allowed to exist. Why should good, innocent people like Oriana and Oren die, when scum like Rendon Howe and Loghain live?_

_You took everything from me, set me on a path that I walk because it is the only one left to me. You've done the same to the others, forcing them onto the path that You want them to be on. At times, I hate you for that, for all that you took from me, from us all. Does that even matter to you?_

Another step, the altar almost in reach...

_There's _never_ going to be an answer from You, is there?_

Another step closer.

_It doesn't matter. I'll do this because I have to, because it's the right thing to do, and if it so happens to be Your will, then so be it._

They stood before the altar now, the great Urn that stood atop it pristine, devoid of any dust or dirt, any sign of wear or ageing, the others staring at the Urn, the vessel containing the mortal remains of Andraste herself, perhaps the holiest artefact in all Thedas, their expressions ones of incredulity at both being so close to it, and for being among the first to lay eyes upon it in who knew how many generations.

"I never dreamed I would ever lay eyes upon the Urn of Sacred Ashes" Leliana murmured, her eyes wide with awe. "I-I have no words to describe" the bard trailed off, her expression still one of amazement.

"I never thought...never believed it was real" Arabella muttered, her face a mask of incredulity "but I was wrong"

"I never thought anyone would succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place" Alistair added in agreement "but here...here she is"

Arthur lifted the lid of the Urn, his hand dipping into the holy artefact and emerging with a pinch of the remains from within in hand, placing it within a small canvas bag he had set aside for the purpose, before placing the bag securely in a pouch at his belt. As the rest of the group made to return down the staircase and make for the exit, on an impulse, Arthur drew his sword and knelt before the remains of the prophetess, his head resting against the pommel. As the others watched curiously, for the first time in so very long, Arthur started to recite a portion of the Chant. He didn't know what motivated him to say it, but it was a verse that had always held meaning for him, had always inspired him to try and do the right thing, to display justice and mercy where each were needed, to be honest and fair and to defend those whom he'd been charged with guiding and protecting- what his father had taught him to be the true definition of nobility-and considering the task that lay before them-to cast down a tyrant who had so defiled what, in Arthur's view, it meant to be noble, and defeat the manifestation of the purest evil ever to march across the face of Thedas – here, in this place, such a declaration of faith seemed appropriate.

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written"


	35. Chapter 33: Promises Kept

_I can only apologise for how bloody long this has taken; my best laid plans seem to have a habit of coming undone these days. Still, hopefully, this will compensate a little for all of you who've been waiting patiently; some sentimentality, a battle and of course the introduction of Arl Eamon into the story. Will be working on the next instalment on Monday, so should (god willing) have it up soon._

_Yeah, the idea to include Eleanor in the Gauntlet came to me after playing DAII and getting through 'All That Remains' (no quest is as horrific and yet heart-wrenching at the same time), and I find that line quite poignant, helped along by the magnificent job the voice actress for Eleanor and Leandra did, so I thought why not? I'm glad to see it's a choice that went down with you all._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and favourites my work; particular thanks to __**strifeandpestilence **__(three more chapters and we reach Orzammar), __**ethan89, Insidious,**__**InuManKa91 **__and __**Mystic Gohan**__ for your reviews, and to __**Ygrain33**__ for the message of support; knowing so many still enjoy this is a great boost to the spirits!_

_As always_, **Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"Do you want to talk?" Leliana whispered, her head resting against his chest.

It was near midnight, and they were at least a day's journey from Haven and the temple. With the ashes in their possession, there had been no reason to linger on the mountain top. The four who'd gone into the Gauntlet had met up with Morrigan and Shale outside, the golem carrying the still unconscious Zevran in its broad arms, and they'd made their way back down to the temple's atrium. Before leaving, Arthur had sawn off the dragon's horns and opened up the wounds on the beast's carcass enough to pry free some of the longer bones, ribs, radii, ulnae and the like, in the hope Mikhael Dryden or another blacksmith might be able to do something with the invaluable dragonbone. Arthur had also cracked out several of the monster's teeth, one for each of the group, a memento of such an astounding victory over a mighty foe. As they departed from the carcass, Arthur had sworn "If we survive this Blight, I'm bringing every armourer and blacksmith in Ferelden up here, and I'm gonna auction this off to the highest bidder!"

They'd descended to the lower levels of the temple, rendezvousing with Brother Genetivi in the process, who seemed in awe of them for the fact they'd actually laid eyes upon the Urn itself, constantly asking to see the pouch of ashes again and again and making continual comments about how soon an expedition to secure the sight could be mounted. Arthur couldn't help but be impressed by Genetivi's fervent enthusiasm, undimmed and unbroken even in the face of all the villagers had done him; it was quite heart-warming in the wake of such death and madness. Considering the danger on the roads, Arthur had offered to let the Brother accompany them back to Redcliffe and Genetivi had agreed, clearly not wishing to run into any of the potential threats rampaging- darkspawn, bandits or the soldiers owing allegiance to either the regent or the numerous Banns trying to stave off Loghain's assaults.

They were now a day's ride from Redcliffe, and had made camp for the evening in a secluded grove. Shale and Morrigan were on watch, keeping an eye open for any sign of survivors from Haven come looking for revenge. Zevran had been deposited in a tent with Arabella tending to him, while the others had retired for the night. And now, lying on his back with Leliana's head resting over his heart, both basking in the post-coital glow, Arthur looked down at his lover curiously.

"What about?"

"What happened in the Gauntlet"

He was silent for so long, Leliana feared he would never answer. "To this day, part of me still asks why? Why did I lose everything? Why did good people have to die when scum like _him_ live? Oriana, she'd never done anyone any harm in her life, and Oren...he was six years old, he had his whole life ahead of him, so much potential for good, for greatness. Why should he have died, and filth like Rendon Howe and Loghain Mac Tir live?"

"We can no more understand the workings of fate or fathom the machinations of the Maker's will than we can stop the sun from setting or the tides from turning" Leliana replied.

"Mother was right, I have grown so strong since that day. If, if I had been as skilled, as capable then as I am now, could I have saved them? Could I have stopped what happened?"

"No" Leliana replied sadly. It hurt her more than she could say to see his face fall, but it had to be said, lest he drive himself mad with wondering. "You would have slain more of Howe's men, but there were still too many of them. The end result would have been the same, except that you would have died with all the others at Highever. Is that what you want?"

"I...deep down, part of me knew" he admitted, looking away, his tone of voice sad but resigned. "No, I don't want to die, not any more. That was why my mother and father told me to go with Duncan. For more than just to see justice done. They didn't want me to throw my life away, I know that now. I blamed myself for leaving them, for not dying with them, but they wanted me to live, to make something of myself, to find what they had, what Fergus had with Oriana: to know that kind of love and happiness, and I found it with you."

"Your father was right" Leliana added. "Time heals all wounds, and it will help if you remember the best things about them, not focus on the darkest memories. That is what I try to do with my memories of Marjolaine, to try and remember the good times we had- the balls, the soirees, the times we spent talking and laughing into the small hours of the morning- rather than what she did to me, and how it all fell apart. I don't want to cling to the grief and the pain, but remember the joy and happiness. Such is the path to madness" she finished, referring to Zathrian. Judging by the look that flashed in Arthur's eyes, he caught her meaning.

"How would I do that?" he asked.

"For a start, you could tell me of them" she replied, smiling impishly, before a more worried cast set on her face, wondering about what answers she would receive.

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you think -" she started then faltered, gathered her courage and tried again. "Do you think they would be disappointed? In me? What I am...and what I have done?"

Arthur went silent for the longest moment. "They might have taken some time to adjust, to get around your past and what you'd done" he said at last, his tone measured and fair ,but his azure eyes had nothing in them but warmth and love, "But they would be glad that I have the benefit of your skill and knowledge, and knowing that I was happy would satisfy them. They would have come to love you for yourself in time. You'd have gotten along well with Fergus; once he was done cracking jokes about his wild brother finally having been gelded and how my fun was finally at an end now there was a woman full time in my life, I think he would have enjoyed having someone who could match him at cards, dice and archery. Oriana would have loved to have someone to discuss fashion with; I can just hear you two now arguing whether Orlesian or Antivan seamstresses were superior and comparing shoes, and Oren -" He broke off, his eyes clouding a little, but when he spoke again, his voice was clear and calm, his mouth turned into a nostalgic smile, "Oren would have been at you day and night, I can just hear him now. 'Please, Auntie Leli, one more song. One more story, Auntie Leli. One more trick with your bow, Auntie Leli, _please_!'" Arthur replied in a good-humoured imitation of his nephew's voice. "He always saw the best in people, that boy. He would have adored you from the moment he met you"

"And I would have loved him," Leliana replied, feeling the fear dissipating and the relief swelling into a bittersweet pang in her heart at having been denied that. She raised herself up on her elbow at that moment, resting her head on her hand, staring into Arthur's eyes, her emerald eyes sparkling with uncertainty.

"And what of your parents? Would they have liked me? What would they have thought of me?"

"Well, they wouldn't say anything. They'd have died of shock at the thought of me settling down with an Orlesian!" he joked, before his smile became a wince as Leliana pulled a large hank of hair from his chest with a scowl of mock indignation. Once the flare of pain and the tension in the wake of the levity dissipated, his expression grew solemn.

"All joking aside, they would have been happy to know I was, and once they came to know you, they would have come to adore you. My father would be glad that I was happy and focusing my compassion for others and willingness to do the right thing onto one who so clearly deserved it, and as for my mother, she'd want to meet you, if only to prove that there actually existed such as a thing as a woman who'd managed to make me settle down". When he looked her in the eye, there was no hint of mockery or jest, just the truth, plain, simple, but welcome.

"They would have loved you like their own daughter, I know that in my heart".

"Thank you, my love" Leliana replied with a grateful smile as she leaned forward to press her lips to Arthur's, the kiss expressing clearly how relieved she was to know that the Couslands would have been so accepting, so willing to welcome her as willingly as their son had, to make her one of the family.

"They are your family too, now," Arthur told her, "for all that you never met them. I want you to know them, as I wish they could have known you."

"Then tell me more of them." the bard asked. "Please?" This sharing, and the trust that it implied, was something that she would come to treasure, namely because it was nothing that she had ever before known. In addition, she knew that focusing on the better memories of his parents and his family would help Arthur to remember the joy and , rather than sink into despair and rage focusing on the dark memories of how such a treasured thing had been torn away from him.

"Your wish is my command, then," the Warden agreed, settling back and pulling his love close, his left arm's grip around her waist tightening as his right reached up to run softly through her auburn hair.

"My parents first met while fighting under King Maric during the rebellion against Orlais..."

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_Perhaps it was the talking, or just the memories of his parents projected by the Gauntlet that caused it, but the dreams that came into his mind that night were of home, and of the dark events that had torn it apart..._

_It seemed as though he had never left as he emerged from behind the burlap sacks stacked atop the secret passage; he could feel the lumps of potatoes within the rough fabric, smell the faint odour of dirt and the more aromatic scent of dried herbs and cooked meat from the evening's dinner...all overwhelmed by the scent of his father's blood._

_He lay just where Arthur had last seen him, his back propped up against the wall, Mother kneeling at his side, vainly trying to staunch the wound, heedless of the spreading pool of crimson that was staining the leggings of her armour. Neither seemed aware of the presence of their son._

"They're gone, Bryce,"_ Eleanor Cousland soothed her husband, her fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead_, "and with the trapdoor hidden, they'll have a good head start on any pursuit that bastard tries to send after them."

"You should have gone with them, Eleanor." _Bryce replied, his face set in a grimace of pain, his eyes dim with sorrow at having been unable to save all those he cared for; his vassals, his friends, his daughter-in-law, his grandson, and now his wife._

"No!" _She shook her head vehemently_. "My place is at your side, unto death and beyond." _Shouts rose suddenly on the opposite side of the door, and a moment later, it shook on its hinges. His grandfather hadn't placed the escape tunnel from the castle here on a whim route; the door was stout oak, the lock heavy and firm, but it would not hold forever._

_Eleanor's face hardened, her eyes glinting like sapphires in the darkness of the room. Everyone said while he'd inherited so much of his appearance from Bryce, he'd inherited his mother's eyes; Arthur remembered distractedly, trying to deny what he knew was going to happen._

"And every one of the bastards that I kill is one less to go after my boy" _Eleanor announced grimly as she pressed her lips to her husband's forehead for what would likely be the last time, before her hands reclaimed the sword and dagger that had fallen to the floor beside her._

_Half a dozen violent blows and the door began to splinter. Arthur watched in growing horror as his mother took up position in front of the door, weapons raised. Eleanor Cousland, Teyrna of Highever and the woman who had spent years trying to temper and cool her wild and wilful son's impetuousness, launched herself at the first man through the door with a war cry that would have sent a rage demon scurrying away; the sword found the gap between mail and gorget, the man falling to his knees, vainly trying to stem the blood pouring down his front. The second took a dagger in the eye, while the third lost his head as Eleanor spun on her heel, and Arthur felt a fierce pride rising within him despite his horror. The next two came through together, however, shattering the last remains of the door, and while the Teyrna buried the sword to the hilt in one's heart, the second struck her on the side of the head with a mace before she could draw it free, sending her sprawling to the floor. Unable to stand by and watch any longer, Arthur's hands flew to the hilt of his sword and he charged at the thug who just smashed his mother to the floor, but it made no difference; Asturian's Might simply passed through the figure as if the man was made of mist, the sword cleaving through the man's neck, but the thug acted as if nothing had happened._

'There is nothing I can do' _he knew sadly. He could no more change this than he could undo what happened that night._

_Two soldiers dragged his mother upright, forcing her hands behind her back; even half dazed from the blow, her blue eyes blazed with defiance and not a trace of fear. She tried to throw off her captors' grasp and received a vicious slap in return._

"Eleanor! Get your filthy hands off her, you scum!"_ Her father was trying to drag himself forward, his face a mask of rage, despite the pain from the deep wound in his gut, accompanied by gouts of blood. Two of the invaders moved to stand over him, drawing their swords to finish the helpless man off._

"Hold a moment" _that smug, self-satisfied voice that haunted the darkest recesses of his mind; that sneered and taunted in his worst nightmares, or screamed and begged in vain for mercy in countless fantasies of revenge._

_Rendon Howe stepped through the door, his expression hatefully calm, and unbelievably, temptingly _real_. He'd dispensed with the trappings of nobility, now dressed in a suit of leather armour of the finest craftsmanship that had clearly been brought using gold embezzled from Amaranthine's treasury for his own profits, and carrying a blood-stained dagger, no doubt the one he'd driven into the gut of the man who'd trusted him, invited him into his home, only to have his hospitality repaid with murder._

"He's as good as dead already," _Howe said, regarding the ruined body of the man he'd called 'friend' only hours earlier with a sneer of satisfaction_, "and I'd like him to take one last sight with him into the Void." _Stepping up to Eleanor, he grabbed her chin; she spat in his face, her eyes blazing with hatred, but Howe merely chuckled as he struck her a vicious blow across the face in answer_. "Something else a damn Cousland took from me."

_And then the dream changed._

_As Howe tried to paw at Eleanor's chest, groping crudely at her breasts and trying to pull off her armour, a sword erupted from his own, the blade punching easily through his leather armour. Howe gasped in shock, bright blood leaking from his mouth as he looked down to stare at the blade jutting from his chest, and Arthur saw it too; it was a scimitar, its blade rusted, notched and serrated. The design was one Arthur knew only too well._

_It was a darkspawn weapon._

_A clawed, near skeletal hand seized Rendon's shoulder and drew the sword free, but the hurlock wielding it was not done; seizing Howe by his hair, the beast pulled the arl's head back to expose his throat and sank its fangs into flesh, tearing out Howe's throat with a meaty ripping noise that Howe accompanied with a wet, gurgling scream, arterial spurt splattering the hurlock's bald pallid green scalp with scarlet. Arthur exalted at the sight of it, and yet regretted some faceless hurlock had taken his vengeance from him. Before Howe's men could intervene to save their master, the sacks of potatoes that covered the entrance to the hidden passage out of the castle were sent flying as the trapdoor was smashed open from below, and genlocks swarmed forth like ants, overwhelming Howe's thugs through sheer weight of numbers, dragging them down and tearing them apart, stabbing and biting in a blood-crazed frenzy with knives, axes or just their own teeth and claws. The screams and pleas for mercy were drowned by a cacophony of chittering screeches and the grisly sounds of fanged mouths ripping still-warm meat from the bone. Set in the middle of this carnage were Arthur and his parents; the darkspawn were ignoring them for now, too intent on gorging themselves, but surely that wouldn't last..._

_The roof of the kitchen shuddered, loud cracks sounding as the stone was shaken by something very large. There was a deafening bellow from above-part roar, part scream- followed by another ominous crack above them; it sounded as if the ceiling were about to give way...and after a few nerve wracking moments, it did. With another bellowing roar, the ceiling of the castle's kitchen caved in as an immense, serpentine form forced its way in, its scaly, red-black hide easily smashing aside the centuries-old masonry. Arthur heard both his mother and father scream in horror at the sight of the archdemon's hideous reptilian face, the stench of disease and decay the dragon exuded, the cavernous mouth lined with dagger-sized teeth, opened wide enough to swallow them all whole, accompanied by the carrion reek of its breath. The darkspawn around the room looked up from their feeding frenzy and abased themselves before the dragon, making guttural noises that sounded almost worshipful , but the beast's dead-white eyes paid their display of obeisance no heed, narrowed in disdain as it took in the scene around it...and then those eyes fell upon Arthur._

_The archdemon growled angrily at him, and to Arthur's horror, he could hear a voice reverberating in his head, redolent with power, authority and menace. He remembered Alistair telling him of how some of the more senior Grey Wardens could interpret the archdemon's communication with the darkspawn, but he had never thought, so young in terms of his place in the Order, that he would be able to make sense of it. The fact he could hear the voice resonating inside his skull could only mean one thing._

_The archdemon _wanted _to be heard._

"You cannot hide. I see you. I will _always_ see you, slayer of my kin, butcher of my children". _Those dead white eyes flicked over him disdainfully, the edges of its mouth pulling back to expose the yellowed fangs, the forked tongue darting out, almost mockingly._ "Turn away now, leave the task your ilk prides itself upon-the unrelenting urge to destroy my kin- and I will let you live. You are but a hatchling, a striping raised to a task beyond your ability to fulfil. You are no threat to me and I have better things to expend my energies and those of my children's upon than to hunt you down. Go now and live".

"No" _Arthur replied. The archdemon-if that was indeed what was speaking- would not cow him into submission with the threat of death, no more than any of the others who sought to kill him had. To give in to fear, to yield to the seeming hopelessness of the task ahead that had been impressed upon them almost from the off , would be to damn Ferelden to destruction and spit on the graves of all those who had died to stop the Blight, and for all the memories of those who had given their lives for him, Arthur could not turn back now._

'No. I will not turn away' _he retorted_. 'I have a duty and I will do it...a duty to destroy you'

"Then you will die" _was the reply. The archdemon let loose another howl of anger, and in it, Arthur could hear that same redolent voice bellowing furiously_ "Destroy them all; devour their bodies, crush their bones to dust and spill their blood upon the earth. Let none survive. Such is my will!"

_And, shouting so loudly it sounded as if they were standing barely inches away, a cacophony of high-pitched, reedy voices shrieked back_ "We obey the will of Urthemiel"

#####################

Arthur bolted awake, sending the blankets falling away and Leliana sprawling from where she'd fallen asleep with her head on his chest . He barely heard Leliana's attempts to soothe him, her gentle caresses meant to calm and ease him back to his rest, her whispered reassurances that all was well, that it had just been a dream, because he could feel otherwise. His veins itched like crazy, a constant flaring irritation that ran through the course of his entire body, like simultaneous mosquito bites all over him and he knew it could mean only one thing.

_They_ were close.

Pulling himself out of bed and advising her to get dressed and arm herself, Arthur seized his gambeson and donned it, throwing a chainmail shirt over it for added protection- there was no time to don the plate armour. He'd just managed to buckle on his sword belt when Alistair's head protruded into the tent, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Did you feel it too?" he demanded of Arthur.

"Felt what?" Leliana asked, clearly worried by the wary manner in which the Wardens were acting.

"The archdemon! It was like it saw us! _SAW_ US!"He blurted out. "What does that mean-!"

There was the sound of a twig snapping to their left and Alistair's gaze flicked in that direction. "What was that?"

His question went unanswered, because with a feral shriek, something slammed into Alistair at considerable speed, sending the Warden and his attacker crashing in a heap to the ground. Arthur burst out of the tent, drawing his sword to see Alistair on the floor, wrestling with-_something-_ that was straddling his chest, trying to pin his arms to the floor. Arthur wrenched his sword free, trying to run to assist, but at that moment, the camp descended into pandemonium.

A screech so loud it nearly shattered Arthur's eardrums ripped through the night air, and out of instinct, Arthur covered his ears to blot out the sound, vaguely hearing the others cry out in pain at the shrill noise. From nowhere a horrifying creature appeared to his left as he and the others stood stricken, emerging out of the very shadow itself. Its face was long and narrow like a dog's, its permanently grinning mouth packed to the brim with rows of needle fangs and the sides of its bald skull crested by long pointed ears like a bat's...or an elf's. The rest of its body was as disproportionate as its head; long, thin arms and legs made for running, a slender, almost skeletal torso. It was clad in crude leather armour painted black to help disguise it, armour that seemed to shift and alter in colour as it moved from the shadows into the light. Its long fingered hands were tipped with scythe-shaped claws, while the leather bracers it wore on its arms were festooned with an array of spikes and hooks, clearly intended to maim and mutilate anything they struck.

And judging from the sensation in his veins that felt like ants trying to chew their way out through his skin, the creature was definitely a darkspawn.

More shrieks rang out into the night and Arthur whirled round, seeing more gangly creatures emerging from the shadows; the camp was completely encircled. He could already hear the ring of blade on blade as his companions took on the darkspawn assassins. One of the creatures took a swing at Morrigan but before the barbs on its arm could sink into flesh, the witch was gone, her body exploding into a swarm of hornets that swiftly enveloped her darkspawn attacker, the creature howling as the insects bit and stung it unrelentingly.

The one pinning Alistair down suddenly released him, letting out another scream, but one of pain as two arrows sank into its back. Before it could recover, Alistair's free hand found the haft of his mace; the weapon swung up and connected with the creature's head with a dull crack. He could make out three more of the creatures still fighting, two more darting forward to stab at Shale, before leaping out of range of the golem's fists, their almost-supernatural agility granting them the advantage. Arabella was nowhere to be seen, nor was Brother Genetivi, but there was no time to wonder at their whereabouts; the darkspawn needed to be destroyed.

Arthur made to help Shale fend off its attackers when he heard a strangled moan coming from a tent to his left. It was the one they'd placed the unconscious Zevran in to rest after they'd tended further to his injuries...and Arthur could see a dark shape in the tent with the supine elf. Pulling back the tent flap, what lay within chilled Arthur's blood; Zevran, on his back, with one of the darkspawn straddling its chest, one hand wrapped round the elf's throat, the other hovering inches from his face. Arthur could hear the elf muttering softly in his delirium "Bit tighter, dear; a bit of a choking, that's what I'm paying you for, girl..."

The darkspawn hissed in answer and pulled back its right arm, poised to slash the barbed hooks festooning the limb across Zevran's throat. Arthur reacted without thinking; he'd come to appreciate the elf's talents, even enjoy his good humour and easy going manner a little; '_I won't stand idly by now' _he knew. With a roar, Arthur seized the darkspawn about the middle and bodily dragged it off Zevran, the creature shrieking angrily at him, lashing out in an attempt to get him off, and by chance, the hooked barbs on its arms managed to cut through the gambeson and draw blood. Arthur recoiled, more out of surprise than pain, and the creature pressed its advantage, spinning round and lunging with snake-like speed, swiping at his face and then biting into his neck when he jerked away from its claws. Arthur gave a yell of pain, but his was accompanied by one from the creature as it screeched as if in deep pain, clawing at its mouth as if it had swallowed acid, desperately trying to spit out the poisonous blood it had swallowed. Before it could recover, Arthur tore free the dagger at his belt and stabbed upward; the blade bit into the creature's neck with a spray of dark blood. Arthur wrenched the blade free and threw it at one of the darkspawn battling Shale. The creature wailed as the thrown weapon sank into its lower back and staggered forward...straight into the path of the golem's fists. There was a dull crunch as Shale's boulder of a hand connected and the darkspawn's spine snapped with brutal ease.

The battle seemed to have turned in their favour; Alistair and Shale put down the last darkspawn, Shale's fist slamming down onto the thing's leg, the limb snapping like matchwood, and Alistair stove in its chest as it thrashed in agony. Another expired with a death rattle inches from Leliana, its chest riddled with arrows, and Arthur raced to help Edward with the last, the creature too busy trying to beat the mabari's jaws off its leg to see the sword descending until a second before its head rolled. Arthur could hear yet more running feet, the sound of more darkspawn approaching, but before he could ready himself to fight on, there came a roared incantation and the night lit up as a ring of fire encircled the camp. Beyond the flames, he could see more of the strange darkspawn prowling about at the fire's edge, eager to get at their prey but unwilling to risk going through the fire to do it. As the group slowly lowered their weapons, Arthur heard a gasp from behind and turned to see Arabella climbing down from a tree almost outside the fiery cordon. "Sorry that took so long" she said deprecatingly "but incantations of that magnitude require time and concentration if they are to be perfect. A single slip up can be disastrous"

"How long will it last?" Alistair asked warily, chancing a look at the gathered darkspawn beyond the fire's edge, screaming in thwarted rage, dead-white eyes scanning the barrier blocking them for any sign of weakness.

"Hard to say, but I reckon with constant infusions of magic from myself and Morrigan, we could at least make it last 'til morning"

"Then we should do our best to help make it last. If we can provide fuel to keep the blaze going, hopefully it'll require less from you two mages" Arthur replied. "Toss them into the fire" he said with a gesture to the darkspawn corpses littering the camp. "Better to make use of them than leave them to foul this place beyond recovery"

As Shale dragged the bodies to be tossed into the flames and Arabella helped Brother Genetivi down from his hiding place in the same tree she'd clambered up, Alistair sighed as he wiped his sword clean of darkspawn blood. "I guess it's like Duncan once said. We can sense them...and they can sense us". Sheathing his sword, the Warden added "And the archdemon..."

"You had a dream of it too?" Arthur asked. Alistair nodded and Arthur could see his fellow Warden looked extremely unnerved by the memory.

"Yes, and at the end I got the feeling it saw us, was aware of us, whatever you want to call it. It could just have been my imagination, I suppose. What do _you_ think?"

"I think that archdemon needs to die. _Soon_"

"Well, short of waltzing through the entire darkspawn horde and tapping it on the nose, I'm not quite sure how we're going to do that" Alistair replied, trying as always to disguise his fear with humour. "Still, killing the archdemon is the general plan. Glad to know you're onboard"

"What were they?" Leliana muttered, staring aghast at the mangled form of one of the creatures as Shale dragged the slain darkspawn by its foot to the makeshift pyre provided by the flames encircling their camp.

"Shrieks" Alistair replied. "Grey Warden lore calls them 'sharlocks', but they're more commonly known because of the racket they make when on the attack. They're the horde's scouts, infiltrators and assassins, and we should be grateful we got off lightly; the other Wardens told me stories about the scale of damage a large number of those things could do to a fair-sized company of men. And my guess is that if one group of assassins can come after us, there will be more; the archdemon wants us dead as much as Loghain. We'd best take more care from now on. This camp isn't safe any longer" Alistair said plainly. He made to depart, only to turn back as a final thought struck him.

"I guess one thing's for certain, as if we needed it. It's official now. This _is_ a Blight"

###############

None of them slept much that night. Morrigan and Arabella did not sleep, periodically to infuse the fire with enough magic to keep it burning, the others keeping watch to make sure there was no signs of it dying out, or that the shrieks were about to try their luck. When the sun finally began to appear on the horizon, the shrieks gave up and retreated; with the element of surprise lost, it was plain the creatures didn't want to fight on when they didn't have the advantage of darkness on their side. The group broke camp within the hour. It was too much to hope that another band of darkspawn assassins wouldn't follow the trail left by their predecessors and finish what the others had started. The second the camp was packed up, they were gone, racing across the countryside to get back to their destination, hoping that they were not too late.

Their hard ride was worth it; it was late night on the second day of their journey when the shape of Redcliffe Castle, lights glimmering faintly in the windows, illuminated by the light of the moon, came into view. Overjoyed to be back in relative safety, they'd spurred their horses on, meeting a rapturous welcome from the handful of villagers still awake, most of them patrons of the tavern or militiamen on duty who cheered and applauded with delight as they saw who had returned.

"Wardens, you return" Ser Perth remarked as they rode into the castle courtyard. "Is it possible you have what you set out to find? Arl Eamon's condition has begun to deteriorate and if the Urn has been found, then we need a miracle"

By way of an answer, Arthur pulled the pouch of ash from his belt and held it up to the night sky, calling out for all to hear:

"Tell Bann Teagan the Maker has answered our prayers!"

They were escorted into the Great Hall while Ser Perth relayed the news to Bann Teagan, who had retired to his bed several hours earlier. A few moments later, the Bann came racing down the stairs, his hair tousled and wild and his clothes looking as though they had been thrown on hastily, but a hopeful look was on his face as he took in the new arrivals.

"Is it true? Ser Perth said..."

"We found the Urn" Arthur replied, holding up the leather bag and its contents for all to see. Teagan's face lit up, his eyes wide with joy at the news, a broad smile creasing his lips as he darted forward and wringed the hands of each of the companions who'd gone after the Urn in turn, grinning from ear to ear like a boy who'd loosed his first arrow. Arthur couldn't fault the Bann's enthusiasm; it was, in all likelihood, the best news Teagan had had in so very long.

"Wonderful! Let us go at once to Eamon's side and see if their healing powers live up to their reputation!"

###############

The miracle of the Sacred Ashes was something Arthur would never have truly believed in had he not been there to see it in person. Wynne continued to channel healing energy into the Arl's body, while Revered Mother Hannah intoned a stanza of the Chant. As Wynne's spell reached its climax, the Revered Mother filled a chalice with holy water, into which she deposited the Ashes and then gently tipped the goblet's contents down the arl's throat.

Arlessa Isolde was on her knees at the foot of the bed, her head hung low, humbly and feverishly praying underneath her breath for a miracle to be granted upon her comatose husband and despite his earlier disdain for her, Arthur couldn't help but feel empathy, just as he had for Connor. Had this been his own father, or mother, or Fergus, to what length would he have gone for a cure to them? Or for Leliana, Alistair or any of the others who'd become as close as family to him? Deep down, he knew the answer: there was nothing he wouldn't do to save any of them, and he knew that they would do the same for him. To know that he was in the presence of friends, comrades whose sense of duty and loyalty to him was as great as his to them was a welcome knowledge, to know that in the trials and tribulations still ahead of them, he would not be alone, not in such good company, and Arthur could only hope the bonds of loyalty, friendship and duty this mad journey had forged between them would not break.

Alistair was quiet but restless. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, anxiously clutching his fists tight during the ceremony. Arthur placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, while Leliana took his fellow Warden's hand in hers, offering her silent support as they waited for the miracle to occur.

And it did.

After moments of nerve-wracking silence, Arl Eamon coughed vigorously. As he did, his eyes shot open and he bolted up as if just woken from a terrible nightmare. Teagan, Isolde and the knights in attendance tried to get Eamon to lie still on his bed as the arl struggled to sit up.

"Where-where am I?"

With an effort, Eamon's younger brother forced him to lie back on the bed.

"Be calm, brother. You have been deathly ill for a very long time, and you are still very weak; it could be a good while before your strength returns in earnest. Do you remember nothing?"

"Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?"

"I am here, my husband." Eamon's face lit up joyfully at the sight of his wife, pulling her into a close embrace, kissing her full on the mouth, before another thought occurred to him and his expression grew fearful once more.

"And Connor? What of my boy? Where is our son?"

"He lives, though many others are dead," Isolde replied sadly, her face downcast, no doubt fearing what her husband's reaction would be when he learned the extent of her folly. "Dead?" Eamon echoed sadly, his head sinking back to his pillows. "Then... it was not a dream?"

"I'm afraid not," said Teagan. "Connor lives thanks to Alistair and Teyrn Cousland."

"Alistair?" Eamon struggled to look over his wife's shoulder. "My lord," Alistair inclined his head awkwardly.

"Alistair! It is you!" The arl looked him over a few times as if in disbelief that the once skinny, mud-soaked little boy whose care he'd been charged with had grown into this fine young man. "And you said... Cousland, Teagan?" Eamon added, his gaze shifting to Arthur and doing a double take.

"Maker's Breath, is that you, Bryce? What on earth are you doing here, we're a long way from Highever, you know? How are Eleanor and the boys? And how did you get so young? Did the Ashes that healed me grant you back your youth?"

"I fear you are mistaken, brother" Teagan interjected. "Bryce and Eleanor Cousland are, alas, no longer with us. This is their youngest son, Arthur" and it was Arthur's turn to bow respectfully.

"Bryce's son? Why are you here?" the arl questioned, an eyebrow raised in uncertainty.

"Much has happened since you fell ill, Brother," informed Teagan. "Some of it will not be... easy for you to hear."

"Then tell me" Eamon's voice was adamant. "I wish to hear everything."

#########################

The fireplace in the great hall of Redcliffe castle crackled, providing much needed warmth for the occupants of the room. Although still frail from his recent illness, Eamon's face was set in a determined expression and his eyes were bright and alert, taking in every facet of detail from the information his brother and the Wardens were providing him with on Ferelden's current turmoil.

Initially, the arl had insisted on hearing the bad news all at once whilst still lying on his sick bed, but Isolde refused to allow it, insisting first that they wait until morning before such matters were attended to. Then she insisted they wait while her husband took the time to bathe and have his hair and beard trimmed back to a respectable length. Finally, as the servants, as delighted as everyone else in the castle to have their lord restored to them, began to serve breakfast in the great hall, Eamon summoned Teagan, Arthur and Alistair to sit at his table as the arl broke his fast and bade them tell him everything that had happened since he fell ill. They had no choice but to oblige, leaving no details behind. Arthur began the tale first, speaking about the destruction of the Couslands- Eamon was understanding and sympathetic, and so did not press him for details, sensing the memories were still bitter. Alistair then took up the telling, speaking of Ostagar, Cailan's death and the destruction of the Grey Wardens to Loghain's perfidy, and Teagan interjected at that point, adding his telling of Loghain's usurpation of the throne, his demands that the nobility of the Bannorn mindlessly fall into line or face the consequences, and his brutal actions that had served to unite nearly all of Ferelden _against_ him and start a civil war that threatened to do the darkspawn's work for them. Finally, Arthur and Alistair explained about the treaties, of how the Dalish elves and the Circle of Magi had promised their support against the darkspawn and of how all that remained was to journey to Orzammar and seek the aid of the dwarves and their king.

When all had been said, Eamon took a deep breath and ran a hand through his grey hair, thinking to himself.

"This is most troubling." The arl frowned gravely when he finally spoke. "There is much to be done, that's true. But I should first be thankful to those who have done so much. Arthur, first of all, my most sincere condolences. I knew your parents, not well, but well enough to respect them and to mourn their passing. Teyrn Bryce was a good, honourable man. He and Teyrna Eleanor will be sorely missed"

"Thank you, milord, for those kind words. It is good to know some of the nation remember my father as he was-a man of honour and integrity- not the traitor his murderers would see him painted as"

"You need not fear on that, friend Arthur" Teagan added. "My brother and I will eat horseshit before we take a single word that comes out of Rendon Howe's lying mouth seriously"

"My brother puts it in a rather coarse manner, but I share his sentiment" Eamon nodded. "By your own actions, you have proven yourself your father's son. You have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt."

"I most certainly did not do it on my own. Alistair and my companions have been with me every step of this journey"

"But it was your decision to save both Isolde and Connor," Teagan reminded him firmly.

"It was 'our' decision, my lord," he corrected the bann with a glance at Alistair. He was bending the truth slightly did bend the truth a bit; it had indeed been his decision, yet the arl didn't have to know. His message to Eamon was clear: Alistair had helped him just as much as any of the others, and the bastard prince would not be shown the same disrespect he had endured before again.

"I owe both of you a debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?" asked the arl earnestly.

"Were this not a time of war, I would request military aid to retake Highever and help put Rendon Howe to the sword, as King Cailan, your kinsman, promised he would" Arthur replied honestly. "But this_ is_ a time of war, and it would be most foolhardy to ignite yet another conflict when two already rage within Ferelden. For the moment, I will settle with your support against Loghain and the Blight, and a promise that the Guerrins will honour King Cailan's pledge to the Couslands"

After a few moments pause, Eamon finally nodded in agreement. "Justice must be served, I agree. If Cailan swore it then I will consider it my duty and honour to help. What Rendon Howe did was an aberration that cannot go unpunished. He and his master will answer for their crimes; you have my word, Arthur. And what of you, Alistair? Will you allow me to offer you a reward?" asked Eamon as he looked at his former ward.

"Er, me? I'm just glad you are all right, my lord. There's no need for a reward or anything. But if you'd help Arthur and the Grey Wardens, I'd really appreciate it." Arthur inclined his head in appreciation of Alistair's support for him.

"Then at least allow me to declare you and those travelling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls". Arthur shot a glance at Alistair, but if his fellow Warden felt any irony at this statement, he made no comment. Fortunately, Eamon didn't notice the exchange, for the arl at that point clicked his fingers and two of his knights stepped forward, bearing shields of red steel emblazoned with the Redcliffe coat of arms, the work of a master blacksmith.

"And for you Wardens, shields of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knights."

"T-thank you" Alistair seemed both surprised and pleased as he slid his arm through the shield's straps, testing its weight, as if he had finally been given recognition from the home that had abandoned him. Arthur likewise inclined his head gratefully, but once the formality was done, he was back to business.

"I thank you for your gift, but there is much to be done now"

"Arthur has the right of it" Teagan nodded in agreement. "We have no way of knowing what Loghain will do once he learns of your recovery". Eamon sighed at this, shaking his head ruefully at Loghain's stupidity.

"Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are massing on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power."

Arthur gave a disparaging snort at this. "I can think of many words to describe Loghain Mac Tir at this particular moment in time, but 'sensible' is _not_ one of them"

"I must agree again with Arthur. I was there when Loghain announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon." Teagan shook his head disgustedly at the memory. "He's gone mad with ambition, I tell you."

"Mad indeed," the arl agreed. "Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Madness or ambition, whatever has happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarcely afford to fight this war to its bitter end."

"But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?" asked Alistair hopefully.

"I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies."

Arthur had to agree with the arl. He had seen enough throughout all the years in Highever and Denerim and knew enough about the proceedings of politics to know one thing about nobility: almost to a man, the nobles were all out for themselves. It only strengthened his belief that everything that happened was not the work of random coincidence; Loghain was clearly working to eliminate anyone who possessed a stronger claim to power than he. With Bryce dead, and Eamon incapacitated, many of the lesser nobility would fall under his banner even if they weren't allied with him to start with, simply because there was no one stronger to join forces with. And others would rally to the regent because they saw the chance to advance themselves with his rise to power, or because they feared his wrath were they to fall on the wrong side of the conflict.

"We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.

"Loghain must be made to capitulate" Arthur replied in an adamant voice. There was no two ways about it; Loghain was at the centre of everything that had happened, everything that had gone wrong to Ferelden. His actions in this conflict only proved the regent was rotten to the core, and if Arthur had a say in it, Loghain would face trial and the gallows for his crimes...at the least.

Eamon nodded in answer, but there was a shrewd look in his eye that piqued Arthur's curiosity. "I agree; Loghain will pay for his heinous crimes, but our armies must be reserved for the darkspawn, not each other. I will spread word of Loghain's treachery, both here and against the king, but it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen."

_Alistair..._ Arthur shot a look at Alistair, who seemed to have developed selective hearing, having made no reaction to Eamon's statement...

"Are you referring to Alistair, brother? Are you certain?" asked Teagan.

This time, there could be no pretending he'd misheard. Alistair's face paled and his eyes went wide with unease. He could no longer pretend the discussion didn't concern him when his name was being said loud and clear. Arthur noticed the rest of his companions, sat at a table slightly away from the arl's were all looking up and listening carefully, just as intrigued to hear the arl's plan as the two Wardens were.

"I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."

"You intend to put Alistair forth as King?" Arthur enquired. In truth, the proposal didn't surprise him; after all, he was a descendant of Calenhad-crowning Alistair would continue the near-unbroken tradition of one of the Theirin line on the throne. His illegitimacy wasn't much of an issue-there was precedent for such actions- and while he was untested, as far as Arthur was concerned, his fellow Warden couldn't do a worse job than Cailan. For all his distaste for politics and running a nation, Cailan had kept the peace his father had engineered. '_And Alistair is not his brother; who's to say he couldn't do better_?'

"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage-as you know, our sister was Maric's queen and Cailan's mother- but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood."

"And what about me?" Alistair protested, angry that the three men were talking over him. "Does anyone care what I want?" Arthur winced; he'd quite forgotten the greatest opposition to such a plan was likely to be Alistair himself.

"You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?" The arl's voice was gentle, but his tone was firm and would clearly brook no refusal, reminding Arthur of his own father trying to coax a particularly recalcitrant youth into acquiescence.

"I..." He looked at the arl, then to his companions, trying to find some support, any one of them who might provide him a way out. But though he found sympathy for his unease and distaste, Alistair saw nothing that suggested they would help him shirk duty. Faced with that, Alistair reluctantly looked back to Eamon.

"But I... no, my lord," he conceded with a heavy sigh, defeated...for the moment.

Satisfied with Alistair's acquiescence, Eamon turned his attention back to Arthur. "I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another."

Alistair looked even paler at that idea and Arthur moved his chair slightly away from his friend, just in case Alistair's breakfast decided to make a reappearance. If Eamon noticed this, he gave no sign, merely continuing to lay out his plans.

"Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing."

Arthur blinked in surprise. "My blessing? Why do you need my blessing?"

"None of this would be possible without you. You led Alistair here, you saved my family and my life with the Urn of Sacred Ashes... It's your lead I follow," the arl claimed humbly. "You are a Grey Warden and more importantly Bryce Cousland's son. Your late father was beloved by many, second only to Maric in some cases, and they will continue to hold Bryce in high regard, regardless of what slander Loghain and his sycophants might try to smear his memory with".

"In addition" Teagan interjected "By your own actions, you have done more to defend this land from the darkspawn than Loghain, and you are poised to be the general of the one army that has pledged itself to protect Ferelden, not help Loghain tear it apart; your exploits have already made you famous and popular amongst the common people, and that will only grow when they hear how you uncovered the final resting place of Andraste and recovered the ashes to save my brother. That should also help undermine Loghain's cause further, coupled with the fact the people are already beginning to hate him because of his brutal excesses and his demands that all the nation submits mindlessly to his whims; your actions have proven you to be able and willing to fight to protect this country from its enemies and itself, while all Loghain has done is prove he is willing to become an even greater tyrant than Meghren to keep his hands on a throne he has no right to. Finally, while it would suit the 'Hero of River Dane's' arrogance to paint himself as the only one who can save this country from the Blight, any fool who's studied their history knows that it's only by the sacrifice of the Grey Wardens that the darkspawn have been defeated four times before. Loghain and his cronies may have forgotten that, but a great many more of us haven't".

Eamon nodded in agreement with his brother's statement and concluded "I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you. Surely, you see that."

"Would it not be better to simply kill Loghain?" Arthur said at this point, voicing another potential solution to their problem. "His faction is held together only by his strength of will, the chance to advance themselves by aligning with him or the fact he has bribed, coerced or bullied them into following him. Kill him and they will scatter to the winds..." but a single shake of the head from Eamon silenced him.

"I'm not sure that would help our cause. We'd become the criminals, and our accusations excuses. Furthermore, I have no notion where Loghain even is at this moment"

"There are other ways to kill a man besides turning to the likes of the Crows" Sten cut in from where he sat at a lower table, dining on a simple repast of fresh fruit. "What if you were to defeat this dathrasi Loghain in battle? Even with your forces depleted by the demon's predations, they are still numerous, and combined with the army the Grey Wardens are amassing..."

"No" was Eamon's swift reply. "Unless we can convince some of Loghain's allies to abandon him, qunari, that's not likely to happen. Our army just isn't large enough. The Grey Wardens may gather allies to them, yes, but we will need them to battle the darkspawn. I truly believe the Landsmeet is our best option. We could attempt to wage a military campaign against Loghain, but even if we win...would we have enough left to face the darkspawn?"

"No" Teagan agreed "but neither would Loghain"

"Perhaps Loghain gambles on this attitude" the arl postulated "that everyone will decide facing the darkspawn is more vital than facing him, so he leads us against the horde"

"And what's to stop Loghain from simply dismissing your request for this Landsmeet and launching an attack on Redcliffe to try and kill you again?" Arabella put forward from her own seat. "Loghain isn't exactly one for keeping his word; Uldred found that out the hard way when Loghain left him and those who followed him to the mercy of the templars after all those promises of support..."

"Why do you think he had me poisoned? He wanted me gone without having to confront me directly. If I call for the Landsmeet, refusing the comprise and attacking Redcliffe will only give strength to our accusations. Loghain is already under suspicion for murdering one member of my family; openly trying to kill me now would likely convince most of his allies to realise the truth about what happened at Ostagar" Eamon gave a brief sigh. "I'm sure Loghain had much rather I died from the poison...had Connor and the demon not interfered, that's exactly what would have happened"

Arthur mulled over the next great task laid out before him, one of many that, less than a year ago, he would never dreamed. He was the younger son of House Cousland; the challenges of leadership and rule were never likely to be his, but now he was required to first reclaim his home from the traitor Howe, and then it had become his task to defeat the darkspawn and end the Blight. And now, he was being called upon to overthrow a usurper and his puppet monarch to end the civil war. Now he could understood the terrible burdens Alistair was drowning underneath as the chosen successor to Cailan's throne.

He turned to Alistair for support and found him studying his fellow Warden. The resentment on his face had long gone, replaced by sympathy. His face said it all as loud and clear as though he'd voiced it: '_Welcome to the club, we have jackets'_. Once again, they were both tossed on the same boat, shouldering the same responsibilities, walking on a path they had no choice but to follow, for it was the only one left to them. _'And if he can face his duty, I can do no less'_ Arthur knew.

"It seems we have little choice" Arthur replied. "I say full steam ahead". Eamon nodded in acceptance of the decision.

"Very well, I will send out the word. But before we proceed" and at this, Eamon's voice grew cold "there is still the matter of the mage, my son's tutor. He still lives, I understand"

Arthur cursed under his breath; he'd completely forgotten about Jowan, imprisoned since Connor was cured. He also saw Arabella had looked up in interest; Arthur remembered she hadn't been privy to the conversation where Teagan had chosen to re-imprison the mage, and was no doubt wondering who had

"He does. He is in the dungeon, brother" Teagan replied.

"Have him brought here, Teagan. I want to see him" Eamon growled angrily. Teagan nodded and motioned for two of the guards standing about the chamber to obey the arl's command. Five minutes later, there came the rattle of chains and the guards re-entered the room, dragging Jowan into the great hall, still manacled hand and foot.

"Jowan!" Arabella yelled incredulously, leaping out of her seat "They told me you were dead!"

"Bella, what are you doing here?" Jowan replied, his face torn between amazement and regret. "I thought the templars would..."

"Punish me for your sins?" Arabella scowled. "They very nearly _did_, you son of a bitch! I was lucky to get away with just being locked in solitary: Irving was barely able to talk Greagoir out of transferring your sentence of Tranquility to _me!"_

"You two know each other?" Arthur asked. Arabella nodded and replied "We were friends growing up in the tower; we kept each other sane and alive in there. I helped him escape the tower after he was about to be made Tranquil, but the templars caught us coming out of the phylactery chamber. This bastard attacked them, then ran and left me to it!"

"Enough!" Eamon snapped, irked by the interruption, his face set in an expression of deepest loathing. "I had you brought here for a reason, Jowan. What you have done is _not_ in question; you tried to assassinate me and set into motion a series of events that nearly destroyed everything I cherish".

Arabella looked mortified at this, shaking her head as she heard the accusations, clearing unwilling to believe the worst of her friend. "It can't be...there must be some mistake" she said desperately, but Arthur shook his head solemnly.

"Arabella, he confessed to it" Arthur replied sadly. "One way or another, this isn't going to end well for him"

"What do you have to say in your defence?"

"Nothing, my lord...other than to say I am sorry. I expect no mercy for what I have done"

"I...see" Eamon replied softly, clearly having expected Jowan to make excuses for his crimes or plead his innocence. "Arthur, do you have anything to add on Jowan's behalf?". Arthur was a little caught offguard; he'd barely spoken to the mage, and he couldn't say his feelings for Jowan were that warm, given his own hatred for men who snuck into the homes of people who trusted them, only to stab them in the back. On the other hand, Jowan had stayed behind and tried to rectify his mistakes, heedless of the cost to himself and had not attempted to make excuses or try to explain away his deeds.

"He seemed earnest in his desire to repent"

"Oh, that is...unexpected" Eamon remarked with a raised eyebrow. "And what would you have me do? As the injured party, my ability to see the merciful path is strained"

"Give him to the Circle of Magi. He claims he wishes to answer for his crimes, and the Circle is the proper authority to deal with individuals like him. Let the templars mete out justice as they see fit".

'_It's the only form of mercy he can be given'_ Arthur knew. _'The templars will, in all likelihood, kill him, but at least it will be seen as justice, not vengeance'_

"True enough, and wisely said. Jowan, I hereby turn you over to the custody of the Circle of Magi. You will remain imprisoned until such time as the templars arrive to take you back to Kinloch Hold. And may the Maker have mercy on your soul".

"No, you can't!" Arabella protested. "Jowan is a good man, he all but looked after me growing up in the tower. I grant you, he has made some foolish mistakes, but-"

"Mistakes? By his actions, so many good, innocent people have died, deaths that could have been prevented were it not for his selfishness and stupidity. Justice must be done" Eamon retorted. "If he is not handed over to the templars, I will have him hanged. I am sorry, girl, but I cannot forgive what he has done, both to me personally, and to the people whose care I am charged with"

"Arthur, use that, that Right thing! Make him a Warden!" Arabella begged desperately, but Jowan silenced her with a raised hand, smiling softly as she turned her attention to her old friend.

"Bella, it's alright. I'm tired of running from the Circle, from what I've done. We all have to face our sins some day, in the next world if not this one. All I've done since I ran from the tower is delay the inevitable, and I'm at the end of the line. I will run no longer, and if this is my last chance to do something right with my life, I'll do it".

"I' m sorry I couldn't do more for you and Lily..." Arabella said sadly, her eyes downcast, sounding close to tears, but Jowan had no recriminations

"Bella, I'm the one who should be sorry" Jowan replied earnestly. "You did so much for me, and I repaid you with betrayal. I can never make it up to you, and you owe me nothing, my dearest friend; you've already given me so much. If you want to do something for me, forgive yourself, forget me and live. Be the mage I could never hope to be. Be the best of us". All she could do in answer was nod mechanically.

"Take him away" Eamon snapped and the guards removed Jowan from the halls. Arabella glared at the arl for a moment, then excused herself and departed from the hall. Eamon sighed solemnly and Arthur empathised with him; it could not have been an easy decision but Arthur supported his decision; no one was above the law, and after what he had done, Jowan had to face justice. _'I'll just have to try and make Arabella see that at some point. Maker help me when that moment comes'_

Eamon was quick to return to the matter at hand. "It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, I suggest you pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde."

"Surely the treaties can wait for a few days, my husband?" asked Lady Isolde as she appeared from a doorway. "Our friends must be tired from travelling all across Ferelden. Let them rest for a few days before sending them off again. At the very least, allow me to show my gratitude for saving my boy and my husband, Teyrn Arthur"

"That is most kind of you. But I did not do it alone." Arthur pointedly looked at Alistair to get his point across.

"Yes, of course. I have both you and Alistair to thank." The grateful smile on the arlessa's thin lips was genuine. "As my husband has said, both of you and your companions are always welcome in our home. You must stay and rest, I insist."

"Well, you've heard my wife and she is nothing if not stubborn. Besides, I imagine a couple of days living comfortably will be a nice change from the hardships of travelling on the road" the arl shook his head rather affectionately. ". Alistair, perhaps we can talk later tonight?"

Alistair seemed surprised by the request. "I- of course."

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"So when do you intend to depart?" Eamon asked. "It'll probably take you about a week to reach Gherlen Pass, so I'll ensure the quartermaster provides you with enough supplies to reach the gates of Orzammar-"

"We're not going to Orzammar. Not yet, at least" Arthur replied from his place at the end of the arl's table. Eamon looked at him askance, clearly surprised by this statement. It was early evening, and they were once again sat in Redcliffe Castle's great hall, awaiting the servants providing the first course of the celebratory banquet Isolde had organised to celebrate her husband's recovery. Most of the day had been spent in the village, Eamon having gone to prove to his vassals that he was alive and well, greeted by much cheering and jubilation from the villagers, overjoyed to see their lord restored to them after so long. Eamon had joined the villagers in a special sermon at the Chantry, both to give praise for his recovery and remember those who had lost their lives in the assaults on Redcliffe, before the Arl had made commendations and praise to the militia for their courage and bravery during the undead attacks and knighted several of the squires who'd gone with their knight patrons in search of the Urn. Arthur had also heard rumours the arlessa was planning an extravagant gala to both celebrate Eamon's restoration and give the villagers something to help forget their troubles with a celebration to raise their spirits. Eamon had also confirmed in private that a good number of the nobility Eamon felt certain he could rely on their support would be invited so as to sound out their position in the coming Landsmeet, and that he intended to hold off the soiree until after the last Grey Warden treaty had been honoured.

"Then where? Surely you can't intend to head back to Denerim again by yourselves?" Teagan added. "Word has reached us from the city; since your exploits there, Loghain's cracking down even more fiercely on any signs of dissension against him. He's raised the bounty on your heads to near 90,000 sovereigns..."

'_And that will only grow larger when he learns one of the Grey Wardens he despises is claiming the throne'_ Arthur knew. '_How much of the treasury will you squander to try and hide your treason?'. _He'd heard the rumours about what hadbeen unfolding across Ferelden, the atrocities Loghain was committing to try and shore up his crumbling hold on power; the carnage at Winter's Breath, the brutal execution of the hunters from Oswin and the cruel pride Loghain seemed to have taken from it, the murder of Bann Grainne for no greater crime than simply denying Loghain's forces food, an act the Bann was at perfect liberty to do...part of Arthur wanted nothing more than to march into Denerim with the army they'd gathered and put Loghain, Howe and all those who stood with them to the sword for their crimes, but he knew it couldn't be done, at least not yet.

'_We still have more to do before that day comes'_

"No, we must go south. Back to Ostagar"

"Ostagar?" Eamon repeated, his tone and expression incredulous. "What in the Maker's name would possess you to go back there? By now, there's probably nothing there but blood-stained snow and bones picked clean by darkspawn, so what could possibly be worth returning to that blighted pit for?"

Arthur quickly relayed their chance encounter with the last surviving member of Cailan's Kingsguard and what the man had told them was could be found among the ruins of the fortress and the royal encampment.

"Did he say what might be found there?" Eamon questioned, a more interested look entering his eyes at the mention. Teagan made no reply as he drank from a goblet, but from the look in his gaze, Arthur knew the Bann was listening intently.

"No" Arthur replied sadly. "But he implied that the documents contained proof that Cailan was planning an alliance with Orlais against the Blight, among other things".

"Would that be enough of a reason for Loghain to murder Cailan?"Teagan mused. "Loghain hated anything remotely connected with Orlais-his obsession with it has near-destroyed this country- but would that be enough of a reason to abandon his king, his daughter's husband, to his death, simply to prevent an alliance? I knew that in recent months Cailan's relationship with Loghain had turned sour, but still...enough to want him dead? I'm not sure"

"All the more reason to return to Ostagar"Arthur pointed out. "If we can obtain these documents, if we can prove that Loghain acted out of base greed and ambition to seize control of the country and stop Cailan's plans for his own ends, then I'd say it would be another rope with which to hang him at the Landsmeet"

"How do you know they'll even still be there?" the arl replied fairly. "Ostagar has been in the hands of the darkspawn since the battle, and it's been nearly five months. The chest might be gone, smashed open, its contents looted or discarded by those monsters..."

"That may be" Arthur agree "but if there's a chance they remain, a chance to obtain the information they contain and use it to damage Loghain's position at the Landsmeet, I say it's a risk we have to take"

"Very well, your arguments make sense" Eamon conceded "but I must insist Alistair remain here-"

"Don't even think about it!" Alistair burst out hotly, rising from his seat.

"Alistair, you are the heir to Cailan's throne, the one upon which we're placing all our hopes for the Landsmeet. If you die in the south, Loghain will have won the Landsmeet before it's even begun"

"Alistair is a Grey Warden" Arthur replied fairly "and he has already risked death many times already. Besides, he's more likely to be safer on the road dealing with an enemy we can see and face, rather than sitting around here, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the next servant Loghain sends you to try and cut his throat"

The meaning could not have been clearer; Jowan may not have been the only traitor in their midst. '_Who can say whose loyalty you can trust now?_' Arthur mused. Howe's actions had made him much susceptible to look for signs of betrayal, and after all they'd been through to restore the arl to health, it would be the height of irony if Eamon were killed by another servant of his who turned out to be in Loghain's employ.

"Your point is well made, Arthur. I shall go to great lengths to make sure I can rely on the loyalty of the people I have here"

"Sounds like a plan. I will of course leave some of my companions to assist you with this; Zevran's injuries would make him a good candidate to remain behind, and he has a knack for this kind of work. I'll also leave Morrigan; her presence would also be useful for interrogation..."

"Why am I not to come?" Morrigan interrupted angrily, disregarding the surprised glances that were cast at her at her interruption.

"Because you are needed for this task, and because after we're done at Ostagar, I intend to pay a visit to a mutual friend of ours. A rather _old_ friend"

Teagan and Eamon looked at him askance, but fortunately, Morrigan caught his meaning and fell silent. Fortunately, the conversation shifted as the next course of the evening meal came, turning to more, as Eamon turned to question Teagan on the status of Redcliffe's standing army and spoke of the new arrivals that were beginning to arrive- scouts and outriders of the Dalish clans massing in the Brecilian Forest who'd brought word from Lanaya that Gwaren was all but sealed off, the land routes all guarded carefully by Dalish archers and sylvans that destroyed anything trying to pass through the forest, as well as apprentices and more senior mages from the Circle eager to put their powers to use against the darkspawn. When the meal concluded, Eamon said that quarters had been prepared for them in the castle, a not so subtle piece of advice for them to get a lot of rest for the long journey ahead back to Ostagar.

As Arthur made to the upper levels of the castle, he found Morrigan once again outside his quarters, and once again, the moment she caught sight of him, she spoke in a blunt manner that seemed almost demanding.

"Arthur, listen carefully. When you confront her, you must be swift and attack without mercy. Flemeth is like any other demon; she will try to persuade you, to dissuade you, she will offer you anything to convince you to let her live. Ignore it and cut her down; make a deal with her and it will have dire consequences for me, I know that..."

"Have no fear; Flemeth _will_ die" Arthur replied, raising a hand to forestall any further protests from the witch. Morrigan nodded in acceptance of the statement and Arthur thought he saw a flicker of something that almost might have gratitude. Before he could say anything however, she made to leave and Arthur turned to enter his room, he heard the sound of Morrigan clearing her throat.

"And Arthur...do try to come back alive. I'm not all that wealthy in allies these days"


	36. Chapter 34: Return to Ostagar

_Here we are, back to Ostagar. Seems like only yesterday I was writing the first trip to that place, and look how far you, me and Arthur have all come since then. A few more chapters to deal with some other business and then it's on to Orzammar, I promise!_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and favourites; special thanks as always to __**ethan89, Insidious, cakeisalie, Knight of Holy Light**__ and __**spectre4hire **__for your reviews, as well as to __**weaponmaster21, datjazz**__ and __**william12 **__for adding to favourites; nowing so many read this keeps going when the going is toughest._

_For those of you who haven't played it, spoilers for Return to Ostagar follow._

_Since I haven't said it for a while, I don't own Dragon Age, unfortunately; all content belongs to Bioware._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'**_

_And as always, above all else, enjoy!_

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"Something about returning here makes me feel old, Wynne"

"And just what are you implying, Alistair?" the older woman retorted rather coolly.

"Nothing, I just thought-"

"You just thought I might be an expert on feeling old and could offer some sage advice, hmm?" she suggested, trying to sound and appear stern even though the amusement in her voice at Alistair's discomfort was clear.

"I just meant I was a different person back then" Alistair finished sadly. "I _believed_ him, you know. That it would be a glorious battle, that'd we'd win..."

"I did too" Wynne agreed, her expression softening a little as she, like all the others, looked out over the ruins of the royal encampment. "We were all a bit younger the last time we were here".

"Well, maybe not you, you've always been old" came the joking reply, the levity trying to disguise the emotion.

"With lip like that, son, you'll be lucky if you live to be half my age!"

Arthur could hardly blame the pair for their bitter recollections of Ostagar; it was not surprising to feel ..._something_ here, in the shadow of so much death. Arthur did not doubt he would also feel something similar when he returned to Highever..._if_ he could bring himself to return home when all was said and done. Were there any other way, Arthur would never have come back, never have agreed to this grim task; his memories of Ostagar were not much better than the others, the thought of the murder and betrayal he'd fled from Highever only to be met with further, even worse betrayal. If there were any other way, he would have happily left the darkspawn to their prize. But alas, they could not; the information that could be potentially recovered from the remains of the fortress was too useful to simply be abandoned. If they could prove Loghain had actively sought to destabilize a potential alliance with Orlais by murdering Cailan, then it would be a substantial nail in the usurper's coffin come the Landsmeet. Not that that knowledge made the impending task ahead any more pleasant.

As they'd drawn closer to their destination, the itching sensation beneath his skin had grown steadily stronger, growing into a full-blown irritation that would not be silenced the further south they got. He only had to look at Alistair to know his fellow Grey Warden was enduring a similar discomfort. The only darkspawn they'd encountered so far had been a pack of genlocks looting meagre scraps from the ruins of Ostagar's infirmary, but the itching didn't diminish. Looking out from the infirmary's elevated position, Arthur saw there were fewer darkspawn moving about in the open than he'd feared- five months had probably been enough for the horde to take anything of value from the site of their victory and move on, not to mention that winter had fallen upon Ostagar with a vengeance, and Arthur had the suspicion darkspawn didn't like the ice and the cold any more than humans did- but the itching in his skin said otherwise. Even if he couldn't see them, they _were_ out there.

And judging by what happened in the camp, if the Wardens could feel the darkspawn out there, it was more than likely the reverse was in effect too.

"Be wary," he muttered in a low voice as they entered the ruins. After nearly half a year, the smell of death and decay had faded to a stale foulness, but the darkspawn stench was strong. Behind him, he could hear the others quickly moving into the formation they'd discussed on the way: Shale and Sten dropping to the rear, Wynne, Arabella and Leliana drawing together in the centre, while Edward and the two Wardens moved to the front. From this formation, they could swiftly shift positions to respond to a threat from any direction.

They passed through the infirmary, passing over tangled skeletons lying on the splintered remains of pallet beds-the poor bastards were likely killed where they lay, along with the nurses and priests who'd tried to defend the wounded from the monsters with little more than their bare hands, only to share the same fate as their charges- passing by a number of crow cages, pausing briefly to recover a simple bronze key from the corpse of one of the prisoners and into the remains of the fortress's great hall. The table where he'd stood as Cailan and Loghain argued over the battle plans what seemed like a lifetime ago now lay on its side, a number of bodies piled up behind the table, clad in rusting armour, weapons lying limp in their hands of their owners; no doubt the soldiers had used the table as a barricade to make their last stand a bit longer. Looking down at the bodies, he could see, as well as soldiers, the small, fragile skeletons of what could only have been elven servants, looking as if they'd fought for their lives with little more than table knifes and candle sticks. It made him wonder; just how many people survived the battle, of the ordinary soldiers battling for their lives in the valley, the servants brought to the fortress to attend to their master's needs, the labourers, blacksmiths, nurses, Chantry acolytes and the countless other non-combatants present the night of the battle, all those not so lucky as to have a witch of Fereldan mythology swoop down to save their lives at the last second?

'_We may never know'_ the answer came to him. It could take years to fully process how many had lost their lives here, and even an official count would only make records of the soldiers, the men and women who'd fought and died with their king in the valley below. The non-combatants, the servants, healers, armourers and priests would likely go unremembered and unlamented, lucky if even their families remembered the fact they had come here and never returned, or paid the Chantry for a simple remembrance for their lost loved ones. Arthur reluctantly put such thoughts out of his mind; there would be time for such ruminations later, preferably when they were long removed from any chance of being added to the body count.

He glanced back; the others were advancing slowly, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of movement, Sten and Shale slowly advancing with Edward at the front, the mabari sniffing every few seconds for any sign of danger. Leliana had slipped an arrow from her quiver and set it to her bowstring; the bard met her lover's eyes and gave him a reassuring smile, her features set into an expression of calm resolve, trusting him to lead them all to victory and safety.

That steadfast trust and love still confounded Arthur a little, but it also strengthened his determination to be worthy of it. He would not be the reason that Leliana – or any of the others – fell in battle again.

_The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand_' he heard the bard mutter quietly.

Even after all they'd seen and endured in the Gauntlet, Arthur was still dubious about the part the Maker played in their current endeavour. While Leliana might argue that He loved the world, and that they were part of His plan to defeat the Blight, Arthur found it hard to agree with that viewpoint when letting His bride and prophet be burned at the stake, as well as unleashing the very monsters they found themselves fighting had also apparently been part of His grand plan, too. Whatever the Maker's plan for the Blight might be, they were all no more than pawns in it, and Arthur had no intention of blindly depending on the Maker to get them all through it alive.

'_That's my job'_.

Returning Leliana's smile, Arthur turned his attention forward again as he heard a screech; a genlock scout had spotted them and was running, trying to raise the alarm. Leliana's arrow took it in the lower back, and the creature spent the last few seconds of its life before another shaft hit it in the back of the head screaming desperately to draw attention, and its cries were answered; half a dozen genlock archers were already notching shafts to their bowstrings at the end of the hall, and behind them, the tall, skeletal figure of a hurlock emissary. Easy enough to deal with, as long as others didn't hear and come to investigate.

"Quickly, before they're ready" he commanded, and the ground shook violently as Shale broke into a run, leaving its companions behind as the golem hurtled towards the line of archers. The darkspawn managed to get a single volley off, but the arrows clattered harmlessly off the golem's granite hide. There was no time for the genlocks to ready a second, for Shale was amongst them like a cat among pigeons.

"Prepare to be crushed!" Shale bellowed as the golem brought his fist down on the head of one genlock, the heavy stone doing exactly what it promised to the creature's skull. A vicious backhand smashed in the chest of another. The remaining genlocks drew crude knives and axes, but such weapons had little more effect than the arrows, and by that time, the others had arrived to support Shale. Arthur buried his sword in one genlock's back and Sten took off the head of another. Alistair charged straight at the emissary, who had been hurling spells of ice and lightning at the golem over the heads of its genlock underlings.

An arrow flew past Arthur's head, embedding itself in the brow of a genlock directly in front of him; he quickly shifted targets, stabbing out at another creature trying to pry Edward's jaws off its thigh. The sword took the genlock in the throat; it fell back with a strangled gurgle and a spurt of black blood.

"Watch out!" Leliana's cry echoed the voice of his own instincts, warning of a threat from behind. Arthur whirled round to see his worst fear had been realised; a trio of hurlocks, having heard the commotion, were running up from the area where the quartermaster had been stationed, swords raised, white eyes ablaze with malicious glee. The first caught an arrow from Leliana on its shield, making a guttural noise that could only be considered laughter, but it fell silent when Arabella shot it in the shoulder with an arcane bolt; as the dazed hurlock staggered back, Leliana put three arrows in its chest. The darkspawn could do little more than gawp in astonishment at the sight before it fell to its knees and pitched face first to the floor.

The second threw itself at Arthur, the Warden blocking its blade with his own, the pair wrestling back and forth in a blade lock for a few moments before Arthur put all his weight into a shouldering motion that sent the hurlock staggering back. Before it could recover, Asturian's Might swept up, and the hurlock's withered claws flew to its neck in a vain effort to staunch the blood pouring from the furrow torn in its neck. He heard a gasp and whirled in time to see the third hurlock lunging, its sword arcing in a slash at his face; before the blade could connect, a fist-sized chunk of conjured stone took it in the chest, knocking it backward into the path of Asala; Sten's blade impaled the hurlock between the shoulders like a fish on a harpoon. The darkspawn floundered and writhed on the sword's blade like a worm on a hook before Sten's plate-booted foot was placed on the small of its back, and kicked the thing off the end of Asala. The creature fell to the floor on its hands and knees, trying to get up despite the gaping wound in its chest, but Arthur didn't give it the chance, bringing Asturian's Might down in a two handed blow on the hurlock's neck.

All that was left was the emissary, fighting with its stave as a quarterstaff against Alistair, who rained blow after blow down on the wood. By the time they'd finished off the last of their own foes, Alistair had all but defeated the emissary; he was faster and more skilled, and with its magic being undermined by his abilities, the fight was far from fair. The ex-templar feinted left, and then struck right, his shield blocking another blow from the mage's staff while his sword came down midway along the staff's length. The emissary staggered back in shock as its staff snapped in twain, and Alistair didn't give it time to recover, smashing his shield into the already staggering hurlock and flooring it, before bringing his sword plunging down, burying itself in the creature's chest even before it had fully fallen to the ground. Alistair took a deep breath as he placed a foot on the hurlock's chest to wrench his sword free, smiling in relief, then gave an outraged gasp as his foot knocked the emissary onto its front.

"What is it?" Arthur asked as Alistair knelt beside the emissary's corpse and began tugging at the body, his expression grim. Alistair stood up, pulling a pair of gilded silverite gauntlets, their gold surface almost blotted out under a layer of muck and darkspawn blood, from their place at the emissary's belt, looking furious at the desecration Cailan's armour had suffered, befouled and made little more than a trinket for a darkspawn captain; the emissary could not have the strength to wear them, and had simply kept them as a trophy like a magpie.

"Alistair, are you alright?" Wynne asked, seeing the anger in his brown eyes. Alistair sighed, the anger fading a little, and shook his head.

"I don't know. It just feels..._wrong_ to find these here, pawed over by darkspawn and thick with their rot. They were his..."

'_And had it not been for a quirk of fate, you might have perished along with your half-brother, and your armour would be being fought over by darkspawn hunting for trophies'_ Arthur knew. He should have known he wouldn't be the only one who felt death hanging so heavily over them in this place.

"I know, I feel it too" Wynne nodded, placing a sympathetic hand on Alistair's shoulder, but her voice was matter-of-fact in tone as she continued "But Cailan is not the first king to die in battle, or even the first king to die in battle against the darkspawn"

"Yes, but this wound cuts deeper"

"And it will bleed longer. But we must move on; doubtless the darkspawn are eager to give us plenty more reasons to mourn"

Nodding, Alistair accepted the explanation, slipping the gauntlets into the rucksack on his back.

"We can return them to the Crown someday," Arthur promised him, but the thought slipped away as he stepped past his companion, heading up the ramp the darkspawn had clustered around, up to the chamber at the top of the ramp, the structure familiar even despite the bodies scattered about the remnants of the fortress's chapel and the wanton vandalism inflicted upon the limestone walls and marble columns around them, memories of the last time he had stood here coming forth unbidden...

"I hope we can find more," Alistair said half to himself, pushing himself to his feet. "I hate to think of these things dividing his armour amongst themselves like prizes -" he trailed off as he realised where Arthur. "This is -"

"Yes." Arthur moved forward, the memories coming faster now, pushing through the haze. This was where it had all begun, so long ago...

'_Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, __we__ shall join __you__"._

_With that, Duncan turned and picked the chalice off the altar, holding it in both hands._

_"Daveth, step forward"._

_Daveth strode forward and Duncan held out the chalice to him. Daveth took it and raised it to his lips, drinking down a small portion of the liquid within. Duncan took the chalice from him, but as he did, Daveth staggered back, gasping in pain. The young rogue doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clawing at his temples. An agonised scream escaped his lips as he suddenly stood up and Arthur saw his eyes had rolled up in his head, exposing their bloody whites._

_"Maker's breath!" Jory gasped in shock, the panic in his voice plain for all to hear._

_As they watched in horror, Daveth collapsed to his hands and knees, one hand going to his throat as he choked and gasped for breath; with an agonised gasp, half the blood had downed he vomited back up, turning the stone floor black. His eyes returned to normal, and he looked up at Duncan, his face contorted by pain and disbelief. Duncan gave a regretful sigh and murmured sadly "I am sorry, Daveth". Daveth snarled in pained anger and then the last of his strength ebbed away and he collapsed face-down to the floor, twitching weakly for a few more seconds, and then was still. He had failed the Joining._

_Duncan turned away from the corpse of Daveth and turned to face Jory. "Step forward, Jory". But the knight was backing away, terror on his face, his resemblance to a frightened rabbit about to bolt complete as his hand slowly reached for the hilt of his sword at his back. He shook his head, backing away against the walls of the ruined chapel, looking at the chalice and its poisonous contents frightfully. _

_"I have a wife, a child...had I known" he pleaded, but Duncan's face showed no mercy. His face hardened, and his eyes were as cold and emotionless as a statue._

_"There is no turning back..." he answered in a flat voice devoid of pity or sympathy._

_Jory shook his head and wailed "No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!". Duncan's face contorted into a look of regret, but he then drew a knife with a long, curved blade and advanced on Jory. The frightened knight, trapped like a cornered animal, gave a snarl of anger and charged Duncan with a high cut at his head, but the Warden parried his blade. Jory attacked again with a low slash, but Duncan blocked, knocked Jory's sword from his hand and drove the knife deep into the side of Jory's chest, twisting the blade as it entered. Jory gasped in shock as he felt the weapon bite into his flesh. Arthur saw the knight look Duncan straight in the eye, and this time, there was regret in his eyes as he sadly intoned "I am sorry" and pulled the knife free. With a groan, Jory collapsed to his knees, his hands weakly and vainly trying to staunch the blood flowing down in his side, until as with Daveth, the last of his body's strength flowed away, and Ser Jory collapsed to lie face down in a spreading pool of his own blood. He too had failed the Joining._

'And now it's my turn'_ Arthur thought, trying to rein in his terror at the thought his own corpse might join the two already on the chapel's floor. "Step forward, Arthur" Duncan said and Arthur reluctantly compelled his own limbs to move. Duncan held out the chalice and Arthur took it, staring at the black fluid within. It stank of rotted meat, soured milk and the overpowering stench of blood, warm, salty and sickening._

_"You were called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good"_

_Arthur looked at the chalice in his hands, wondering what to do. If he refused flat-out, Duncan would kill him on the spot. Even if he managed to evade Duncan, he could see Alistair with a loaded crossbow in his hands, and he knew despite the young man's friendliness and warmth towards him, Alistair would cut him down without mercy if Duncan told him to; no doubt the Grey Wardens didn't want their secrets to get out. __'_Maybe, if I can evade them, I can seek sanctuary with the king, ask for his help..._'__ Arthur thought madly, but then knew it was pointless. Cailan's respect for the Wardens was too great; if Arthur told him that the Wardens had tried to kill him and he had forsworn his oath to join them, Calian probably wouldn't believe him, and would likely never view Arthur with the same respect he had before. _'Maker forbid, he might even withdraw his promise to help me; he might even let Howe keep Highever!'_ Arthur thought. It was more chilling than the thought of what he had to do now._

_And if he didn't go to the king, what could he do? Flee the camp? Become a landless wanderer with nothing? He would be dead within a month. Arthur sighed. He had three options. Two ended in almost certain death and ignominy. The third was dangerous, but held a greater chance of survival than the others, and would allow him to achieve all that he needed to: revenge, duty, honour, all the tasks he need to see done and completed. With a reluctant sigh, Arthur raised the chalice before Duncan in a toasting gesture, and then downed its contents in one gulp. The mix of darkspawn blood tasted as vile as it smelled, burning his stomach and throat as it went down._

_"From this moment forth, __you__ are a Grey Warden"._

_And then the pain came...hot and fast, as if molten iron had been poured onto his brain and into his stomach. As Daveth had before him, Arthur bent double with the pain, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clawing at his forehead. His vision evaporated in a haze of pain like fire coursing through his veins instead of blood, fading away into blackness, that faded into white as he saw..._

'_He saw himself in the dark ruins of a city made from black stone. Corpses lay everywhere and the stench of death and decay was overpowering. Overhead, he could hear the beating of leathery wings. He looked up and saw the sky was a foul, sickly green in colour and that looking down from on high, there was something above him; a gargantuan dragon, its scaly hide the reddish-black colour of a charred corpse. Its eyes were milky-white like the darkspawn's, seemingly blind but Arthur had no doubt the dragon could see him._

_Its reptilian head swayed snake-like from side to side as it regarded him quizzically, as though trying to make sense of what he was, and then its mouth opened wide, baring rows of dagger-sized teeth stained yellow with corruption and hissed a challenging snarl at him. As he watched, its white eyes narrowed malevolently, and he saw the edges of its jaws pull back from its teeth as if it were grinning. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that the monster was grinning demonically at him..._

"Arthur? Arthur? Arthur!"

Arthur came back to reality with a bump, finding himself standing as if in a trance with Alistair and Leliana beside him. The other Warden's gaze was understanding, if a bit worried, but Leliana looked a little unnerved.

"I'm all right" He replied, shaking his head to clear it. "This was where I took my Joining".

He caught Leliana's questioning glance, as well as Arabella's curious expression and added, "The rite whereby we become Grey Wardens. There were three of us; I was the only one who survived."

"Arthur..." He caught the warning note in Alistair's voice and scowled.

"Secrecy is why we're currently in the mess we find ourselves in at present," Arthur retorted tersely. It was true; the Grey Wardens' penchant for shrouding their rites and abilities in mystery hadn't done them many favours among Ferelden's nobility, as the ease with which Loghain had convinced many to accept his slander at the start of his campaign proved.

"I get your point, but certain secrets are kept for a reason," Alistair countered, with a subtle gesture to those behind them: Shale, Sten...even Wynne. Each of them had purposes of their own, beyond their current task, and if this particular secret became widely known, the task of recruiting, of rebuilding the Order in the wake of the disaster that had befallen it would likely become even more difficult.

Arthur nodded with a sigh and turned his attention to Leliana. "I'll tell you later," he promised the bard.

"Only if it doesn't cause you more trouble," Leliana replied, though she looked pleased with the promise...and still more than a little worried.

Arthur eyed Alistair challengingly, and he nodded slowly. "Her, all right, and I suppose Arabella has a right to know too...but none of the others, agreed?"

"Agreed." A flash of silver caught his eye, all but buried in the snow covering the rubble that had once been the chapel's altar. Kneeling down, the fingers of the Juggernaut gauntlet closed around cool metal, and he lifted it, brushing the dust and ice from its surface.

"We'll likely be needing this, at some point," he said in a solemn voice, holding up the great silver chalice. Alistair took it, shared loss and regret in their gaze.

"Yes," he said awkwardly, accepting the Joining chalice and slipping it into his pack with the gauntlets. "I suppose we will." His lips twisted into a wry grin as he looked towards Arabella.

"What are you looking at me for?"

"Once we figure out how to perform the ritual, you'll be drinking from this thing" Arthur replied with a dry smile, the thought reminding him that they didn't know _how_ to perform the Joining at present.

'_I think a trip back to Soldier's Peak to pick Avernus's brains before we head on to Orzammar might be in order'_.

"At least darkspawn blood isn't likely to be in short supply here," Alistair quipped, striding in the direction of the camp's centre. "Let's go."

###########################

Several short but bloody skirmishes later with a variety of foes- blight wolves, as well as more hurlock and genlock looters prowling about aimlessly- brought them into the heart of what had been the encampment, and also several more pieces of Cailan's armour, which had evidently been divided up among the higher ranking darkspawn. The alpha wearing Cailan's breastplate and carrying the royal shield had derived a greater modicum of protection, though such had made little difference when Leliana put two arrows simultaneously through the slit of its visor. The armour had been heavily defaced by its new wearer, but not beyond repair.

"There's the statue," Alistair said, stepping over several darkspawn corpses as he strode toward the broken statue of Andraste, where Elric had said he had hidden the key that Cailan had entrusted him with. Dropping to his knees, Alistair sifted through the rubble from the vandalised edifice, digging through the dirt beneath until he came up with a heavy brass key, elaborately grooved. At the same time, Arabella used the key they'd plundered from the corpse in the crow cage to open a chest that turned out to be a cache of supplies the mages had kept. As the younger woman gleefully helped herself to a magical staff of red steel, Arthur saw Wynne staring without seeing into the distance.

"Wynne?" The mage was staring at what remained of the Magi encampment where Arthur had first met her, her eyes distant and sad. She glanced up as Arthur approached and offered him a weary frown.

"So many died here" she said softly, "and how many more lost their lives to Uldred's insanity?"

"With people like you, Irving and Bella remaining, the Circle will be rebuilt," Arthur assured her, "and it will emerge from that tragedy stronger than it was."

"In time, perhaps," the mage sighed. "If the templars permit it, but such broodings are of no use right now." She pointed, her expression becoming decisive. "The King's encampment was this way."

The tents and their contents had long since been destroyed, either by the darkspawn or the elements, but the royal strongbox remained, evidently too heavy to be carried off. The chest itself was made of solid oak that had once been overlaid with ebony and gold. The precious metal had been scraped away, the wood scuffed and scratched by countless efforts at breaching the strongbox, but the lock had held. Even Shale had to exert a considerable amount of effort to tip it back upright.

Alistair crouched before it, his expression worried as he looked at the battered edges of the keyhole and the deep scratches on the lid and around the edges; it was plain that numerous attempts had been made to force the lock, but the key slid in easily, and with a faint _click, _the chest released.

The strongbox had been well made; the contents were dry and unsoiled, if a bit jumbled. Lying across the top of the pile was a long, thin bundle wrapped in red silk, embroidered in gold with the heraldry of House Theirin. Lifting it out, Alistair unwrapped the covering to reveal a long scabbard of crimson dyed wood, ringed with gold bands along its length. The sword's hilt was wrapped in leather the same crimson hue as the scabbard, woven and bound with gold wire, and the crossguard and pommel were golden, the latter carved into the shape of a snarling wolf's head, its fangs fashioned of ivory and its eyes set with perfectly cut diamonds; a weapon truly worthy of a king.

Alistair swallowed, his expression a play of conflicting emotions as he lifted the blade from the chest. Maric's sword. The King of Ferelden's sword. His_ father's_ sword.

"Draw it," Arthur urged him quietly. Alistair glanced at his fellow Warden dubiously, but grasped the hilt and slid the sword from its scabbard, the runes of enchantment infused into the dragonbone shimmering vibrantly, casting an electric blue light across the ground.

"It's a fine sword" Arthur remarked, watching as Alistair, despite his unease at holding it, tested the sword's balance with several experimental swings. Satisfied with the sword's balance, he made a strike with all his weight behind it at one of the ruined tent posts; the wood parted cleanly in two as the dragonbone blade cut through it like paper.

"That it is" Alistair agreed as he spun the blade in one final figure-of-eight and slid it back into its sheath.

"And now it is yours" Leliana added. "A fitting sentiment, that once more a scion of the Theirin line should take up the same weapon used to defend Ferelden's safety once more to save her from a greater threat" the tale-teller in her clearly coming to the fore.

"Eh?" was the best a completely nonplussed Alistair could manage in reply.

"You said Cailan planned to slay the Archdemon with it," she told him. "I think they'd both want you to wield it."

He snorted. "Leliana, Maric didn't even want _me_! And Cailan acted as if I didn't even exist."

"If he didn't want you, he could have had you given to the Chantry at birth or left in the woods for the wolves, rather than have his brother-in-law bring you up" Arthur countered. "He couldn't acknowledge you openly...not without making you a target for people wanting to use you to undermine his rule or usurp the throne. He made certain you were looked after. And I think Cailan knew more than he let on. Even a blind fool could see the resemblance between you, and he agreed with the decisions Duncan made that were intended to keep you out of the fighting, to keep you safe. Like it or not, you're heir to them both...and that sword is better than your current weapon"

The last argument plainly swayed him more than any of the others; he nodded and unbuckled his sword belt, slipping off the simple red steel sword he had obtained at Redcliffe and replacing it with Maric's sword. "I'm not wearing the armour, though," he warned as he returned to sifting through the chest's contents, lifting out a number of leather sacks and setting them to one side, the faint jingle and the weight of them making it clear what they contained.

"How much do you think is here?" Arthur asked in a soft voice, opening one and peering inside: sovereigns, gleaming golden in the light of the sun, too many to count at present.

"Enough to make a sizable dent in the treasury," Alistair muttered, looking awed and almost guilty. "What would he have needed it for?"

"Pay for mercenaries perhaps?"Leliana suggested, leaning over Arthur's shoulder to peer curiously into the sack. "Perhaps your King Cailan was more aware of the seriousness of the situation than he let on. Such a sum would easily buy the services of several skilled war bands, Fereldan or otherwise."

"Loghain refused," Alistair replied with a grimace. "I heard him and Cailan arguing about it once; he said that only patriots should be used to defend Ferelden. He said Ferelden no more needed mercenary scum to fight its battles than it needed 'Orlesian charity' to help defend it"

"A noble sentiment, but sadly patriots are rarely in strong supply," Wynne remarked. "Loghain could not have been that short-sighted; he knew how large the horde numbered, he should have been among the first to welcome more soldiers against the darkspawn. What could have possessed him to want to limit the numbers of Cailan's army?"

"That's something I plan on asking him...about thirty seconds before I take his head off" Arthur said grimly, setting the sacks aside and pulling out a scroll case, slipping a sheet of parchment from within, scanning the writing on the page. What he saw shocked him to the core.

"Maker's breath, Elric was right! Cailan _was_ planning an alliance with Orlais!" he exclaimed. "This is a letter from Empress Celene, offering the service of her chevaliers, as well as the aid of the Grey Wardens of Orlais!"

Alistair's eyes met Arthur's, the Warden's hazel gaze burning with anger as he took the parchment. They had both heard Loghain's refusal to accept aid from Orlais, even to wait for the arrival of the Grey Wardens from that nation. Alistair quickly ran his eyes down the document before reading aloud for the others:

_**To his Majesty, King Cailan I of Ferelden: **_

_**Orlais's Warden-Commander of the Grey assures me that we face a Blight. This matter threatens us both, and we must work together to fight it, lest it devour all. Our two nations have not had a happy history, but that is all it is - history. It is the future that is at stake now. Let us put aside our father's disagreements so that we may secure a future for both our countries. **_

_**My chevaliers stand ready and will accompany the Grey Wardens of Orlais to Ferelden. At your word the might of Orlais will march to reinforce the Ferelden forces. **_

_**Sincerely, Empress Celene I**_

"So it _is_ true" Alistair sighed as he finished reading the letter and held it out for another to read. "Cailan had convinced the forces of Orlais to ally against the darkspawn"

"Empress Celene was merely awaiting his response" Wynne added as she too skimmed over the letter's contents.

"A response that never came, and never will, thanks to Loghain's treachery" Alistair spat hatefully. Arthur barely heard Wynne's attempt to counsel and cool Alistair's anger as Leliana and Arabella looked over his shoulder to read the letter themselves. Sten and Shale, having no interest whatsoever in Fereldan politics, stood at the edge of the pavilion, keeping watch for more foes.

"The chevaliers are formidable warriors," Leliana said gravely, peering over the letter's top to look at Arthur as she continued. "Their presence on the battlefield would have been no small boon."

"Damn that man to hell!" Alistair drove a balled-up fist into the ground. "Damn his pride and damn his prejudices!". Furious, Alistair slammed his fist repeatedly into the remains of one of the tent posts, splintering it even further.

"Why? Why would he do it? There _has_ to be more to this than just his fear the Blight was an Orlesian hoax. Even _his_ paranoia couldn't justify that explanation forever!"

He withdrew another piece of parchment and read it, whistling loudly as he took in what was written. "The Empress was even planning an official visit to Ferelden to create a formal alliance, once the Blight had been dealt with!"

Alistair passed Arthur the second document, and he held it beside the first, comparing the two:

_**Cailan, **_

_**The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course? The darkspawn have odd timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden. **_

_**X**_

_**Celene**_

The first was highly formal: a perfect example of a diplomatic missive. The second was unmistakeably more casual in tone; oddly, it appeared to have been crumpled up at some point, and then smoothed out again.

_On first name terms, were you? And why would you want to hide what this letter said, Cailan? Unless there is more we haven't yet seen? _Arthur mused.

"Rather informal, isn't it?" Arabella remarked as she skimmed over the letter. "One might think they were best friends...or man and wife"

"While I doubt Loghain would approve his son-in-law becoming overly cordial with the daughter of the monarch he'd spent most of his life fighting, simply trying to pursue closer relations with Orlais still doesn't seem enough of a motive for Loghain to want Cailan dead" said Alistair.

"No" Arthur agreed "but perhaps this might prove the final piece in the puzzle" he added, holding up another sheaf of parchment.

"Who's this letter from?"

"Arl Eamon" Arthur replied to Alistair's question before he began to read the script on the parchment.

_**Your Majesty,**_

_**My men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun.**_

_**Cailan, as your uncle, I beseech you not to join the Grey Wardens on the field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death, and it pains me to even think of it, would plunge Ferelden into chaos.**_

"That is not so surprising," Wynne offered. "All of us present knew the danger the horde posed, and many, both here and at court, worried about the King putting himself at such risk when he had no obvious heir."

"Yes, well, Eamon had something to say about that too," Arthur added, shaking his head slowly as he continued reading.

_**And yes, perhaps when this is over, you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed.**_

_**Please nephew, consider my words, and Andraste's grace be with you.**_

_**Your uncle, and faithful servant,**_

_**Eamon.**_

Leliana gave a low whistle. "Judging by what we've just read, I think all of us could make an educated guess as to who King Cailan had in mind for his next bride, yes?"

"Celene?" Alistair said incredulously, running a hand through his hair, his expression one of shock. "Cailan was planning to marry the Empress of Orlais?"

"Such a union would go a great way towards healing the rift between Orlais and Ferelden left by the occupation, and the wealth and bounty of Orlais would be a great boon to help the rebuilding effort in the wake of the Blight" Wynne replied fairly.

"And all for the cost of a few jaded, embittered veterans of the rebellion losing their power and influence at court, one Loghain Mac Tir among them" Arthur finished disgustedly. "I doubt very much that, were they to wed, the Empress would want her new husband's ex-wife and father-in-law lingering about at court like a bad smell. Doubtless, Loghain and Anora would be banished back to Gwaren, never to be heard from again"

"And Loghain would lose all the power he'd wielded for near thirty years as the power behind the throne for Maric and Cailan" Wynne added, the disgust in her voice equal to Arthur's. "Which means everyone who has died in this bloody civil war-your family, Arthur, Cailan and all the soldiers, men and women who died here, my colleagues at the tower- have died because that bastard wanted to keep his hands on his ill-gotten power!"

"You'd be correct," Arthur agreed sombrely, "assuming he knew about it." The look that passed between him, Wynne and Alistair was grave. If Loghain _had_ known of it, then they had the proof they needed to tear down Loghain's claims about Ostagar as the self-serving lies they were at the Landsmeet.

"Cailan would never have told him" Wynne said, running her fingers through her grey hair, her expression troubled, "but Loghain and his daughter are nothing if not cunning, and they have legions of spies at their disposal; it stands to reason one or both of them could have found out about this and planned a way to remove Cailan, as well as exact revenge on Eamon for daring to suggest such a notion"

Taking the parchment back, Alistair slipped all three back into the case, tucked it back into the strongbox and then began replacing the sacks of sovereigns, along with his old sword. When all were placed securely in the chest, Alistair closed and locked it once more.

"What are we going to do with it all?" Arthur asked, watching his companion closely.

"For the moment, that's the safest place for it. We'll keep some of the gold; it'll help towards our expenses, and the rest will go a long way towards helping Eamon resupply and outfit his army for the coming conflict. The letters can be given to Eamon to safekeeping until the Landsmeet, along with Cailan's armour. You're right, it should be returned to the Crown someday." Standing, he looked up at Shale. "You are the only one of us strong enough to carry the chest when we leave here. Would you, please?"

The golem regarded him in silence for a long moment, then gave a resonant chuckle. "Miraculous what differences simple courtesies make, do you not agree? It is even stranger still that the foibles of weak, fleshy beings should matter at all to me. Still, I suppose after thirty years of 'Golem, do this', 'Golem, do that', 'Golem, obey your master', it is nice to be treated like an equal, rather than a mindless drone. Very well, I will carry it. But only so far as Redcliffe, mind you."

"Agreed," Alistair said with a smile. "And thank you." Bending, he picked up his rucksack and turned to his companion. "We'll divvy up our shares of the coin later, when we're back at camp...far from here". Chuckling, he turned to Arthur and said "For now, I must ask, since we have what we came for, do we intend to linger much longer or-"

His voice trailed off, his eyes going wide with shock as he stared past them, out onto the great bridge that connected the two halves of the fortress across the ravine below.

"Maker, no!" The words tore from him in a breathless groan as he broke into a run, straight toward the bridge, heedless of what danger might be waiting there.

"Alistair, wait!" Arthur cried, but Alistair gave no sign that he'd heard. "Come on and stay together! Let's reach him before he gets himself killed" Arthur snapped as he broke into a sprint after his fellow Warden, the others following close behind.

#####################

The bridge had taken a severe beating from darkspawn siege engines. As he ran, Arthur remembered how he and Alistair had raced across the bridge, their shields up to protect them from the volleys of arrows raining down, being thrown off balance by the impact of boulders as big as oxen crashing into the walls, dodging the flames created as blazing casks of pitch smashed into the parapets, dousing men, stone and wood in unquenchable flames, hearing the clash of blade on blade, the clamour of battle raging far below them. The bodies of fallen defenders and darkspawn, reduced by time and scavengers to rusting armour clinging to rotted flesh and crumbling bone, littered the length of the bridge. Dodging to the left as he felt a crumbling section of the walk starting to give way under the force of erosion and war-inflicted damage, Arthur raced on, relieved to see Alistair had stopped up ahead, but fully intending to remonstrate with his fellow Warden for running headlong into potential danger, wanting to know what had caused him to race ahead so rashly -

"Oh, Maker -" He stared up at the framework of broken timbers that had been lashed together in a crude cross, and at the body of the King of Ferelden dangling high above them, cruelly secured to the frame in a rudimentary crucifixion, spears driven through his arms, legs and chest, the corpse riddled with arrows and stiff with rigor mortis. Though it had been months since the battle, there was no sign of decay; Cailan's head drooped forward onto his chest, eyes closed as if asleep, his face slack in death. The mutual stamp of their sire was even easier to see now that he knew it was there, and Arthur felt the strong urge to look away; the lifeless face looked far too much like Alistair's for his liking.

"He – he looks like he died just yesterday." Alistair turned to Arthur, his eyes haunted and wide with horror. "Could he have been alive all this time, being tortured by those _monsters_?"

The darkspawn are crude and savage creatures; doubtless they would have done such if it were within their power" Wynne stated sadly, stepping forward to examine the corpse with great reluctance. "But they did not. I was there on the field of battle when Cailan fell; I saw the blow that slew him. Whatever he suffered, Cailan was at least spared that indignity" Wynne finished.

At this point, Arabella interjected. "This is the work of magic. It would take incredibly powerful magic to keep decay and rot from setting in, and only the darkest kind of magic would grant access to such ability; blood magic, sorcery, necromancy"

Arthur stared at her in astonishment. Necromancy? From the darkspawn? Behind him, Leliana knelt, her head bowed in prayer, desperately murmuring the words of the Chant:

_"For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

"We've got to get him down from there," Alistair choked out. "He's the King of Ferelden; he deserves a pyre, the proper funerary rites."

'_If you happen to find Cailan's body, see it off. No matter what people say of him, he was still our king, and a good man. He does not deserve to be left to rot amidst the darkspawn's filth'._

Elric's last words came to him unbidden, but Arthur forced himself to put them out of his mind. He'd only met Cailan a handful of times both before and after his coronation, mostly in the company of his family when Bryce took his wife and sons with him to the capital while on official business. He hadn't spoken at length with the young king before their meeting at Ostagar's gates, and yet for all that, Arthur's memories of Cailan, both from his father's opinion and his own experience was of a high-spirited, enthusiastic young man who, for all his faults and foibles, had tried to do the right thing in life, to be the same sort of king his father had been. Maybe he hadn't been the best king Ferelden had ever known, but he had deserved a better end than this. It rankled Arthur to leave his liege to the mercy of the elements, the wolves and the darkspawn, but lingering to give him the last rites and risking their lives in the process did not seem like a good idea.

"Alistair, I don't think we have time." The itching sensation was growing stronger again; they might have driven off the darkspawn for the time being, but they'd be back soon, and in greater numbers too. '_Surely he can feel it too?_'. And there was something else too...something powerful, dangerous, and getting closer by the second. "We have what we came for; we should get out of here. _Now._"

The hazel eyes that met his blue ones were anguished, but aware, and Alistair nodded. "You're right," he managed reluctantly. "Let's get back to the chest and -" He lifted his head suddenly, his eyes widening as he stared past Arthur, directly ahead of them. Arthur's gaze followed Alistair's, their hands going to their swords as they realised simultaneously that they were too late.

They were no longer alone.

At the end of the bridge, a genlock stood watching them, its skull marked with the elaborate head crest of an emissary. There was something about the creature that set Arthur's nerves on edge; even for a darkspawn, its skin was pale, almost the bluish-white of a corpse left in the snow. Its hands were gesticulating wildly, its fingers opening and clenching rapidly as if it channelled magical power to its will, orbs of eldritch blue light flickering into existence in the palms of its hands.

"Shut it up!" Arthur shouted, but Alistair shook his head. "It's out of my range!"

Even as the words left his mouth, the genlock's sorcery reached its climax; with a high-pitched wail, the emissary clapped its hands together, and the light darted forward straight at them. Its eyes, seeming to burn in their deep sockets with the same eldritch fire it had just unleashed, met his for a long moment, and Arthur didn't like the way they seemed to narrow triumphantly. The genlock held his gaze for a second, before it turned and fled, laughing cruelly as it departed.

_What in the Maker's name was that all abo -?_

"ARTHUR!" Leliana's horrified scream drew his attention from the fleeing emissary to the bridge before them, where the corpses of the dead, both human and darkspawn, were slowly rising to their feet, skeletal fingers reaching out to curl around the discarded hilts of rusted weapons, orbs of magical light glowing in empty eye sockets.

"It seems we have found our necromancer," Arabella observed calmly, sending a fireball sailing past him to explode among the ranks of the risen dead. Bones scattered in all directions, hitting the stone parapets and shattering into fragments, or flew over the edge and into oblivion; fortunately, the wights didn't seem to be reassembling. "He's not as powerful as I feared, or he doesn't want to expend his energy trying to kill us alone"

Behind him, Arthur could hear the crash of Sten and Shale meeting the charge of their attackers, smashing decrepit bones into powder with every blow, but he did not turn around. Other foes had joined the undead onslaught; hurlocks, loosing arrows and crossbow bolts into their midst. Arthur gasped as one such arrow found a gap in his armour. Leliana dropped a hurlock crossbowman with an arrow to the throat while Alistair and Arthur, their shields raised to ward off more missiles, raced to deal with the darkspawn as the others fended off the necromantic constructs. Arthur caught an arrow on his shield and slammed it into the offending hurlock's gut. He didn't bother to finish the thing off; Edward darted forward and sank his fangs into the creature's throat, tearing it away. Asturian's Might slashed through the chest of another hurlock desperately trying to notch another shaft, carving the wood of the bow in half as the sword collided with the bow. Alistair fought like a dervish, the dragonbone sword in his grasp splitting another archer from chin to crotch, before he whirled on his heel to behead a genlock's skeleton shambling towards him. The darkspawn archers were dead in less time than it had taken them to loose their first volley, and the Wardens turned away from the corpses to help their companions deal with the remaining undead.

Arthur smashed another skeleton to the floor and smashed his plated foot down on its skull repeatedly until there was nothing but shattered bone fragments beneath him. Edward tore off the leg of another undead creature at the knee, and Alistair decapitated it as it tried crawling towards him. Looking up, Arthur saw Shale's massive fist slam into the chest of another undead warrior, sending bone and armour fragments flying, and Leliana duck under the swing of another wight's greatsword, drawing the daggers at her belt in a fluid motion, slicing off the corpse's sword arm at the elbow with little difficulty, before taking off its head with her next stroke. As the headless body toppled to the ground, Arthur saw it was over; the darkspawn and the necromancer's minions were destroyed, and only at the cost of a few minor wounds; his arrow injury, and a few scratches to the more lightly armoured of his companions, to which Wynne and Arabella quickly attended.

"We must go after it," Wynne said, her expression hard as she stared in the direction that the necromancer had vanished.

"Why? We have the items we were sent here to claim. Why expend further energies and further risk to ourselves chasing down a single darkspawn saarebas?" Sten intoned as the qunari wrenched Asala from the ribcage of a long-dead knight from South Reach.

"That depends," Arabella replied, crushing a hurlock skull to powder under her boot "on whether you wish to fight only the darkspawn in the battles yet to come, or if you would rather wait until they march with an army of the undead at the vanguard, raising the bodies of their dead _and _ours as they march on Ferelden?"

Arthur could already imagine the horrific scenes; the archdemon and its hordes bearing down on Denerim, Loghain and his men trying to stave off their onslaught even as they drowned beneath a tide of the walking dead, being dragged down as the fallen, both of their comrades and the darkspawn they slew, rose up from death to fight on. It was a scene taken straight from a nightmare...and unless as Arabella said, they destroyed the necromancer, it was a nightmare that would swift become reality.

"Good point," Alistair agreed with a grimace, "but do you really think that the one we saw is the only one that exist?"

"Maybe," the mage woman agreed "maybe not. This would seem to be an ideal place to learn and perfect the command of such magic, but even if there are more, defeating this one will grant us the knowledge of how to defeat any such creatures we may face in the future."

"We go after him, then," Arthur said as he took off in the same direction the necromancer had fled, hoping to catch and slay the creature before it could evade them and start raising an army of the walking dead to aid the archdemon's conquests.

###############

"How did I know we'd end up back here?" Arthur muttered in an irritable voice. High above, the Tower of Ishal rose above them, its walls gleaming brightly in the watery light of the winter sun, despite the damage done to the towering structure by the darkspawn. The necromancer had fled inside, darting in through the doors as the group were held by a mob of shrieks that had emerged to defend it.

"There is a certain sense of inevitability to it," he agreed, their eyes meeting for a long moment. This was where it had truly begun. Though they had first met days before the battle, it had been during the desperate race against time to reach the beacon at the tower's summit, a 'safe' assignment turned into a desperate fight for their lives, that the bonds that held them together now had first been forged in blood and fear and fire. Two frightened recruits had stood before these doors nearly five months ago; two seasoned Grey Wardens approached them with grim determination now.

Alistair cast a glance over his shoulder at the sun, which had reached its zenith, and was would soon be making its descent. "We must be swift."

"Why, were you planning on sightseeing while we're here?"

"Not bloody likely" Alistair muttered to Arthur's quip as they started inside the great doors. Inside, the tower was much the same as it had been the last; crawling with darkspawn like an overturned wasp's nest, genlocks and hurlocks emerging from the same chambers as before, necessitating the companions to fight all through the first floor of the tower until they reached the stairway leading up to the next floor. Beside them lay a gaping hole in the ground that had not been there the first time.

"That must be how they got in here that night, how they managed to ambush us up above" Alistair muttered.

"Up or down?" Sten questioned. Arthur tried to open the door forward, only to find it resisted all attempts to open it, even when he tried forcing it with his shoulder. "Blocked from the other side"

"Down the hole and into the deeps then," Alistair griped. "I don't want to even imagine where this goes". There was no other alternative; the taint below their skin clearly indicated the darkspawn had fled below, and in any case, even if the way were open up, Arthur wasn't sure he'd wish to ascend to the tower's summit, to see the bodies of Tobias, Mathis and all the others who died that night trying to defend or reach the beacon, nor to be reminded of how close he and Alistair had come to dying up there, their bodies left to rot or be picked over by the darkspawn, forgotten and forever lost.

Descending carefully over the slope of crumbling earth and loose stone, they soon found themselves within what must have been the catacombs of the original Tevinter fortress, if the sarcophagi and sepulchres lining the walls were anything to go on. The long abandoned tombs and passageways were festooned with cobwebs and several of the tombs looked as they had been disturbed, the bones removed and cracked open for the marrow. '_Which begs the question, what did that?_' Arthur wondered.

That question was answered for him as he stepped into another tomb and an immense weight descended on his back, sending him flying. Rolling onto his back, Arthur saw his attacker was a gigantic spider, like the sort Morrigan was able to transform into, all hairy bristles and clicking fangs, eight black eyes gleaming hungrily at the prospect of fresh prey and stinking to high heaven of rotted meat, decay, and worst of all, the taint; the creature had clearly gorged itself on the only prey in abundance. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw several more spiders descending to attack the others. One was killed the second its feet touched the floor, Shale's fists pulverising the huge arachnid but the others swiftly leapt to attack the rest of the party.

But Arthur's attention was forced to return to the one that had attacked him as, with a swipe of a barbed foreleg, the spider knocked his helm from his head and then descended on him, and Arthur barely had time to seize the hooked, venom-dripping mandibles stabbing for his face as the spider's full weight landed on him. He cried out as he lost his grip slightly and one of the hooked barbs drew blood. But as the spider sought to press its advantage, it let out a keening wail as Leliana sank her daggers into its abdomen with a spray of dark ichor. Alistair also joined the fight, plunging his father's sword into the spider's thorax, the spider's screams intensifying as the sword's runes burned its tainted flesh with an audible hiss. Reacting instinctively, Arthur wiped the blood from the cut to his face and slammed his fist into the spider's head, the creature rolling off him as the poisonous blood ravaged its eyes. Heaving the spider off him, Arthur seized his sword from where it had fallen and together, the three hacked the creature into pieces. Their swords dealt horrific damage, but the spider wouldn't die until they had all but dismembered it in a frenzy of severed limbs and spilled ichor. Looking round, Arthur saw the other spiders were dead, more easily dealt with, lying on their backs with their legs curled inward as magically conjured flames steadily devoured their husks. Arthur gave a sigh of relief, then staggered slightly to one side, feeling dizzy and nauseous. He dabbed at the cut on his cheek, and saw green mixed with the red. The spider may have only gotten a small amount of its venom into the wound, but whatever was in it was clearly potent and fast-acting, no doubt assisted by the taint coursing through the spider's body.

"Maker, I hate spiders...especially those of the giant, flesh-eating variety" he cursed as he tried to stay on his feet and Wynne and Leliana raced over to him. "Drink," Wynne ordered him, pressing a small vial full of greenish-yellow liquid to his mouth. The Warden obeyed without question; the antivenin was bitter, but the dizziness and urge to vomit were only getting stronger and he downed the mixture, trying to not let his body simply regurgitate it. As they waited for the antivenin to take effect, Wynne cleaned and closed the cut the spider's fang had made, then left to attend to the others, while Arthur slid to the floor, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass.

He felt something resting on his shoulder, and was not surprised to feel Leliana's arm slipping around his waist as he rested against the wall. "I'll be fine," he assured the worried bard.

"Enjoy the rest while you can," Leliana replied seriously, her green eyes haunted.

"Are you all right?" Arthur glanced down at his lover in sudden concern. "That damn thing didn't bite you, did it?"

"No." The bard shook her head as she looked up, her eyes mixed with fear and disgust. "It just seems so...so wrong that the final rest of those warriors, those brave men and women who gave their lives to defend this land should be defiled by that, that..._monster_, that it should profane their earthly remains and prevent their spirits passage on to the Maker's side. '_Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against his children_...'" she spat angrily.

"But it's not really them that we're fighting, not truly?" Arthur countered. "If their souls have gone to the Maker, then all that's left are just empty husks. And" he paused, trying to find the right words "if their souls are trapped in slavery to that fiend, then, Maker willing, destroying it should break any such hold and send them onto the next world"

"This is true," Leliana agreed, giving him a wan but comprehending smile. "I must try to remember that, though it is still a frightening notion."

"To say the least," Alistair concurred, turning his head as he wiped the spider ichor off Maric's sword and looked in the direction the necromancer's spoor indicated it had fled. "Maker, you'd think he'd run out of lyrium sometime."

"Darkspawn draw their magic from the taint itself, according to research the Wardens and Circle collaborated on over the centuries; in some ways, their practices are not too dissimilar to blood magic" Wynne remarked. "I fear the only way we're going to stop that creature's work is with its death"

"Glad to see you're onboard" Arthur joked, considering they couldn't leave until the damn genlock had been put down. "It's certainly not going to run out of corpses any time soon," Arthur muttered as he stepped away from Leliana and recovered his shield and helm. Arabella had been right; Ostagar was the ideal place for a necromancer to perfect the dark arts, and unless they silenced the genlock before long, its mastery over such power would be total.

"I can see light ahead. Might be a way out, or at least it may be where our necromancer's gone"

#############

The tunnel they followed sure enough led to the surface, and as they emerged from the tunnel, Arthur realised they were now on the valley floor, where the battle itself had been fought and lost, and where so many brave men and women had lost their lives because of one man's fear and ambition. Unbidden, the memories came back...

_An uneasy silence fell as all in the valley watched, both willing the horde to charge them and dreading it. The seconds felt like hours as everyone waited to see if the horde would take the bait. And then, looking through the telescope, Arthur saw the hurlock general look up and down the length of the horde, as if inspecting its troops, then raised its sword above its head, and then let its arm fall. With a collective screech of delight, the darkspawn in the front line broke into a run, followed swiftly by the lines behind them, all racing straight for the valley._

_They were charging. The Battle of Ostagar had begun._

_The horde quickly began covering ground, crossing the plain at a sprint, all the while screaming battle cries and howling in bestial rage. A good number fell to the traps and snares Arthur had seen Cailan's men setting up in the valley, but these didn't slow the horde as a whole; the loss of a few hundred darkspawn to rope snares, stake-lined pits and bear traps likely mattered little to a general with tens of thousands of troops at its disposal. The darkspawn as a whole ignored the loss of their comrades to the pitfalls of the plains and kept running, eager to get into combat with the enemy._

_"ARCHERS!" Arthur heard Cailan's bellowed order even from high above. Looking back, he saw the companies of archers at the back of the line quickly light and nock arrows to the strings of their bows. A second voice shouted out and the archers loosed. A volley of flaming arrows flew into the rain-soaked night sky, followed by a second, and a third. Hundreds more darkspawn fell to the shafts; some killed by the shafts raining down, others as they were slowed by a minor wound from an arrow, then knocked aside by their kin charging from behind and trampled underfoot. As with the traps, the arrows slowed the darkspawn onslaught, but didn't stop it, however._

_When only twenty metres separated the charging darkspawn from his forces, Cailan shouted another command "HOUNDS!". At this, a chilling howl rang out from the front ranks, one Edward answered with a keening howl of his own as on the valley floor, dozens of his mabari kin ran from the front lines of the Ferelden army, hurtling like multi-coloured thunderbolts straight at the darkspawn, barking and snarling defiantly as they ran straight at the foe. The war hounds hit the frontrunners of the horde with a vengeance, bowling over full-grown darkspawn and savaging them with tooth and claw. The horde's momentum finally slowed as the darkspawn fought to contain the snapping, barking, furred threat in their midst. Blades clashed and mabaris whimpered and howled as the darkspawn set about the dogs with a vengeance, but the mabaris were doing their work well; the horde had stopped, distracted._

_And that was the moment Cailan seized. As Arthur watched, he saw the young king draw his mighty sword from its scabbard on his back, raise it to the heavens and look back at the men and women of his army. And then Cailan roared his battle cry, bellowing it so loud even Arthur, Alistair and Edward heard it atop the bridge._

_"FOR FERELDEN!"_

_His army answered with a deafening roar of pride and courage, and as one, they charged with Cailan, Duncan and the Grey Wardens at their head, shouting battle cries and cheering as they ran headlong at the darkspawn, all eager to get into combat with the monsters..._

Arthur shook his head to clear it; there would be time enough for such remembrances later. Looking out across the field, he saw the snow had come down particularly heavy here, the only indication of the countless thousands who'd lost their lives that dark night found in the countless, misshapen lumps left lying where they'd fallen, buried and hidden beneath the snow. But before Arthur could wonder how anyone might make suitable burial arrangements for so many, a shout came from the far end of the field, where what seemed aeons ago, Cailan and his army had mustered for battle, and Arthur looked to see the genlock necromancer dead ahead, its clawed fingers again gesticulating wildly as it channelled yet more magical power into its grasp, clearly preparing another necromantic conjuration.

"Kill it, before it completes its spell!" Arthur roared, but even as the mages and Leliana loosed spells and arrows, the genlock's spell reached its crescendo and a flurry of eldritch blue darts flew into the snow, seeking out the countless corpses buried beneath the white covering the valley floor.

Sure enough, shapes began to emerge from the snow with howls and snarls of feral anger, and Arthur felt his blood run cold as he recognized the battered armour. He'd not had the chance to meet most of the other Grey Wardens before the battle had been joined, his only knowledge of them the pleasant stories and reminisces of Alistair's around the camp fire, but the griffons emblazoned on breastplates, shields, sword pommels and in medallions dangling around their necks made the identity of the figures clambering back to their feet unmistakeable. Unlike most of the other risen corpses they had been facing, reduced to little more than rotted flesh and denuded bone, these seemed to have been preserved by the same magic that had kept Cailan from decay, almost as if the darkspawn were taking one final vengeance against the mortal enemies of their kind. '_Is vengeance even something the darkspawn understand_?' Arthur mused for about half a second, just before he was returned to reality as he narrowly blocked the sword of a long-dead Warden cleaving for his neck.

Arthur felt his resolve begin to falter. His speech to Leliana had sounded reasonable, perfectly rational when referring to long dead bodies all but unrecognisable, but to find himself facing the visages of allies that he had known, however briefly, and to know that, for a quirk of fate, he could easily have been one of the mindless horrors shambling back to a twisted unlife–

"Oh shit!" he heard Alistair exclaim. Arthur looked up to see the necromancer pouring yet more dark magic into the ground, and watched as to his horror as what he had taken for a hillock buried beneath the snow slowly began to move...

"YOU!" Wynne yelled angrily "That's it! The fiend who slew Cailan!" as the undead ogre slowly staggered to its feet, shaking the snow off its limbs and turning to face them, angrily beating its fists against its broad chest in an ape-like manner, uncaring of the fact it was driving the daggers that had killed it deeper into its chest, loping towards them with its face set in a rather hungry look.

"How in the Maker's name are we supposed to fight that thing?" Arthur cursed. Killing a live ogre was enough of a challenge; how were they supposed to kill one that wouldn't die unless it suffered the most grievous of wounds? The neck was too thick to cut off the head with any less than a dozen blows, time enough for the ogre to tear off its attacker's own head, and there was no guarantee piercing the heart a second time was going to be enough to counter the necromantic magic infusing its flesh...

"The necromancer!" Arthur realised. Whirling round, he could see the creature watching the whole spectacle in amusement, clapping its hands together with amused glee, before directing the efforts of its minions like a puppeteer directing marionettes.

"Kill him, and his minions die with him!" Arthur roared, and Alistair nodded "I'm on it!", racing in the direction of the necromancer's position. Arthur watched him go, then dropped into a guard position as the ogre broke into a sprint. Shale and Sten stood beside him, while Leliana and the mages fended off the undead Wardens. Shale drove a fist into the ogre's side, ribs shattering audibly, which the ogre answered with a vicious backhand, sending the golem staggering back. Sten buried Asala halfway up its length in the monster's gut. As it raised a fist to smash the qunari into the floor, a flaming arrow took it in the eye. It staggered back, and the bard and mages hurled flasks of oil and fire at the beast, the fire bombs drenching the ogre in liquid flame, adding the smell of charring flesh to the foul odour of decay. And yet the ogre still continued to fight, devoid of any sense of pain or injury. The beast lowered its head and charged at them like a bull, sending Arthur, Sten and Shale flying. Arthur crash-landed into a snowdrift, desperately rolling to avoid being stomped on by the ogre's clawed foot. He tried stabbing the back of the ogre's leg to hamstring it, and got a kick to the head that sent him flying for his troubles. As he landed in a dazed heap for the second time, he vaguely saw Alistair desperately shouldering and cutting his way through a mob of undead Wardens, trying to reach the necromancer.

'_Alistair, for the love of the Maker, hurry up!'_

###########

Alistair hurtled headlong at the necromancer, blood boiling in his veins. Bad enough that that creature existed, that it had defiled Cailan and turned his own men against them, but this...to raise the bodies of his comrades, his friends to try and kill them all. It had been horrific enough to fight men raised from their final rest to fight again, but to see faces he recognised among the mob; Guido, that jocular Antivan trickster, Gregor, that bearded giant of a man from the Anderfels with a supernatural ability to hold his ale, Durin Brosca, that easy going rogue Duncan had pulled from the slums of Orzammar, twisted by the hate and savage hunger the genlock's sorcery had placed in them...it was almost too much to bear, but Alistair knew he couldn't falter, else the necromancer would drown him and the others beneath a tide of living death, and it would be their bodies joining the ranks of the undead army the creature sought to raise.

Alistair beheaded the wight that had once been Durin Brosca, chancing a look back and relieved to see Arthur and the others were holding their own against the ogre, its back ablaze with fire and riddled with arrows. Alistair quickened his pace, only to find another wight staggering to its feet in the way of him and the emissary, tall and thin in build with its back turned to him, with dark black hair tied back behind its head, writhing with worms, a longsword with its blade broken halfway along its length, but the design all too familiar...

"No" Alistair whispered as the wight turned round to face him. "No, no, no, you can't! You can't be _him_!"

But no denials stopped the wight from turning round to face him, and a horrified Alistair found himself looking at the ruined visage of the creature that had once been Duncan. The senior Grey Warden's face and body had been ravaged by the scavengers, his eyes torn out by crows and replaced now with swirling orbs of eldritch blue fire, his lips gnawed off, baring yellowed, blood-flecked teeth in a monstrous snarl, his skin as pale as the snow from which he'd just emerged, his left arm gone at the elbow, likely torn away by wolves, and it was all too clear how he had died: an axe blow of immense force had shattered his breastplate and stove in his chest, leaving bloodied ribs protruding like fingers from the gaping hole in his chest, tangled ropes of rotted entrails and dried blood hanging from the wound.

"You're not him!" Alistair yelled, charging forward; this monster was no more Duncan than that foul apparition they'd seen in the Fade. He hurled himself forward, raising his shield to block a swinging blow that glanced off. The only mercy was that none of Duncan's lethal skill with the blade hadn't followed him into this obscene undeath, and Alistair pressed his own attack, knocking aside the Duncan-wight's blade and burying his own deep into its chest, the undead creature screaming as the runes smoked as they bit and burned its unholy flesh. Planting a foot on Duncan's chest, he kicked the wight off his sword and struck low, the enchanted dragonbone cutting easily through the rusted steel greave and severing Duncan's right leg below the knee. The undead Warden Commander fell to his knees and Alistair brought his sword back up for the final blow. To his amazement, the creature didn't try to fight on, merely baring its neck, as if the real Duncan were still in there, begging his old student to free his spirit from the cage of meat and bone the darkspawn's sorcery had trapped it in.

Alistair didn't, and would likely never know if that were true, but regardless, Duncan deserved a better end than this, and he would give his old mentor what mercy he could.

"Rest in peace, old friend" Alistair intoned sadly, before slashing his blade across Duncan's neck. Duncan's head rolled free of his neck, and Alistair hoped, sent his spirit onto the peace of eternity. He spared one last glance at the mortal remains of the closest thing to a father he'd ever known, then sprinted straight at the necromancer, a murderous war cry escaping his lips. The genlock saw him coming, its eyes going wide with fright as it caught sight of his vengeful expression, desperately trying to cast another spell, but Alistair didn't give it a chance, closing the gap between man and darkspawn rapidly.

Alistair, with a roar, tackled the genlock around its waist, sending them both sprawling to the snow. His sword flew from his hand, but Alistair didn't care; for what it had done to Duncan and the other Grey Wardens, for how it had defiled their remains, the sword was far too quick and clean an end for such a creature.

Releasing another burst of templar anti-magic, Alistair wrapped his gauntleted hands around the genlock's neck and started to squeeze. The necromancer's white eyes went wide with terror as it realised what he intended; the darkspawn started to panic, its hands desperately trying to throw Alistair off, but its withered frame was too weak to throw off a full grown, fully armoured man whose armour likely weighed more than the darkspawn mage. Its hands desperately gesticulated, trying to cast another spell, but with Alistair's templar skills smothering its magic, such a defence was denied it.

The creature tried to free itself even more desperately, resorting to scratching and biting feebly at Alistair's arms and face, but Alistair was beyond caring; he was lost in the red mist of fury. At the back of his mind, he wondered if this was what Arthur had felt in battle, but for the most part, his brain was lost to the berserk siren song as it urged him to increase the pressure around the genlock's throat. The darkspawn's struggles steadily grew weaker and weaker as Alistair swiftly choked the life from its body without mercy, until finally, a weak rasp escaped the creature's mouth, and it sank to the floor, the light in its eyes fading fast, and finally lay still.

Looking up, Alistair saw all across the battlefield, with the emissary's death, the magic reanimating its minions was ended, and across the field, the remaining undead soldiers collapsed to the ground, lifeless once more. Even the ogre was toppling, desperately trying to stay on its feet, to fight on, but even the desperate urge for survival imprinted in the beast's mind since it crawled out of the pit from where it had spawned wasn't enough to let it cling to life. With a crash like a sound of a tree falling, the ogre collapsed, its body swiftly decaying into nothing as the magic that had kept its carcass intact fled its body and entropy did the work it had been denied.

Relinquishing his grip on the darkspawn's throat, Alistair all but crawled back to the body of Duncan, and just stood there, staring sadly at the body until he heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. "You did it" Alistair barely heard Arthur's voice as his fellow Warden scrutinised the genlock's corpse. "You killed the bastard. You saved us."

"I didn't want to fight them," he spat miserably, tears spilling from his eyes. "I didn't want to fight Duncan! I knew it wasn't him, I..." he shook his head, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment. "I knew it, but it still felt like - Maker, it hurt! It hurt so much!"

"I know" Arthur replied "I know" he repeated, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder. Alistair could well believe it; no doubt the memories of what they'd seen in the Gauntlet were still fresh in his memory. How would he react if Rendon Howe raised the corpses of his family as wights to try and kill him? From what Alistair had heard about the murderer of Arthur's family, he wouldn't put it past the man.

But Arthur said nothing, merely stood silent in support as Alistair gave in to the grief dammed behind walls of stone around his heart for so long. He'd gotten despondent and nostalgic more than once, thinking of Duncan and the other Grey Wardens and the injustice of their fate, but he had never allowed himself to surrender to the full weight of his sorrow, like Arthur knowing that to do so would be the first step on the path to madness. Knowing well that no words could ease what he was feeling, Arthur said nothing, merely letting his friend give full vent to his pain, and Alistair, through his tears, wondered if Arthur had fully let his own pain come to the surface, if his relationship with Leliana had helped in that regard. He hoped so, because no one deserved to live with so much grief in their soul, to let it slowly poison their being forever. He had seen the consequences of such far too often on their journey.

Looking around, he found their companions drawn near, watching them in silence. Leliana's expression was a mixture of concern, compassion and something else that Arthur could not quite identify, but she responded immediately to the warrior's beckoning gesture, kneeling beside the two Wardens and wrapping her arms around Alistair, murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance. A moment later, Wynne joined them, kneeling carefully on the opposite side to hug the lad, while Arabella placed a sympathetic hand on his, smiling warmly. Edward padded over and nudged Alistair gently with his broad head, the Warden chuckling as he ran a hand through the mabari's fur, while Sten and Shale kept a respectful distance.

"What you did here to do was a great deed," Wynne told him after his tears had dried up, tipping his chin up to look into his eyes. "A noble and valiant thing. Duncan and the other Wardens would be proud of you."

He swallowed, wiping his cheeks with the back of one hand, looking uncertain and even more youthful than usual. "Do you really think so?"

"Without any doubt," Leliana put in with a smile. "You've rid the world of a great evil today. The Wardens would not have wanted their earthly remains to be made slaves to the forces of darkness. You destroyed that foul creature; never again will it force the dead to toil for its will or the whims of its master"

He nodded slowly, clearly heartened by the words. "We did it," he said quietly, the last of the tension seeping from him, and he drew himself upright, looking around the field of battle, then up to the sun. It was now mid afternoon.

"You feel it too?"

Alistair lifted his head, frowning in concentration, and then nodded. "They're retreating. Either that, or we killed every darkspawn in the immediate vicinity"

"It certainly feel like that," Arthur agreed, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the growing soreness and cramp that was settling into the muscles, rubbing the bruise that was certain to form where the ogre had kicked him, though relieved that the ever present itching under his skin had subsided.

"We've got time, then?" Alistair hopefully.

Arthur paused, finding only a faint sensation at the edges of his mind, far to the south. "We do," he replied, turning to the others. "Wynne, Leliana, will you help Alistair and I retrieve King Cailan," he asked of them before turning to the others. "Arabella, Sten and Shale, please bring the bodies of the Grey Wardens out to..." his eyes scanning for a suitable spot until they fell on a point just below one of the supporting arches of the bridge that spanned the valley, "that spot," he said, pointing. "And then, would you please gather as much wood as you can"

The Wardens' eyes, hazel and blue, met again, seeing in each others' the last of the guilt and despair replaced by a determined resolve. "It's time for us to pay the proper respect to the valorous dead"

################

The fire cracked and spat as the small group watched King Cailan's earthly remains slowly consumed by the flames. Further down the valley, similar pyres burned for Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens, granting their spirits the final rites needed to ensure they passed on into what afterlife awaited, as well as the more practical purpose of ensuring another necromancy-inclined emissary couldn't profane their remains a second time.

"He was a good man, who hoped too much and died too young. He deserves what little honour we can afford to grant him" Alistair had intoned as they had cut him down from the cross upon which the darkspawn had hung him, and Arthur had been forced to agree. As they, along with Leliana and Arabella, helped pull the king's corpse down, carrying it down to the valley below, Sten and Shale had hacked down a great number of trees, which Wynne had soaked in oil to help the wet wood burn. One by one, they had built the pyres, placing the bodies of Cailan, Duncan and the Wardens on the wooden piles, before finally, the companions had placed the torch to the pyres, and sent the King of Ferelden on his way to the Maker in the company of the brave men who'd fought with him, stayed with him even when all was lost, and died with him.

As the pyres burned brightly, Leliana began to speak, but it was not a prayer she spoke this time, more like a piece of verse;

'_They went with songs to the battle, they were young,_

_Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow._

_They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;_

_They fell with their faces to the foe._

_They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old,_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn;_

_At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,_

_We will remember them'._

"We will remember them" the others intoned solemnly. Alistair nodded gratefully and kissed Leliana chastely on the cheek by way of thanks. "Thank you"

Leliana smiled in thanks at the compliment and replied "It is my honour to pay homage to these brave men any way I can, however small a contribution" before began to sing again, giving her own tribute to the memory of the Grey Wardens.

"_Vir sulahn'nehn  
Vir dirthera  
Vir samahl la numin  
Vir 'lath sa'vunin'" _

It was late afternoon when the fires died away completely, the royal person reduced to ash upon the snow. Swiftly, they collected the ash and placed it into a sandstone urn that Wynne conjured from the very ether, smooth and without fault or crack, the magic engraving the stone with the symbol of the House of Theirin; a fine repository for the earthly remains of the King of Ferelden. Gently, Alistair deposited Cailan's ashes into the urn even as the winter winds scattered those of Duncan and his brother Wardens, letting them fly like the griffons their forebears had once ridden into battle.

"One day, my king, we will return you to the royal tombs in Denerim, where you may rest beside your lord father's monument, the remains of your lady mother and all those who came before you, I swear it..._brother_" he finished sadly as he placed the lid upon the urn and closed the clasps to prevent any of Cailan's earthly remains escaping.

"Let's get out of here" Alistair added as he gently placed the urn inside the chest that Shale had brought down from the royal pavilion, ensuring that the urn was secure and not to be damaged if the chest's contents were to move while the golem carried it. Arthur also deposited the broken remains of Duncan's sword and dagger inside the chest, thinking to himself '_Mayhap that dragonbone we recovered from the mountains might have a purpose' _as he closed the lid and locked it. A trip back to Soldier's Peak was definitely in order...provided they survived the next task ahead of them.

"Not quite" Arthur replied solemnly, wondering how much he should tell them of the task ahead. He knew they would follow him willingly, but it didn't seem fair to lead them into the unknown without some forewarning of what Morrigan wanted to do while they were in a position to do so.

"Why?" Leliana asked. "What possible reason could we have to linger any longer in this place?"

By way of an answer, Arthur pointed to the south, out into the forests beyond. Far in the distance, a thin tendril of smoke rose up into the sky, rising from a chimney or a camp fire. Arthur knew there could be only one person who would dare to do so in the heart of the Blight's territory, to make their presence in the midst of every darkspawn within thirty leagues known.

"I have a promise to keep. We must pay a visit to an old friend"

#########################

Story Note: The poem Leliana says at the pyres is an excerpt taken from 'Ode of Remembrance', a poem that is often quoted on Remembrance Sunday in Great Britain, in memory of those slain during World Wars I & II. I thought it an appropriate quotation to make, considering the solemnity of returning to Ostagar and the sheer loss of life in that battle (though we never learn the full casualty numbers of Ostagar, it likely numbered in the thousands)

Next time: Flemeth...


	37. Chapter 35: Witch Hunters

_Well, here we go, the companions take on the Witch of the Wilds. Let's see if this one falls or flies!_

_Must say I was glad to see the great response I got for my last chapter. Return to Ostagar was one of my favourite DLCs, so I'm glad to know you all enjoyed it. I quite enjoyed writing the implications that made Loghain out to be an even bigger bastard than he is in the game (I'm sorry, I hate him so much! Granted he's not as bad as Howe, but that's kind of like saying cancer isn't as bad as bubonic plague to me!). Will hopefully add some more food for thought regarding Loghain's machinations, since a number of ideas regarding the events of RtO have come to me that I want to explore._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work. Special thanks to __**Ygrain333**__ (whose short story __**Ashes and Embers**__, a extremely gripping take on the events of Return to Ostagar, is well worth a read!), __**Theodur**__ (whose story __**Tranquillity**__ is a very in-depth, entertaining and delightfully enjoyable account of the rise of Riona Hawke to Champion of Kirkwall- sorry I haven't reviewed recently, your work's still as good as always!), __**Knight of Holy Light **__and __**Mystic Gohan**__ for your great reviews, and to __**The Zii,**__ green eyed typhoon, and The Judster for adding to favourites: your enthusiasm for this keeps me going!_

_Have changed the details of the fight a fair bit (I didn't want to make this another simple dragon battle), and I've also given the first hints of Wynne's 'condition', since I didn't want to make that revelation just a random encounter with darkspawn on the road. Hopefully, I've managed to do the story justice while making it good enough for you to enjoy._

_Next time: Orzammar, by way of Redcliffe and Soldier's Peak._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

####################

'_**Abhor the witch, destroy the witch'-**__ Codex Astartes_

_###################_

The smoke from the funeral pyres in the valley still rose to the horizon behind them s they wended their way through the trees to their next destination. Arthur chanced a look at Alistair; his companion seemed a little more at peace, having had the chance to bid the closest thing he'd ever had to family a final farewell. Though Arthur was glad Alistair had had this list chance to get closure, he couldn't help but feel a small pang of jealousy that such a simple rite was still denied him.

'_At least you had the chance to say your goodbyes, to give the last rites to your friends, your brothers, to see them on to the next world. Maker alones knows what I will find if I ever return home. Probably nothing; Howe probably just tossed them onto a trash heap for the crows to pick over...and for whatever you did, I will repay it a thousandfold'_ Arthur thought hatefully at the notion of Howe. Ambition, everything that happened, that had gone wrong in his life, it all came down to ambition and greed; Howe's, Loghain's...and how many lives had been already lost or ruined for the ambitions of one? How many more would be?

Arthur reluctantly put the thoughts of hatred and disgust for the ambitions of other men from his mind, forcing himself to concentrate upon the task ahead. As they wended their way through the forests of the Korcari Wilds, following the familiar path that Arthur and Alistair had walked once so long, with Daveth and Jory at their side, Arthur couldn't help but feel nervous. Even with the darkspawn still unwilling to engage the ones who'd slaughtered so many of their ilk at Ostagar- and they _were_ still out there, watching, if the itching beneath his skin was anything to go on- he couldn't help but feel nervous about the task ahead. After all, how many templars, full of self-righteous fire and determination, walked through these forests hunting for the infamous apostate known as the Witch of the Wilds? How many peasant mobs, armed with mere torches and pitchforks, had walked this path, seeking to bring to justice the witch upon whom they laid the blame for a failed harvest, a blight in the local well, a plague upon their village that had claimed their animals or their children? And of those countless numbers, how many had actually ever returned?

So how were eight supposed to stop a creature that had likely been fending off would-be witch hunters since before the eldest among them was even conceived?

In addition, he could not shake the feeling they were being watched; every so often, he would look back to see a goshawk sitting in a tree behind them, its beady yellow eyes fixed on them. No matter how far they travelled into the forest, the raptor was always there, following, never letting them out of its sight. Arthur didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the bird of prey had something to do with Flemeth, as if the witch had sent a scout ahead to keep her informed of their progress, to let her know how much time she had to prepare her defences. It was all but a given that Flemeth would be ready and waiting for them.

"Why are we here?" Wynne questioned, shaking Arthur from his reverie. "Did you think we wouldn't notice we're heading further south? And since I doubt you're looking to find and confront the archdemon with just the eight of us, what are you looking for, Arthur?"

Arthur quickly relayed what Morrigan had told him about Flemeth and her plans for her daughter to the others. To say they were shocked about having to be part of a plan to kill an ancient and extraordinarily powerful abomination from Fereldan mythology was something of an understatement.

"Are you insane? Kill Flemeth? The Witch of the Wilds, the queen of all sorceresses? All based on what Morrigan says?" Alistair blurted, his face torn. "I don't know if you've been deluded or you're just crazy"

"I must admit to agreeing with the other Warden. You are neglecting your duties in regards to the Blight chasing scraps of paper and errant saarebas while your enemy only grows stronger. We should be pressing north to Orzammar and ensuring that the loyalty and military of the dwarves march with us against the Blight" Sten agreed.

"You have your sword, Sten; you are free to leave us if you do not wish to follow" Arthur retorted, curtly. He was not demanding that they follow him; he was offering them the choice. If they all refused, he would go on alone, but he would not forswear the promise he'd made to Morrigan. Bryce had always taught his sons to keep their word to those whose safety they were charged with, and Arthur had no intention of failing that tradition bred into him now.

"And just what are you expecting from Morrigan in exchange for helping her commit matricide?" Leliana questioned. Arthur looked, surprised and angered to see a tiny mote of jealousy in those bright green eyes.

"Jealous?" Arthur retaliated, angry that Leliana would try to place "I'm not doing this for temporal or physical reward, Leli; I'm doing this because it is the right thing to do. You were the first to convince us to try and save Connor from such an end; are you really going to stand by and leave Morrigan to such a fate just because you _don't like_ her?". He regretted his forcefulness at the sight of the ashamed, downcast look that crossed Leliana's face, but it had to be said; such tasks like the one ahead could not allow for emotional distraction.

Wynne gave an approving nod and placed a supportive "Arthur is right. To be possessed by a demon is a torturous and horrific fate, and one I would wish on no one. Not even Morrigan. If killing this creature is required to protect another young mage from the same fate so many others suffered at the Circle, then I will assist you. I am no fonder of the woman than you, Leliana, but she deserves better than to be made a sacrificial lamb for this demon's purposes!". Arabella nodded and offered her hand to Arthur.

"If you'll have me, then I'll fight at your side"

"A chance to crush the skull of an old and powerful mage?" Shale remarked. "Well, it won't be as satisfying as squishing Wilhelm's head like a lemon, but one learns to take what pleasures one can"

"I will never abandon you, my love" Leliana swore fervently "I will not do so out of love for Morrigan; I will do so because it is true; this is the right thing to do. I will not condemn Morrigan to a fate worse than death out of simple dislike". Arthur bent down and kissed her gratefully, glad to have Leliana's support in the task ahead.

"You helped me restore my honour, and you have led us to success thus far, kadan" Sten replied in an even voice, inclining his head. "I will not abandon you now". Edward also gave an affirmative bark.

"Well if you lot are going, I can't bloody well say no, can I?" Alistair griped, scowling. "Alright, I'll help, but Maker be my witness, if I die trying to help Morrigan, I'm going to be haunting you and her from now until the end of days!"

"I would expect nothing less...just go after her more than me!" Arthur joked, trying to lighten the mood before Wynne interjected "Confronting even the weakest of abomination is not a task to be taken lightly; confronting one that has lived as long as Flemeth will require every advantage, every tactic, every bit of cunning we have to outwit her..."

"Well" Arthur smiled, pulling out a number of glass phials full with rose-coloured fluid, uncorking one and slathering its contents over Asturian's Might "let's make sure we're prepared..."

##################

Soon enough, they were within sight of the Grey Warden archive where they'd first met Morrigan all those months ago. The dirt track they'd used to get around to the back of the hill the ruin perched on was now half-buried in snow and frozen to ice, making the descent perilous, but they carefully made. As they descended, they split into two groups; Arthur, Shale, Sten, Wynne and Edward continued to descend down the hill to the lair that waited, while Alistair, Arabella and Leliana moved to a more elevated position on the hill, protected by the trees, from where they could rain arrows and spells down on Flemeth without having to risk themselves. It had been Arthur's insistence that they be the ones to take up such position; even if Flemeth were to kill him and the others, at least two Grey Wardens would escape, particularly one upon so much hinged, as well as Leliana; he was not about to lead the woman he loved to her death when there was something he could do about it. He could only pray Flemeth didn't try to hunt them down if the three fled.

The waters of the swamp surrounding the island upon which Flemeth's cottage sat had mercifully frozen to ice with the onset of winter, and the five slowly made their way across the ice to the hut. Amazingly, there was no sign of Flemeth herself, though that wretched goshawk that had been following them was sat in the branches of a tree behind them, Arthur noticed as he marched up to the cottage door and turned the handle.

The door was locked, and resisted all efforts to open it; the wood didn't so much as even splinter when Arthur slammed his plate-booted foot into the lock and Shale drove a fist with all its considerable might into the centre of the door.

"There's powerful magic bound into this place" Wynne muttered as she moved her hand through the air before the hut's door, tracing a number of arcane symbols in mid air. "Spells of misdirection, barricading and defence have been woven into the very wood and stone of this place"

"Of course" a rich, immediately familiar voice called out from behind them. "I created those wards in order to keep the darkspawn at bay, but they work equally well at stopping unwelcome guests from entering my house and going through my things without permission. Much like you're trying to do now"

They all whirled round to see, slowly levitating downwards from the branch where the goshawk had sat watching them, an impressive yet fearsome figure of a woman descended towards them. The woman was nothing like the individual Arthur expected to find waiting for them, for she looked more like a warrior queen of legend than a haggard old crone_. _The woman looked to be in her early forties, her skin as pristine and flawless as sculpted marble, with a strong chin and high cheekbones reminiscent of Morrigan's face. A circlet forged of dark iron, its circumference ringed with spikes, was set on her brow, holding back a mane of snow white locks from a smooth forehead, with portions of the glossy white hair styled into horns that resembled those of a ram's...or a dragon's. The rest hung loosely about her armour-clad shoulders, covered in pauldrons and a cuirass of studded leather dyed the colour of dried blood, the armour clinging to a lithe curvaceous form, while cloth ribbons of the same shade of red wrapped the ends of the 'horns' of hair and bracers, gauntlets, greaves and boots fashioned from the same iron as the circlet covered the woman's arms and legs, their edges tipped with vicious spikes. Rich, full lips painted a deep cherry red were drawn in an amused, if cold, smile.

But the eyes left no doubt as whom this woman was; they were still the same cold, calculating orbs, brimming with reptilian malevolence and predatory cunning, like a viper watching its prey approach, waiting for the precise moment to strike. "And so you return" Flemeth remarked with a chortle, sounding in no way surprised to see them again. "Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you agree?"

"And what?" Arthur scoffed. "You'd have me dance to your tune instead?"

"Why dance at all?" the witch cackled. "Why not _sing?"_. Another mirthful laugh escaped those full lips, turned into a wide smile as Flemeth cocked her head in a manner much like that of a bird of prey, and pressed on with her interrogation?"

"What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched _this time?_ What, you think this is the first time she's tried to kill me?" she added at the sight of Arthur's surprised expression. "She made many attempts to murder me during her childhood, not that I expected any different- it's what I taught her to do after all, I'd be disappointed if she didn't follow my teachings!" Flemeth concluded with a booming chuckle of mirth.

"Your daughter knows the unholy means by which you extend your obscene lifespan, abomination!" Wynne spat angrily, her face contorted into much the same expression of disgust she had directed at Uldred.

"Abomination?" Flemeth sighed. "A limited word for a limited perspective; how quick the fools are to fear that which they cannot begin to understand. Still, you really shouldn't be so swift to condemn me, my dear woman. After all, do we not find ourselves in the same predicament?" Flemeth interrogated, her eyes flashing wickedly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, witch" Wynne snapped curtly, though the red flush that crept into her cheeks said otherwise. One of Flemeth's thin eyebrows rose archly in disbelief.

"Oh you do. Lie to yourself if you wish, but not to me" Flemeth snorted, her reptilian eyes narrowing coldly, before she dismissed the old mage, the full brunt of her gaze returning to Arthur.

"Perhaps Morrigan does know what I am, but the question is, do you?" Grinning at Arthur's nonplussed expression, Flemeth sighed "Ah, but it's an old, old story, one Flemeth has heard before, and even told". With a dismissive wave of the hand, the witch snapped "Let us skip ahead to the ending, shall we? You and I both have things to do, dear boy, so let us be swift with our business here. Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids, or does the tale take a different turn?"

"What would you have me do? I need Morrigan, and I do not need you anymore. There is no choice" Arthur retorted angrily, meaning every word. Yes, Flemeth might have saved his life once, but that didn't mean he was obliged to stand aside and let her carry out her abhorrent designs for her daughter's flesh. Morrigan might not have been the easiest person to get along with at times, but she had saved his life and those of the others more than once, made valuable contributions to their efforts against the Blight, and he would not stand idly by when she required defence.

"Choice" the witch spat as if the word were a curse, sounding disappointed with his reply. "There is great power in choice, Warden, just as there is power in lies. I offer you one of each. Morrigan wishes my grimoire, take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain"

"You honestly think she'll be stupid enough to believe that?" Arthur replied with a disparaging snort.

"We believe what we want to believe. It's all we ever do" was the retort, Flemeth's eyes glittering coldly.

"How would this arrangement benefit us? What do we get from letting you live?"

"You get to keep Morrigan..._for a time_" Flemeth retorted as if the answer were obvious.

"And what becomes of you if we spare you? What will you do with Morrigan?"

"I go" came the reply with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. "Perhaps I surprise Morrigan one day...or I may simply watch. It would be..._interesting_ to see what she does with her freedom, enlightening even. Could you give an old woman that?"

'_Ignore it and cut her down; make a deal with her and it will have dire consequences for me, I know that...'_

...Even as Arthur had Morrigan's voice, almost pleading with him not to listen, in his mind's eye, he could see the young woman stiffening, flesh twisting and expanding as the demonic influence mutated and altered her into Flemeth, her spirit consumed, her very being extinguished to serve the ravenous needs of the demon. It would be a fate worse than death, and it was one Arthur would wish on no one. Morrigan deserved better than such an end.

"No" he spat in answer, in a voice that was almost a snarl.

"Shame" Flemeth replied sadly. "What shall it be then?"

'_The only thing it can be'_

"Now you die. It's what you deserve" Arthur snarled, drawing his sword. Behind him, he could hear the rasp of steel being drawn as Asala came free of her scabbard, rocks grinding as Shale clenched its fists together and the crackle of flames as Wynne channelled her own magic ready for battle. It was true; not just for Morrigan, but for all the other young women Flemeth had abducted, reared and trained to ensure they would be sufficiently adequate hosts for her. How many of those women had had dreams, ambitions, and wishes to see the world, to explore, to expand their power, only to find too late they did not matter, that they were merely pigs being reared and fattened for slaughter when the time was right? It was too late to save those nameless girls from the fate Flemeth had thrust upon them, but he could still save one.

He hadn't expected Flemeth to exhibit any fear at the threat of her impending death, but her reaction- to simply give a wide smile and a bark of amused laughter- was unnerving to say the least.

"Oh there are many good reasons to kill Flemeth, more than you know. This is a dance poor old Flemeth knows far too well. Let us see if she remembers the steps" the witch chuckled, magical lightning sparking into existence in the palms of her clawed hands.

"Come, the bitch and her cat's-paws will earn what they take. I would have it no other way"

The witch suddenly staggered, the lightning fading as her concentration broke, her eyes dropping to stare at the arrow protruding between her second and third ribs. "Now that's just rude, striking before I wasn't prepared" Flemeth said petulantly as she wrenched the arrow jutting from her ribs, leaving an ugly puncture wound in her side. Healing energy began to curdle in Flemeth's left hand as she pressed it to her side, the wound slowly starting to close...and then stopping as the power suddenly guttered out.

"What?" Flemeth cursed, sniffing the arrowhead, her eyes going wide with shock as she recognized the floral scent of an all-too-familiar substance...

"Magebane" Arthur replied with a devious smile, having made sure all of his companions had coated their weapons with the contents of the phials given to them by the templars, even going so far as to slather Edward's claws and Shale's fists with the poison. The astounded look in Flemeth's eyes said quite clearly she hadn't been expecting such tactics.

"It seems I've underestimated you, Warden..." Flemeth admitted breezily, but her eyes narrowed menacingly as she snarled an afterthought "A mistake I do not intend to repeat", her brow furrowing as she tried to concentrate despite the poison in her system trying to stifle her magic, a globe of magical flame flaring into life in the palm of her hand...and then fading away as a burst of templar anti-magic from the hidden Alistair smothered it.

"Now this is really unfair" Flemeth pouted, though her eyes flickered with malicious amusement. "How many of you are there against little old me?"

"I merely brought some friends" Arthur replied innocently, raising his sword for the attack.

Flemeth's cat-like smile stretched almost from ear to ear as she answered "You should have brought more"

And then, with a crack and the acrid tang of magic filling the air, Flemeth vanished. That was when Arthur realised this was going to be _nowhere_ near as easy as he'd hoped.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his right eye and Arthur spun to face it, sword raised...just in time to take a vicious right hook from Flemeth to his face. The Juggernaut helm absorbed most of the blow, but there was still enough force behind it to knock him to the ground. There was a loud roar and Sten charged forward like a bull, seizing Flemeth about the waist and dragging her away from Arthur. The qunari had managed to drag the witch a good way before Flemeth dug her heels in; as Sten's momentum petered out, Flemeth reacted instantaneously, driving her right knee into Sten's abdomen. He staggered, gasping for breath and Flemeth pressed her advantage, driving her armoured elbow into the back of his neck, before seizing Sten by the scruff of his neck and hurling him across the open space, the qunari colliding headfirst with a large pine tree and slumping to the floor in a dazed heap.

Even as the winded and dazed Sten struggled to get back to his feet, Wynne and Shale went on the offensive, Wynne shooting a jet of ice from her staff that solidified around the witch in an instant, trapping her in a glassy white cocoon. Shale was on the attack in an instant, slamming its fists into the ice with blows of devastating force, the ice's surface cracking and breaking with every strike. Any other foe would be lying in broken shards slowly melting into the grass by then, but Flemeth was far too powerful to be defeated by such simplistic means; with an almost draconic roar, she broke free from her icy prison, shaking the remaining hoarfrost off her limbs with as much disinterest as if she were drying off after a bath, and rejoined the fight. Shale's boulder of a fist hurtled towards the witch's head but, moving fast as a striking snake, Flemeth seized the golem's hand by the wrist. It should have been impossible for one as old and slender as Flemeth to stop a huge protrusion of stone moving at tremendous speed, but that she did, Shale's punch faltering in mid-swing. The golem looked as astounded as the others, having likely never encountered an enemy who could stop it, but before the golem could recover from its shock, Flemeth acted, shoving Shale back a few steps to give herself room, before springing into midair and kicking out precisely at Shale's head, on the level where a person's jaw would be. The roundhouse kick sent Shale flying with incredible force, something Arthur wouldn't have believed possible had he not just seen it, to crash land in a heap, the golem flailing its limbs and making desperate attempts to get back onto its feet.

Leaving Shale to flounder like a tortoise on its back, Flemeth turned her attention to Wynne and Sten, the old mage helping the qunari to shake off the last effects of his engagement with the witch. Sten hefted Asala again and Wynne prepared another spell, but Flemeth didn't give them a chance to act; flashing a wicked smile that was so reptilian Arthur expected a forked tongue to dart from between Flemeth's perfect teeth, the witch's jaw distended like a snake's, and Arthur could hear an ominous buzzing emanating from that cavernous maw, a sound that every fibre in his body said meant nothing good...

Even as Sten and Wynne raced to make their, the buzzing sound reached a crescendo, revealing itself as the whirring of thousands of insectile wings as a swarm of hairy black horseflies erupted from Flemeth's mouth, hurtling straight for the mage and qunari. Though Alistair desperately reused his templar skills, and a good number of the magical insects simply fell from the air into desiccated black husks that rapidly crumbled into dust, there were too many for him to stop the spell altogether, and Arthur could hear Wynne and Sten cry out as the swarm enveloped them, yelling and screaming as the flies crawled in through sleeves, tears, gaps and chinks in armour, biting and stinging every inch of exposed flesh they could reach. Edward tried to go on the attack, but Flemeth merely directed her magic at him, driving the warhound back with a whimper as the swarm overwhelmed the mabari, trying to bite and sting at exposed flesh through the furry brown pelt.

"NO!" Arthur roared, surging to his feet and charging Flemeth from behind, driving his sword to the hilt in Flemeth's spine, disrupting her magic. The swarm of biting flies dissipated as Flemeth let out a growl of anger, her concentration broken, accompanied by a further snarl of rage as a trio of arrows and a pair of crossbow bolts sprouted from her chest. Arthur made to pull Asturian's Might free and attack again, but before he could, Flemeth's hand darted out, seizing Arthur by the throat, iron claws digging into flesh at the gap between gorget and helm.

"I'm starting to get annoyed now" the witch spat as she lifted him clean off the floor. Arthur clutched desperately at the clawed hand closing slowly around his neck but it proved a fruitless effort-who would have thought such an ancient creature could possess such strength, but even as he clutched at Flemeth's wrist, trying to force her to relinquish her grip on his neck, she hefted him through the air, and Arthur connected, head first with a dull thud, into the wall of Flemeth's house. He saw stars and darkness creeping into the edge of his vision.

The last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him was the sight of Flemeth, the sword still embedded in her chest, hurling fireballs up at the hill, Alistair, Leliana and Arabella desperately running for cover, dodging rolling boulders and trying to stay on their feet as the hill shook with a violent earth tremor as Flemeth's magic incurred an earthquake.

######################

Arthur did not doubt when he regained consciousness that the first thing to meet his eyes was not going to be good. He was by no means disappointed.

He was lying on his front at Flemeth's feet, with the rest of his companions lying about him in various states of injury and unconsciousness; Wynne, Sten and Edward, covered in red insect bites that clearly itched painfully judging by the way the three were constantly scratching at them, too much so to even concentrate on the mortal peril they found themselves in. Arabella and Alistair seemed to be coming to, though judging from the ugly burns and abrasions they bore on their armour and exposed skin, Flemeth's magical assault on their position had cost them dear.

As for Flemeth herself, the witch had clearly taken a beating before subduing her attackers, but she exhibited no sign of discomfort. Her crimson armour was in tatters, riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, burnt and scarred by magical attacks, and the tip of Asturian's Might's blade protruded just below her left breast, barely inches from piercing the heart. One of the styled horns of hair had been sheared clean away and there were numerous bruises and injuries, such as the nose out of joint and several missing teeth clearly done by the blow of a shield; clearly, Alistair, Leliana and Arabella had given as good as they'd gotten from Flemeth before being overcome. And the thought of Leliana ..._'Where is she?_'

That question was answered as Arthur saw what Flemeth was holding by her hair; Leliana, her drakeskin leather armour looking like it had been shredded by claws, her face marked by vicious cuts and bruises, her hands disarmed and magically bound behind her back, her eyes unfocused and glassy, the signs of a clear concussion. Flemeth's other hand, the one not holding the bard by her hair, idly stroked the skin of Leliana's throat, the clawed tips of her gauntlet hovering perilously close to the jugular. Arthur tried to crawl towards her, to save her once again, but his legs gave out from under him. Flemeth chuckled cruelly at his ungainly efforts to keep his balance.

"Did you really think you could best _me?_ I have been disposing of unwelcome intruders since long before the notion of you was even conceived!" Flemeth snapped, her voice as cold as ice. Arthur couldn't think of anything to say-he suspected an apology wasn't going to cut it here- but Flemeth continued speaking before he could even attempt to gather his thoughts, and he could sense the witch's sense of patience and mercy, however minute they had been before, were gone completely now.

"I gave you a choice and you refused to take it, so now I offer you another. Turn around; leave the Wilds and never come back. Tell Morrigan I am dead and leave her to me; what is to be done with her shall be for me to decide and no other, as it always had been and always would have been. Considering what you tried to do to me, I think it's a fair price to pay for your lives, no?"

"I..." Arthur couldn't think what to say. Considering how badly this had failed, Arthur wanted nothing more to get his friends out of here with their lives, but he could not do that at the cost of sacrificing Morrigan; the guilt of such a decision would haunt him. He tried to speak but there was no need; judging by the look of furious disappointment that crossed Flemeth's face, his response might as well have been written across his forehead.

"Then face the consequences. I cannot, lamentably, kill you; you are needed to deal with these wretched darkspawn, as well as for..._other_ reasons. Still, I think losing someone you care for. Regret for the loss of one loved is something I know well; perhaps you will show me a little more respect when you and I share the same pain...!"

As Arthur watched, Flemeth's smile widened, and to his horror, the structure and shape of her face began to distort and elongate. The long white hair began to shrink back into the skull, with the exception of the styled horns, which began to stiffen with loud cracks, rapidly ossifying into bone with every second. Flemeth's jaw line grew longer and wider and her teeth were changing too, altering from perfect white molars and canines into yellowed fangs looking more like tusks, ropes of yellowed saliva hanging from her gaping maw of dagger teeth. The flawless pale skin began to shift and crack, becoming withered and scaly, almost like the hide of a lizard and the face shifted, lengthening into a reptilian snout, smoke curling from wide nostrils as Flemeth's draconic visage turned towards Leliana, the dragon-like mouth opening wide; it would tear her head off with a single bite. Arthur desperately tried to move, to get to her side, to save Leliana from another monster that held her in its grasp, but his body still wouldn't obey his commands. The others were trying to do likewise, but they were in no better shape than him.

All seemed lost...and then he heard Wynne's voice, redolent with more power and authority than he had ever heard from her, snarl "Take your hands off the girl, abomination!"

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Flemeth gave a raucous shriek of laughter as the old girl made a last desperate attack, easily dodging the bolt of magic that shot past her to dissipate harmlessly on the ground behind her.

"You missed" Flemeth rasped through the half-transformed maw of draconic fangs with a sneer, turning to glare at the old woman...and then fell silent, the mocking smile on her face faltering slightly. The eyes that stared back at her were not the cerulean orbs of the old woman, but something..._more._ Flemeth could see how close, for all her protestations, the old mage was far closer to herself than she wanted to admit; Flemeth could see the creature bonded to the old woman, powerful, strong...and dangerous enough to pose a threat, even to _her_.

She could feel the spirit's _faith_, faith in the righteousness of its cause, faith in its belief that to slay her was a just act, and for the first time in she didn't know how long, Flemeth felt a twinge of fear. This _spirit_ was unlike anything Flemeth had encountered before, even with all her long years spent in both the Fade and the mortal realm, and if there was one thing Flemeth didn't like, it was surprises. Surprises for her, at least.

The spirit within the mage unleashed a pulse of healing magic, infusing the injured and weary wretches around her with new vigour and strength, the insect bites losing their redness, the burns fading and cuts shrinking and sealing, bones fusing back together and returning to their proper alignment as the magic healed the wounds, even those of the girl in her grasp. As the Grey Wardens and their companions managed to overcome their injuries and started to get back to their feet, the spirit's energies infusing the old mage's magic with far greater power and strength than should have been possible, Flemeth felt a sudden trepidation...

That these clowns Morrigan had sent against her might _actually_ triumph...

Even as her mind tried to crush that small sliver of doubt before it could fester, the spirit and its life-mate were on her with speed and agility the old girl would never have possessed in her normal state, one hand seizing Flemeth by her throat, the other dragging the clawed hand that held the Orlesian off its prey, pushing the girl to one side and out of the witch's grasp. Flemeth desperately tried to reclaim her prize- it had been about the best card she'd had to play against the Wardens, but before she could, the hand around her throat tightened painfully, Flemeth a little surprised to see the woman's fingernails crackling with electric blue light, as the woman drew Flemeth's malformed features so close their faces were practically touching.

"And by the way, I didn't miss" the old woman snarled as she shoved Flemeth back, the Witch of the Wilds stumbling back more out of shock than anything else...and breaking the edge of the glyph of paralysis the mage had placed behind her.

Flemeth barely had time to let out an exclamation of astonishment as a surge of power coursed through her entire body, locking her limbs in place as the magic washed over her like standing against the sea coming into shore. '_It's impossible...how many hunters have I slain? How many fools seeking to slay me for glory, or out of some sense of self-righteousness, have I dispatched, left their bones dangling from the trees for the scavengers? It cannot end this way, not after all I have seen, all the paths I have walked, the power I have commanded; it cannot end at the hand of a thug my errant daughter sends against me!'_

'_Nor shall it'_ that comforting presence that had lingered at the back of her mind for so very long whispered, its voice confident and reassuring. '_You knew this was bound to happen with one of the vessels sooner or later, such independent and inquisitive creatures that those girls always are. You have taken the appropriate measures; the boy you dispatched with the soul trap to keep our essence secure even in the event of our flesh's destruction travels even now to the altar atop the sundered mountain, and the People's fear of Asha'bellanar should ensure that their part in the ritual of resurrection is played. Let lovely Morrigan have this minor victory, for ours shall be all the greater in the end'._

'_Once more, your advice serves me well'_ Flemeth replied, calm returning to her mind as the advice of the demon who'd been her companion and guide for so very long. '_I will, as always, listen to your guidance. Is there anything else you would suggest?'_

'_Brace yourself, beloved'_ the presence replied in her mind '_because I assure you, this is going to hurt'_

"Arthur!" she heard the other, more amenable Grey Warden yell and saw something fly through the air, something the other Warden caught with ease as he broke into a run straight at her. Flemeth tried vainly to break free of the paralysis that held her firm but the spell held her firm. '_It seems I'll have to rely on the contingency after all. Pity, but at least I wasn't unprepared'_ she consoled herself as the Grey Warden advanced on her.

"Here's a choice for you. Heart or brain? I choose brain"

And as she saw the Warden, his face contorting into an expression of fury, hate and disgust, raising a sword of finest craftsmanship, its blade fashioned of dragonbone and imbued with many powerful and lethal enchantments, to the level of her neck, pulling the sword back to deal a fatal blow, Flemeth could only think how relieved she was to have considered a contingency.

That was the second to last thing to go through Flemeth's mortal mind.

The last thing to go through Flemeth's mind was about two feet of enchanted, razor-sharp dragonbone.

_######################_

Arthur wrenched Maric's sword free of Flemeth's skull, the sword's tip coming free from the back of the witch's head, out from between the rows of deformed teeth with a spurt of dark blood. Flemeth's hands mechanically reached towards the gaping wound in her head, to try and stem the blood, but it was a futile task; even to a creature as old and powerful as her, such a wound, even without the huge amount of magebane coating the blade to stifle any magical attempts to heal it, would be lethal even to an abomination.

With a wet, choking rasp, Flemeth slid to the floor, gurgling weakly as the witch drowned in her own blood. For good measure, Arthur pulled Maric's sword back and, without pause or mercy, struck out; the blade connected with the side of the witch's neck, easily parting skin, muscle and bone and separating Flemeth's head from her neck without aplomb. Even as the ancient abomination's decapitated body collapsed to the floor and her severed head fell to earth, decay rapidly set; skin turned ashen and thin, flaking into dust rapidly, crumbling into nothing. Muscles atrophied and shrank, pulling back the eyelids from yellow, snake-like orbs vitrifying and rotting in their sockets with every second, the lips pulling back from teeth becoming loose and insecure in the jaw, the dyed red leather enfolding the slim body rotting into blackened filth, the metal of the armour encasing the limbs crumbling in an orange shower of rust. Before long, little more than a slime-coated skeleton remained, and even that was collapsing in on itself, bones yellowing and crumbling into dust, the ribs collapsing under the weight of the sword and arrows embedded within the chest cavity, while Shale, as promised, seized the deformed skull, halfway between human and dragon in appearance, and with a resounding crack, crushed the bones of Flemeth's skull to powder in its fist.

That was a mistake.

A wailing shriek ran through the air like the deathly wail of a banshee, and all present gasped in shock as a wave of magic locked their limbs into place, freezing them where they stood. A shimmering white mist emanated from the pieces of the witch's skull, shifting and warping until it resolved into the form of a wizened old woman. The shade glowered at its captive audience, the familiar features stretching into a leering smile like one a spider contemplating a fly trapped in its web might make.

"So what now, Flemeth?" Arthur demanded, managing to overcome the magic trying to lock his jaw. "Do we fight on over and over until the sun turns black and the stars fall from the heavens?"

Flemeth's shade gave an amused snort. "Sorry to disappoint you, but no. While I would like nothing more than to dismember you and your friends one nerve at a time for the inconvenience you have caused me by ending the life of this mortal flesh, the cosmos dictates otherwise. I have an appointment to keep and even as pleasant a diversion as revenge would likely compromise my punctual arrival to such. Go then, Warden; you have your victory. Go and claim the prize you were sent for"

"If you come after me and mine again, I will destroy you over and over if that's what I must do to keep us safe from your machinations!" Arthur swore furiously, but Flemeth's spirit merely chuckled darkly in amusement.

"Have no fear, Warden. You and I will never meet again, that I can guarantee. As for Morrigan...some strands of fate are hidden, even from me. You have done all you can do to save her precious hide, though if you will take the advice of an old woman for what it's worth, you think it's me you should be wary of, but you'll soon learn Morrigan is not what she seems either"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded angrily, but Flemeth's only response was a chuckle of dark amusement.

"You will see what she wants with you soon enough, boy. You are just a pawn in a game you don't even know is being played. You will see" Flemeth laughed again, before her face grew sombre. "Before I go, remember; it is up to you to destroy the Blight. Do not hope for someone else to destroy it for you; it will always nip at your heels. And you have yet to decide..."

"Decide what?"

"Whether you are the man who struggles against destiny, who flees destiny or who embraces it. Only one sort can change the world forever, and you would do well to make up your mind, lest another make the choice for you"

With that, the witch's spirit gave another banshee-like wail and evaporated into mist that was quickly carried away by a strong wind whipping up from nowhere, carrying the essence of Flemeth towards the north-east, and not in the direction of Morrigan and Redcliffe. The second she was out of sight, the magic binding their limbs dissipated, and almost to a man, they collapsed to the ground, exhausted by the arduous battle and relieved beyond measure to have survived more or less in one piece.

As Wynne struggled over to tend them, Arthur seized her wrist to get her attention. "What was _that?_" he demanded. "What sort of magic did you do?". Wynne looked rather discomforted by the brusqueness of his tone, but her voice was firm as she gave an answer.

"I will explain all when we are back at camp" she conceded. "Now is not the time"

"Agreed" Arthur nodded. Wynne was right; they were deep in the Wilds and Arthur could vividly remember Flemeth saying her magic was the only thing keeping the darkspawn at bay; with her death, the protective enchantments were likely broken, and he didn't know how long it would be before every hurlock within thirty leagues would come looking to investigate the one place denied them. "Let's get what I came here for and be gone"

With Flemeth's 'death', the magic preventing them from gaining entrance to her hut had dissipated; a few well placed blows from Shale shattered the wooden door and Arthur stepped inside the hut, ignoring the memories that struck him at the sight of the hut's interior, the bed on which he'd awoken for the first time after Ostagar, Morrigan and Flemeth dispensing their advice on what to do, how best to make the first steps on the seemingly impossible path laid out before them. Arthur sighed sadly; the witch had saved his life, yes, and given them invaluable advice on what to do against the Blight, but there had been no choice; Morrigan deserved better than to be left to such an end.

The lone thing of interest in the one-room cottage-a simple wooden chest- was reduced to splinters by another blow of Shale's fist, and its contents came spilling out; a weighty tome, bound in black leather, the symbol of a dead, withered tree engraved on the front cover, and a set of impressive robes, fashioned from dark purple and black silk, studded and embellished with precious stones, feathers, bead and other adornments. Wynne and Arabella knelt and each ran a hand over the robes, but no sooner had they done so then both women recoiled as though they had just handled fresh entrails.

"Powerful magic of the darkest sort has been woven into the very fabric of this" Wynne remarked, disgustedly nudging the robes with the toe of her boot. "Enchantments that would activate when a specific person donned them, designed to paralyse the flesh, dull the senses and sap the will to resist of whoever wears them. No doubt Flemeth intended these for Morrigan to wear; the poor girl would likely have taken them without a thought, never knowing they were meant to help the abomination take possession of her more easily..."

"Only one thing to do then" Arthur replied, picking up the robes, admiring their fine make for half a moment, before furling them into a bundle and tossing it into the fire blazing in the grate. "Now they can pose no more threat to Morrigan..." he muttered as he watched the flames swiftly devour the silken bundle. '_If only the same could be said of Flemeth'_...there was something about the witch's words that sat ill with Arthur, something that said quite clearly '_You have not seen the last of me'_.

As Arthur deposited the tome into his backpack and the group made to leave the Wilds for good, they chanced one last look at the spot where Flemeth had lain dying. There was no trace of the witch's carcass, the dust her body had crumbled into gone and blown away, the blood that had spilled vanished into the very ground; to all intents and purposes, it was as if she had never been.

"Where do you think she will go?" Leliana asked, and Arthur felt a sudden chill go down his spine at the thought he couldn't shake that Flemeth was not as defeated as they believed.

"I don't know. Morrigan said it would take years for her to regain a mortal body and begin to recover her power, but I can't shake the feeling she might be mistaken..."

_#######################_

_The Waking Sea, 28 miles south-west of Kirkwall_

The ship _Sea Dog,_ a two mast brigantine, continued to plough its course through the choppy waters of the Waking Sea. The seas had been rough enough when the _Sea Dog _had fled the port at Gwaren with its hold and berths packed to the brim with refugees desperate to escape the Blight, and while they had experienced some good calm weather in the earlier stages of the voyage's second week, the bad weather had returned the closer the ship had drawn to the coast of the Free Marches; heavy rains and fierce winds whipping the sea up, the ship struggling against roiling waves and churning waters. Sea sickness was rife among the passengers, as the afternoon found a young man with short, spiky black hair and a short beard, clad in leather armour of adequate make, a pair of iron daggers sheathed at his hip, standing besides the ship's rail opposite one of his fellow passengers in the throes of sea sickness.

"You know, the sailors told me back in the old days, someone who couldn't get their sea legs quick enough was considered a bad omen and tossed over the side" Samuel Hawke remarked to the young woman beside him with her head over the side, the noises coming from her telling him quite clearly she wasn't likely to find hers anytime soon.

His younger sister, Bethany, reluctantly raised her head up from the rail, her narrow forehead streaked with sweat, her black hair windswept and her naturally pale complexion having taken on an unhealthy green pallor.

"If it's calmer under the sea than on it, by all means, throw me in" she cursed. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll make the sharks choke on my bones! Oh Maker, not again-!" she moaned, ducking her head back over the side as another bout of queasiness came over her. Samuel turned away from the sound of his sister vomiting her guts up over the side to look down the ship's main deck, seeing, as he always did, the good number of fellow refugees on deck taking in some fresh air, rubbing the short black beard that graced his lower face as he mused on the situation. How many others like him were even now fighting for places on overcrowded ships away from Ferelden, how many more lives like those of the Hawke family would be changed irrevocably before the Blight had run its course?

Among those standing on deck, Samuel could see his mother Leandra standing at the stern, accompanied by Wolf, the family's faithful pet mabari and constant companion ever since he'd imprinted on a sixteen year old Samuel and the newest companion on their desperate flight from Lothering moments before the darkspawn horde had descended like a locust swarm and obliterated the village he'd called home for so many years from existence, a fearsome woman by the name of Aveline Vallen, long ginger hair tied back from her face with a red leather headband, dressed in a simple leather jerkin and trousers , carrying the sword and shield of her late husband, maimed and fatally poisoned by a hurlock during their flight to safety. Samuel could see his mother and Aveline talking quietly and he was glad his mother was beginning to open up a little; Leandra had been somnambulant and distant since Carver had been crushed to death in the claws of an ogre, barely eating or drinking, barely acknowledging her children's attempts to engage with her; Samuel felt at least relieved his mother had found someone she could begin to open up to again, even if the cause of the bond between the two women was the shared pain of losing a loved one. Hopefully, Aveline would provide the beginnings of getting Mother to open up enough for her children to complete the recovery.

Samuel made to join the two older women and give Bethany a bit of space to herself, when suddenly, a burning hot sensation erupted in the centre of his chest, so sudden and painful and so unexpected that it was all Samuel could do not to fall to his knees from shock more than anything in front of everyone on board.

"What is it?" Bethany exclaimed, her own illness forgotten in sight of her older brother's discomfort.

"My...my heart" Samuel gasped, about a half second before he realised it wasn't his heart, it was something _above_ his heart. Reaching into the gambeson he wore over the simple suit of leather armour he'd been requisitioned by Ostagar's quartermaster, Samuel delved until he found what he was after; the chain around his neck. Unfastening the clasp, Samuel pulled out the offending item; a length of silver chain upon which dangled a wooden pendant, a piece of sylvanwood carved into the shape of a rearing stag. It was the witch's amulet; the price they'd had to pay in exchange for her help in escaping from that darkspawn ambush with their lives. The amulet had been inert and lifeless all that time they'd journeyed through the Wilds and Gwaren, but now, it glowed and exuded heat as if it were fashioned from white-hot metal.

Even as he held the glowing talisman up to his face, he could hear the witch's words in his ears as clear as she were speaking to him again, repeating the bargain they had made in exchange for her assistance...

'_There is a clan of Dalish elves who dwell near to the city of Kirkwall. Deliver this amulet to their Keeper, Marethari. Do as she asks with it, and any debt between us is paid in full...'_

Part of his mind screamed at him to get rid of the accursed thing, to pitch the amulet into the sea and forget the whole business with the witch, but another argued against it. After all, the Witch of the Wilds had saved their lives, and considering how the legends all expounded on how cunning and devious the witch was, not to mention how great and terrible her wrath could be; who knew what she would do to a single young man and a girl still in her teens who'd reneged on their part of a bargain with her when magic like transforming into a High Dragon seemed little more than a parlour trick to the old witch?

"What do you think we should do?" Bethany enquired, her expression uncertain as she waited for her brother's conclusion.

"I think we should keep our side of the bargain. And soon" Samuel replied, though the words sounded uneasy as he tucked the amulet into a secure pouch at his belt.


	38. Chapter 36: Yet More Secrets

_And here we are, at long last! I can only say sorry to those who've been waiting patiently for this; real life has been a right bitch, coupled with her sister writer's block, and they have served to make my life hell the last few days! Hopefully, the next few shouldn't take as long._

_Glad to know so many enjoyed the choice to change the Flemeth battle from just another dragon fight into something else. There's certainly going to be similar embellishments to the story as this goes on, and I hope you enjoy them as much as you have so far._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or favourites; special thanks to **Ygrain333 (**whose short story **Ashes to Embers** gave me an intriguing idea for this one), **Mystic Gohan88, spectre4hire, Theodur, Knight of Holy Light, ethan89, cakeisalie **and** strifeandpestilence **for your great reviews, as well, along with **The Phoenix King, Uzumaki Rayu, Agent 94, XBoxN7 **and **jedimaster01 **for adding this story to your favourites ; knowing that so many want to read the next instalment has been the best motivator to overcome the bane of my life, writer's block!_

_As always, I don't own Dragon Age, unfortunately; with the exception of my embellishments, all content is Bioware's._

_'**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else,enjoy!_

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Two days after the events at Ostagar and the Wilds, the companions made their way back under the portcullis and into the courtyard of Redcliffe Castle. They'd ridden their horses near to the point of collapse to get out of the Blighted territories the darkspawn had conquered, but there was no choice. They'd departed Flemeth's hut and almost immediately, Arthur had felt the itching that signified the darkspawn approaching, no doubt intrigued by the discovery of a new place to loot and despoil. They'd returned to Ostagar as quickly as the snow had allowed, recovered their horses and rode without pause or respite until the fortress was little more than a speck on the horizon behind them. Arthur was glad to see the back of it, silently hoping he would never set foot there again; the memories that returning to that place had evoked were not welcome, for him or Alistair. To return to the site of where everything in their lives had gone wrong, and then to get only a hint of the madness behind the actions of the powerful that dark night, to know that there was so much going on in the shadows while the battle had been fought and that in all likelihood, the full extent of the machinations and plots of the powerful present at Ostagar would likely never be known...

'_Some things'_ he told himself '_are better left forgotten'_. Perhaps one day, that sentiment would be more than cold comfort.

As the group trouped into the castle's great hall, Eamon and Teagan were already present, Eamon seated at a chair while Teagan was reading from a parchment roll, which judging from the snippets Arthur caught, was a list of Redcliffe's standing strength at arms.

"Thirty knights are within the castle at present; hopefully more should return once word of your recovery reaches them, though we should anticipate some delay to their arrival, on account of the civil war and the Blight. We have about seven hundred men at arms, and with a suitable drive at recruitment, even with conscription if necessary, we should be able to raise those numbers. Arthur's own forces are arriving steadily as we speak; a Dalish force of about five hundred has already arrived, and their scouts informed me more will be arriving shortly, from those clans who are not at present harrying Gwaren, as well as about thirty mages of varying strengths from the Circle of Magi. First Enchanter Irving's last missive said he will try to raise more numbers as soon as he can and he believes Knight Commander Greagoir can be persuaded to allow us the service of his templars..."

"We'll finish this later, Teagan" Eamon silenced his brother with a raised hand as he took in their guests. "So, I see you have returned, and in one piece, thankfully. Did you recover what you returned to Ostagar for?"

"See for yourself" Arthur replied as with a gesture from him, Alistair drew Maric's sword and laid it on the table before the two astounded noblemen. Shale, at the same time, deposited the royal strongbox at the foot of the dais on which the arl's table stood.

"Maric's sword, most impressive" Teagan mused as he idly ran a finger over the weapon's edge. Eamon also got to his feet and trouped over to the strongbox, holding out a hand into which Arthur placed the chest's key. Opening the chest, Eamon's hands emerged clutching the urn holding Cailan's ashes; he looked nonplussed, until he caught sight of the Theirin family crest carved into the stone and its meaning became immediately apparent.

"Oh, my dear boy...how did it come to this?" Cailan's uncle asked sadly, staring solemnly at the receptacle of his nephew's earthly remains. Teagan also seemed stricken at the sight of the urn.

"Only one of the many victims of Loghain's betrayal, but the one whose loss has had the greatest of repercussions" Teagan remarked sadly. "Justice will be done, I promise, for all you and all those who have died because of that bastard's cowardice, ambition and lunacy" the Bann swore angrily, Eamon nodding in agreement, though no vehement oath came from the arl.

"May I?" his younger brother asked, extending a hand gingerly and Eamon passed the urn over to his brother, Teagan holding it gently in both hands. "I will take this to the Redcliffe Chantry. There, Cailan may lie in state and our people may pay their respects to their king, until the time comes and we may lay him to rest in the royal tomb in Denerim, besides Maric, Rowan and all the others of his line who have gone before him" the Bann said sadly as he departed for the village. Eamon watched as his brother departed, carrying Cailan's remains away, sighing softly to himself and turning his attention back to his guests with an almost apologetic look.

"Forgive his venom. Teagan has always been close to Cailan-my brother was always a more common visitor to the court at Denerim than I-Cailan often summoned Teagan on hunts and other business, both official and personal- and he has never held Loghain in anything but contempt; the pair often had various encounters at court, none of which were particularly friendly or even courteous. He already despised Loghain as a lecherous seducer and a commoner raised far above his station before Ostagar; Maker knows what Teagan thinks of the man now"

"A seducer?" Arthur asked, intrigued despite himself. Loghain had more than earned his hatred, Alistair's, Wynne's and likely all of Ferelden's, but he did not know the circumstances that had led to the man earning Teagan's ire, Arthur remembering well the spite with which Teagan had derided the regent upon their first meeting. Eamon sighed, running a hand through his grey hair.

"Did you know, during the rebellion, my sister, Maric's betrothed, had an affair with Loghain? There was fault on both sides of course, Maric gallivanting with an elf, arguments, constant fights and disputes between all three of them, but Teagan never learned the full story; I only heard it because Maric got drunk in my company not long after Rowan's funeral and told me the whole sorry tale. As far as Teagan was concerned, Loghain seduced Rowan into betraying her vow to Maric and bringing dishonour on the Guerrin name for no good reason. The day Maric named Loghain Teyrn of Gwaren, Teagan clenched his jaw so tight I feared his teeth would shatter. I once asked my brother what Loghain might do to make Teagan like him, and my brother said 'If he'd died at the River Dane, I might like him a bit. Better a humble martyr than an arrogant legend'. My brother has always believed firmly that Loghain's skill and ability as a general should never have extended to politics, that if Maric wanted to continue with his folly of raising up a peasant, he should have left Loghain as a military commander like our father would have, and not give him the chance to feed his raging ambition by appointing him to one of the last terynirs in the kingdom"

Eamon sighed wearily, shaking his head, at his brother, Loghain or the whole sorry situation Ferelden found itself in-Arthur didn't know which-, then turned his head back to Arthur. "Still, I thank you for performing the proper funerary rites; whatever simple service you gave Cailan is better than leaving his body to the mercy of the elements and the darkspawn's cruel amusement. Doubtless, a memorial service can be held properly at the Grand Cathedral in Denerim once the Blight has been defeated, but that is a matter for another day. Now, if there is nothing else, I will take my leave; there are still many matters to attend to in regards to preparing Redcliffe to enter into the coming conflict and I would imagine you too have other tasks to see to..."

"There is more" Arthur remarked, pulling out the three letters, the parchments whose contents had likely been the motive for Cailan's murder, and placed them on the table before Eamon, the one the Arl had penned himself topmost. Eamon pensively skimmed their content, sighing as he recognised his own correspondence with the King, and his eyes widened in shock as his eyes fell upon the correspondence between his nephew and the Empress.

"So it was true. I'd heard rumours that Cailan was planning a formal alliance with Orlais, but to my ears, they were just rumours..."

"Cailan didn't tell you his plans?" Arthur asked, sounding surprised that the king would withhold such information from a man many at court held to be the young king's most trusted advisor.

"Cailan would have played the matter close to his chest; after the letter I sent him, doubtless he wished to keep any word of it from the court until he was in a position to ensure none would be able to challenge it. Still, at least it means the boy heeded me about Anora, and I must admit to agreeing with Teagan that her influence at court has allowed her father far too much leeway, but I doubt that his choice of a new bride would be such a wise one; while an alliance with Orlais would have its benefits, the great antipathy between Ferelden and Orlais would no doubt be much more difficult to persuade the common folk and the nobility to accept an alliance. Even if we have the motive for Loghain's treachery, we may not be able to use it; he could easily claim it was to prevent another Orlesian attempt at conquest, and many would believe it...No doubt that's why Cailan kept it a secret; had the news gotten out ahead of schedule, he could easily have had a rebellion on his hands"

"But why would he keep such from you?"

"No doubt he feared that using me or Teagan to attend to this matter of royal business would arouse suspicion. Nor could he leave such in the hands of a royal courier; secrets can be pulled from such men without difficulty. No, Cailan would have most likely used someone of high rank and status, a man whose highborn credentials would be sufficient for him to deal personally with the Empress, and whose loyalty and dedication to Cailan and Ferelden should have been beyond question..."

"Who?" Alistair asked, intrigued.

"I think Arthur already knows the answer" Eamon replied sadly, giving Arthur a rather piercing look. His mind was blank briefly...and then the pieces fell into place.

"It can't be..." Arthur muttered, more to himself than anyone in particular as half-forgotten memories came to the fore of his mind... "Not him"... He could remember overhearing things, late-night talks between his parents, sometimes angry, othertimes persuasive, others jubilant and some more solemn and severe. Even as he recalled, some of those snippets of half-remembered conversation rang in his ears...

_"Cailan is trying to secure Ferelden's future and he wishes my assistance in doing so...I am the royal ambassador to Orlais, I am duty-bound to obey my king!..._

_'We have a chance here, a chance to ensure our family's star never wanes! We cannot cling to old and swift-fading glory as the Mac Tirs do; we must press forward and ensure our House's future; I owe that to our children...'_

_'Fergus tells me he thinks Oriana is with child again and Cailan proposes that if his 'proposal' is successful, he intends that our second grandchild be wed to the firstborn of his new union. Think about it, love...Grandmother to the Queen or King-Consort of Ferelden has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Not to mention we'll have ensured Fergus's prosperity as Teyrn when the time comes for him to assume that mantle, as well as bring enough prosperity and wealth to ensure Arthur does not want for anything. Who knows, we may even use this prominence to find someone willing to help him settle down...'_

_'We have the chance to join our House to the royal line and make our grandchildren, our great grandchildren the beginning of a new dynasty! To ensure that our names will be forever twined to the promise of peace and prosperity in Ferelden..._

_'For the love of the Maker, Eleanor, tell no one that I've told you this. There are some people in this world who cannot know about this at any cost!...If the wrong people were to learn what I have said, what I know, I dread to think what might happen..."_

Arthur felt like he'd been hit by a charging bull. He barely heard his companions calling his name, asking if he were alright, so stricken by the effect of all the pieces falling into place.

"Arthur, what is it?" He barely heard Alistair's concerned inquiry.

"He understands now why his family was killed" Eamon finished sadly. Arthur barely felt Leliana guiding him into a chair before his legs gave out from shock, for his mind was still reeling from the revelation of just how much he hadn't suspected about his own father, just how much he'd overlooked.

"My father..."

"Cailan _trusted_ Bryce" Eamon replied firmly. "Your father was royal ambassador to Orlais, given his skill for compromise, diplomacy and negotiation; skills that would be of great use to Cailan in a matter as delicate as this. Loghain was obviously not an option, and had Teagan or I been the negotiator, it would have aroused suspicions as to why one of the King's family was going back and forth to Val Royeaux, and neither Cailan or Celene risk using the services of a courier. No, Bryce would have been used as a man of high standing whose discretion and loyalty Cailan could rely upon, but whose presence in Orlais wouldn't arouse suspicion. I don't know how Loghain or Anora, or both of them found out about this, but once it became known...

Arthur nodded; what had happened to his father, to his whole family was all the answer he needed_. 'The only question, Loghain, is whether you wanted my father dead to silence any potential talk of an alliance with Orlais, or whether, like Eamon, you just wanted revenge on a man who dared to be part of a plan that would strip you and your daughter of all position and influence? I will have my answer...just before I take your head!'_

"And once he did...well, who better to use as a cats-paw against Bryce than a man who coveted everything he had?" Eamon finished disgustedly.

"So my family were murdered because Loghain wanted to settle a score?" Arthur spat angrily, hand clenching round the hilt of his sword.

"More likely, he wished to ensure no word of Cailan's plans outlived the king. Bryce's prolonged service in Orlais no doubt gave Loghain and Howe the idea to frame your father as a traitor and what happened at Ostagar ensured that any talk of an alliance died with Cailan. Loghain planned this well"

"He will pay" Alistair swore vehemently, and Arthur couldn't help but notice the note of authority that crept into his fellow Warden's voice, that he had little trouble seeing Alistair as the king Eamon wished him to become.

"For everything he's done, for everyone he has wronged, Loghain will pay for his crimes with his life, _I swear it_! If it's the only thing I do right if they make me king, I will have that bastard drawn and quartered, and to the Black City with his damned reputation!"

Eamon nodded approvingly at Alistair's vehemence and turning back to Arthur, placed a sympathetic hand on the young man's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, Arthur, I am sorry you learned of it like this. It was not my intention to make you doubt your father's good nature, worthiness and honour. Whatever Bryce's other motives were for serving Cailan in this, I do not doubt that for the main part, his desire was to ensure the future prosperity of you and your House"

Arthur nodded mutely, barely hearing Eamon's attempt at consolation. _'I should have seen...should have suspected...'_ but no; there had been nothing, no knowledge, no sign of what his father had known. He'd always assumed that his father's murder had been nothing but petty jealousy on Howe's part, and Loghain simply covering up for his cat's paw's indiscretion, but this...to know there was a wider, far greater motive behind that atrocity...it sickened him, the depths to which these so-called honourable men would sink in the name of their ambitions.

"Where can I find Morrigan?". He didn't truly wish to see the witch, but he did wish to be alone, to hear nothing more for the time being of fools and their petty politics, and how he and his companions fitted into or opposed their plans.

"I believe your companion is in the library" Eamon replied, clearly unhappy with the brusque change of subject but unwilling to press the matter. "She's spent most of her time since you left there, nose buried in one book or another, Maker knows why. What do you wish to see her for? She's made it clear to my servants she is not to be disturbed"

"I have..._something_ for her" Arthur replied over his shoulder as he departed in the direction of the library, in the castle's west wing, glad for any distraction from the churning thoughts in his head, of how the waters had become even more murky regarding Loghain's motivation. Leliana moved as if to follow him, but Alistair shook his head, and Arthur was grateful that his fellow Warden could sense he wanted some time alone. _Her_ company would be welcome, just not at that very moment.

######################

Sure enough, Morrigan was in the library, sat alone at a table, flicking through the tome he'd recovered for her from the Circle. No one else was in the small room, not even a librarian; Arthur got the feeling that few people liked to be in Morrigan's presence for long. Not that he couldn't understand their unease; after all, it had taken several months for him to warm to the young witch. Several months before, Arthur would never have imagined himself risking his life for Morrigan. _'How things have changed' _he thought.

Morrigan was so engrossed in her reading she barely noticed there was someone else in the room until Arthur walked up to the table and dropped Flemeth's grimoire onto it with a loud bang. Morrigan started in surprise at the interruption, one hand going towards her staff, but her sudden anger calmed as she realised who was interrupting, and changed into glee when she saw what lay before her.

"Mother's true grimoire?" she said, gingerly lifting up the front cover to open the book as if she couldn't quite believe it were real.

"Flemeth is dead. I put a sword through her skull myself and I saw her...her spirit, her essence, whatever you want to call it flee" Arthur replied in a flat voice. "What happens now?"

"Now" Morrigan replied with a devious smile "I should have time enough to study Mother's grimoire and learn how to keep her from stealing my body in the future, for she _will_ be back. One day, I have no doubt about that. And if I cannot find the means to protect myself in here, then when the day comes, I will track her down in whatever new body she inhabits, and she will die, again and again if needs be. If I have to, I will kill her a thousand times and more if it will keep me safe" she swore with a fervour that unnerved Arthur a little. He'd seen the strength Morrigan wielded and doubtless, the secrets in Flemeth's grimoire would only increase that; not for the first time, he was glad he didn't count Morrigan among his enemies, for he got the feeling she would an implacable foe.

Perhaps something of his opinion showed on his face, for Morrigan's fervour diminished a little, for the witch's expression calmed and she gave him a soft smile. If it weren't Morrigan, Arthur would have called it grateful as she added "But enough of such matters. I have you to thank for saving me, so let us return to the matter of dealing with the darkspawn, no?"

"Of course" Arthur replied, smiling despite himself. "I'm glad to know you'll be safe, for now at least. But next time you need help, come to me sooner. You can trust me to help; you do know you can rely on me, just like the others do?" he asked.

For a moment, it seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. Morrigan's expression became rather wary, her eyes downcast, biting her lip as if uncertain what to say to such a declaration. When she finally did find her voice again, Morrigan spoke in a halting, wary tone.

"You...too much could happen in days to come to make such promises. Still, I am..._grateful_" she admitted as she seized the two books in her arms and pushed past Arthur towards the door, looking like she wanted to do nothing but get away from him.

"Let us return to the task at hand. There is still much to be done before-...There is still much to be done" she corrected herself swiftly, gathering up her things and departing out of the library without another word, leaving for the other side of the castle without a backwards glance, leaving Arthur completely nonplussed at her reaction and her choice of words...not to mention her slip of the tongue. '_What in the Maker's name was_ that _all about_?'

'_You'll soon learn Morrigan is not what she seems either...You will see what she wants with you soon enough, boy. You are just a pawn in a game you don't even know is being played. You will see"_

Flemeth's parting words came to Arthur unbidden, and though he tried to deny it, he couldn't shake the feeling there was truth to what the old witch said. Morrigan kept more secrets than the lot of them put together, and her reasons for agreeing to follow them against the Blight still remained her own. So if Flemeth were speaking the truth, what did Morrigan want? And what did it have to do with him?

'_What I wouldn't give for a day where I don't have to deal with people who have desires and secret agendas behind their actions. At least the darkspawn are honest about what they want'._

######################

"Ah, welcome back, Wardens!" Levi Dryden called out as their horses rode through the gate and into the courtyard of Soldier's Peak. "You've been gone so long, I was worried we weren't going to be seeing any more of you until the spring thaw" he chuckled as the companions leapt down from their horses and a number of Levi's nephews ran forward to take the reins and lead them over to the castle's stables. It had been a good while since they'd returned to the fortress, and Levi had clearly put the arrival of his quite extensive family and the time that had elapsed to begin making the fortress suitable for habitation again, clearing away the remains of Sophia and Arland's men, reinforcing the gates and fortifications in case of trouble from bandits or any other interlopers, though Arthur was relieved to see there appeared to have been no signs of trouble; no doubt Soldier's Peak's reputation as haunted and abandoned served to discourage even the most curious or ambitious of looters.

"It's good to be back" Alistair replied as he swung down from the snow-white mare he'd taken from Redcliffe's stables. "I see you've been busy" the Warden chuckled.

"Aye, since you left, we've been getting to work. Helps that I've got such a large family to work with; they've all been pitching in" the merchant laughed, before his expression became curious. "So what brings you back to us after so long? My family and I have wanted to extend our hospitality to you for ages by way of thanks for all you've done for the Drydens"

"Where's Avernus?" Arthur asked. "That's the main reason we've come back here; we need some..._advice_ from him"

"Up in his tower, I expect" Levi replied with a shrug. "Seems to like keeping to himself; haven't heard a peep from him in months. Still, I've been telling the children to stay away from the tower" the merchant finished with a shudder at the thought of the creature dwelling above them.

"You go on ahead; I'll meet you up there" Arthur said quickly to Alistair and Arabella, who had already begun to head up the stairs to the castle entrance. Arthur, however, delved into the large storage chest Levi had loaned them as a place to keep their excess gear-spare armour, surplus weapons, trinkets and materials for crafting and the like, shifting aside until he found what he sought.

"Warden" Mikhael Dryden remarked curtly as Arthur approached and deposited on the anvil the broken sword and dagger that had once belonged to Duncan. Mikhael picked up the sword and dagger in turn, examining the damage the darkspawn and the elements inflicted to the once-fine weapons.

"These will need repairing. New blades will have to be fitted, a new scabbard for each, and I fear the sword may require a new hilt. Do you have a material in mind? I am in possession of enough ore to forge silverite, red steel, veridium..."

"I had something in mind" Arthur replied with a dry smile as, beside the sword and dagger, he deposited several of the bones he'd taken from the carcass of the High Dragon. The Dryden blacksmith ran his hands over the curved horns, the ribs and tibia and other long bones pulled from the carcass. Mikhael's eyes went wide with glee, an emotion one rarely saw on the face of the stoic blacksmith and he picked up the bones and the broken swords.

"It shall be done. I will replace the blades with the materials provided and make some...alterations befitting a weapon that will be in the hand of one whom my family owes much" Mikhael said as he began to stoke the forge. "Go, speak with the old one in the tower. With luck, I shall be done by the time you return" Mikhael said as Arthur raced up the steps to rejoin the others.

###########################

"Ah, Wardens, so wonderful to see you again!" the unctuous voice came from that fanged, corruption stained mouth again, and Arthur gritted his teeth in displeasure. Alistair also looked less than happy to be in the presence of the old, tainted Warden, and Arabella looked mortified at the sight of the creature emerging from the high backed chair to address them, but if Avernus was offended by their displeasure at being in his company, he gave no sign of it, waffling on in a manner that was clearly meant to be pleasant and ingratiating, but instead came off as obsequious.

"You may dispense with the hollow pleasantries, Avernus" Arthur cut across the old Warden's prattling with a raised hand. "This is not a social call. We need information"

"What about?" Avernus's hurlock-like face contorted into a confused expression.

"The Joining. What it entails, what is required to perform it and how we can get such" Arthur replied. "In less than a week, we will be entering Orzammar and I suspect that our time there will likely require a sojourn into the Deep Roads. Arabella here was recruited into the Grey Wardens months ago, but she has yet to take the Joining, and if I am to enter the Deep Roads in the midst of a Blight, I want as many Grey Wardens on hand as possible. So tell me, how do we go about the Joining?"

Avernus was silent for a few moments as he pulled a hefty tome down from a nearby bookshelf, opening the book as he sank back into his chair and flicking through the pages until he found the page he was after, motioning for the other Wardens to be seated. As Arthur, Alistair and Arabella lowered themselves into the chairs available, Avernus began to talk in a curt, scholarly manner.

"The Joining is, as you know, the rite whereby we acquire the taint the darkspawn possess. It is our great advantage in the war against those beasts; to know where they are, what they think. The ritual itself requires three ingredients; firstly, a mixture of fresh darkspawn blood and lyrium ore in a liquid state..."

"Why lyrium?" Arabella interjected.

"As you know, girl, in its rawest form, lyrium can be a potent toxin, just as lethal as darkspawn blood, if not more so. Even the processed form the dwarves manufacture can have side effects; amnesia, loss of equilibrium, loss of one or more senses, and even complete mental psychosis in some truly advanced cases. However, it is these toxic attributes that makes lyrium of use to us; the addition of lyrium goes a long way to nullifying many of the venomous properties of darkspawn blood. This was first postulated by the earliest Grey Wardens during the First Blight, and my own research confirms it. The darkspawn blood provides the connection to the taint, allowing us to sense darkspawn, but the lyrium allows us to make us of it. Without the lyrium to temper its potency, the taint would reduce all who took the Joining to little more than mindless ghouls, possessing the taint but no more able to make use of it than a Blight wolf"

"Can the lyrium completely nullify the taint's poisonous side-effects?" Arthur asked, intrigued despite himself. "I've read your earlier research, on how it is the taint that causes the shortened lifespan, among other side-effects. Is there any way these side effects could be removed completely?"

"Not at present" Avernus replied, disappointment in his blue eyes. "I had been experimenting by inducing ever greater quantities of lyrium to darkspawn blood, but so far I haven't been able to complete removing the toxins that shorten our lifespan, trigger the ravenous hunger that we suffer, among other side-effects. I will keep experimenting, of course, but it may take years, decades even, before my research comes to fruition"

"Then you will make that your priority while we are gone" Arthur commanded, receiving a nod and more obsequious reassurances from Avernus.

"And the third ingredient of the Joining?" Alistair cut in, trying to bring the conversation back to its original topic.

"Now that is the rarest and most valuable of all the Joining's components" Avernus said with an enigmatic smile, one that did not sit well with Arthur.

"Enough with the riddles, Avernus" Arthur snapped. "I do not have the time or inclination to play games with you. What is it?"

"A single drop of blood taken from the veins of an archdemon" was the curt reply.

Arthur felt his jaw drop, and judging by the incredulous expressions on the others' faces, he wasn't the only one to be caught completely off guard by this revelation. He'd suspected, given the secrecy and mysteriousness that had surrounded his own Joining that it comprised something so powerful, so enigmatic and so dangerous that the Grey Wardens were afraid to say it except in the company of the most venerable of their number, but never in his wildest imagination could he have suspected something like that.

"How in the Maker's name did the Wardens get their hands on that?"

"After the Battle of Ayseleigh, the Wardens bled Andoral's carcass of every drop of blood the Dragon of Slaves had left in his veins. Approximately fifty vials of the archdemon's blood were sent out, given to the possession of every Warden Commander, to ensure the Grey Wardens are capable of inducting new members. The vast majority, however, like the blood recovered from Dumat, Zazikel and Toth, were removed and placed in a secure vault, protected by the most powerful wards the Circle of Magi could construct, and guarded at all times by a hundred Wardens, in the deepest recesses of Weisshaupt Fortress. Should the supply in any nation in Thedas dwindle, the Warden Commander would send word to Weisshaupt and the First Warden would remove more blood from the vault, to be dispatched where it was needed"

"Do you have some of this archdemon blood to hand?" Arabella asked. "Is it possible to perform the Joining now?" sounding eager to be done with it. Arthur didn't know whether the girl was excited at the chance of what she had been chosen for being so close at hand, or whether she simply wished to be done with the matter after so long waiting. Before he could decide whether it was enthusiasm or resignation, however, Avernus shook his head.

"Alas no; if I did, you would already be a Warden by now, my dear girl, and there'd be no need for the conversation that follows now. Sadly, Soldier's Peak's cache of blood ran dry many years before the rebellion; Sophia was, shall we say, less than frugal when it came to the Joining. I remember her once saying she'd conscript the entire population of Denerim if it would give her the edge over Arland. Naturally, after the 'events' here that resulted in our Order's exile from Ferelden, no more blood was sent from Weisshaupt. After King Maric repealed Arland's decree, I learned that more had been dispatched from the fortress to the Wardens' new compound in Denerim..."

"May as well be in Val Royeaux for all the good it does us" Alistair muttered darkly. "The compound's at the palace, which means Loghain will have it more tightly guarded than a crab's arse".

"So how are we supposed to perform the Joining now?" Arthur demanded angrily, annoyed at their plans being thwarted. Avernus spread his hands helplessly, before getting to his feet, pulling bottles and glass phials off shelves around him.

"I do not know, but I can make sure that if, by some miracle, you do manage to acquire archdemon blood in your travels, you will be ready to undertake the ritual" Avernus replied as he poured a good measure of darkspawn blood, reddish black and stinking of decay, into a glass bottle. He uncorked a second phial, this one full of a shimmering blue fluid, and poured it in with the blood, the mixture taking on the deep purple colouration of a bruise.

"It is ready" Avernus said, holding out the vial to Arthur. "The glass is enchanted, so it won't break if you drop or misplace it, and its contents will stay fresh and ready for use". Arthur nodded by way of thanks and got to his feet to leave, Arabella and Alistair doing likewise, but Avernus's call stopped them as Arthur made to open the door.

"And if you'll take my advice for what it's worth, be careful in the depths. Even locked away as I am here, I still hear word of what's happening across Ferelden. Despite what the fools at court believe, the lack of attacks in recent months does not mean this threat is over. The darkspawn may be crude and animalistic beings, but I assure you, the one leading them is not. If the archdemon has not made its presence known to the surface, that can only be because it is biding its time, and no recent attacks mean that it has kept the bulk of its army with it. The archdemon is neither stupid nor impulsive; it is like any predator, simply awaiting the perfect time to strike. Mark my words, the second it scents weakness, an opportunity given to it by these fool nobles who throw their armies and their lives away tearing this nation apart, the darkspawn will descend upon us like wolves on a wounded beast. Do not linger overlong in Orzammar, for the enemies of all life will come at us again before long, and unless you have the armies the treaties grant you ready, no one of either side of this civil war will survive the onslaught that is to come".

########################

As they descended back into the courtyard, one of Levi's many nephews approached Arthur and said "Beg pardon, milord, but my uncle Mikhael says his task is done. Your blades are ready"

Arthur raced to Soldier's Peak's foundry, where Mikhael stood outside beside a table, something upon it hidden beneath a white sheet. As Arthur approached, Mikhael inclined his head and said curtly "Warden. I have done as you asked" and pulled the sheet off the table.

The sword that lay before him was the most magnificent weapon Arthur had ever seen; as glorious, if not more so than the Cousland sword, Asturian's Might, even the blade of Maric. Mikhael had repaired the damage done to Duncan's sword with expert skill, not to mention added his own embellishment to the weapon. The scabbard was fashioned from whitewood, banded with rings of blued steel to give it support, along with the scabbard's chape, neck and mount fashioned from the same metal. The hilt had been fashioned to make it reminiscent of Maric's sword; the pommel was now carved to resemble the head of a shrieking griffon, its beak and plumage fashioned from ivory, its eyes set with perfectly cut sapphires, and the hilt was wrapped in black leather bound with silver wire. Arthur excitedly wrapped the gauntleted fingers around the sword's hilt and drew it.

The broken silverite blade Duncan's sword had had was gone, replaced with dragonbone treated and forged to the highest standard. Mikhael held out a rod of iron before him and Arthur, raising the sword above his head, brought it down; the sword, honed to a razored edge, cleaved through the metal as if it were cheese, a single ringing note echoing in the still winter air. Satisfied, Arthur smiled and studied the sword's blade in close detail, admiring the runes cut into the dragonbone; the Tevinter runes of frost and paralysis Arthur recognised, though the layer of hoarfrost coating the blade was something of a giveaway, but the third rune he didn't recognise.

"How'd you manage these?" Arthur asked; the blacksmith was no enchanter. Mikhael merely gave a dry smile and replied "You've our other guests to thank for that", motioning towards a group of his younger kin, stood in a crowd around Edward, barking happily as he gambolled around-

"Enchantment!" Sandal Feddic called out gleefully as Edward brought the cork ball back to the dwarven boy's hand for him to throw again. Arthur chuckled, belting the sword and a dagger that Mikhael handed to him, its dragonbone blade honed to a razored sharpness, the rune of paralysis carved into the blade, to his waist, the sword at his left hilt, the dagger to a loop on the right side of his belt, and made his way over to the roaring fire to one side of the courtyard, where the dwarf boy's merchant father sat on a wooden bench along with Levi, Alistair and Arabella, who also had Zevran sidling up to her. A tall, demure woman in a simple, hand-woven dress who seemed to be Levi's wife was stood by the fire, offering her husband and his guests goblets from a tray, their contents steaming.

"Good to see you again, Warden" Bodahn called out, raising his goblet in welcome as Arthur approached. "I'd hoped to find you at Redcliffe, now merchant friends of mine say the castle and the village are open for business once again, but it is a pleasant surprise to see you here, Warden".

"And you, Bodahn, though I must ask, what brings you here? And what has your boy done with this sword?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the third rune that he didn't recognise.

"I heard rumours that someone had cleared the tunnels around Soldier's Peak, so I thought I'd come look for myself, see if there was anything to be 'salvaged' . And as for your sword, that's a dweomer rune Sandal's done for you; that should give you some protection from spells. Miss Amell here was telling me about your return to Ostagar and the darkspawn sorcerer who made its lair there; made my blood run cold, that tale did! So my boy must have thought a little protection from magic would be a good thing for you to have. And if the rumours are true, then you'll need all the help you can get to bring down your foes!"

"And what, exactly, do the 'rumours' say?" Alistair pressed, one eyebrow lifting as he glanced at Bodahn.

"Well, that depends largely upon who you're speaking to," the dwarf replied, taking a generous swig from his goblet. "Some say you're either Ferelden's last hope for salvation; others that you're the murderers of King Cailan and traitors to the realm." Seeing the icy expressions on the faces of the two Wardens, he hastened to add, "More of the former than the latter, especially now that the regent has gotten so heavy handed. You two have become the toast of the realm, while he's managed to make himself the most hated man in the kingdom since Meghren"

"What's he up to now?" Arthur asked as he took a seat and helped himself to a goblet of what looked to be mulled wine from Levi's wife.

"I could more easily tell you what he's _not _up to" Bodahn said, shaking his head. "It seems he's decided that if the nobility won't stand with him willingly, he'll force them into line. I've heard of his troops attacking bannorns and arlings, nobles who stand against him vanishing, being arrested, tortured, even murdered...there's even a rumour going about that Arl Eamon was poisoned on Loghain's orders"

"Shocking," Alistair murmured drily. The trader was a good enough man, but his fondness for rumours and gossip meant his word had to be taken with a pinch of salt. Perhaps knowing that what he didn't know he couldn't be forced to divulge, Bodahn never pressed them for any details of their activities, and they shared little.

"Aye. Hard to believe that he was the Hero of River Dane but a few months ago," the dwarf agreed grimly. "He's king in all but name now; Anora hasn't been seen in months, and even if she were to make an appearance, no one would listen-everyone knows the queen just does what her father tells her now. As for Rendon Howe, if the rumours are true, Loghain shits and Howe wipes the regent's arse for him, that's how close they are"

"That would at least be a proper use for his talents," Arthur muttered coldly, eliciting soft laughs of amusement from Alistair, Zev and Arabella.

"True enough. The nobility hate the man almost as much as Loghain, so I hear. Ever since the Teyrn of Highever and the Arl of Denerim both met with sticky ends and Howe got both those peaches, there's a great many who want him gone, preferably with his head on a spike, but no one wishes to move against him, either...at least, not openly."

"Not so openly, though?" The key to Bodahn was patience. He relished passing on the news that he gleaned on the road, and had a talent for separating the kernels of truth, but he loved his story-telling, and it was hard to rush him. All you could do was channel him with the occasional question. Sure enough, the dwarf smiled softly beneath his beard.

"Let's just say that he and Loghain have done almost as good a job of uniting Ferelden as the pair of you, just not in the way they want. What started out as pockets of defiance has erupted into full-blown rebellion now: there's an army of several thousand that's been causing all sorts of havoc in the Bannorn the last few weeks, mostly comprised of the survivors of the slaughter at Winter's Breath, along with other banns, arls, freedmen and other sorts who've grown tired of Loghain's brutality. Word has it they've fallen back to Iachus Valley, where they're building their numbers and waiting for Loghain to come at them. Not only that, I hear there's word of riots everywhere; Gwaren, Denerim, Oswin, Highever...people are angry, make no mistake"

"Highever?" Arthur asked, the mention of his home piquing his curiosity. "What happened there?"

"Couldn't say. Sounds like the people are angry over food shortages; lack of soldiers to protect them from the darkspawn advance, the fact Loghain's forcing them to give up more and more of the freedoms we fought to reclaim from the Orlesians, all sorts of reasons. I hear tell people are fleeing in droves to the Free Marches; they say Ferelden's all but lost!"

"Maybe there's more to it..." Arthur mused half to himself. Could it be the people of Highever hadn't taken to Howe's claims about their ruling lords as willingly as the traitor would like?

The dwarf shrugged. "That's what I've heard on the road, anyway. Take it for what it is. The rebels are real, though, no matter whatever their reasons, and they've been keeping Loghain's forces racing from one end of the Bannorn to the other." The meaning could not be clearer; the focus on the rebellion had likely kept Loghain and Howe from any harder pursuit of the Grey Wardens. Still, this news was a double-edged sword; if the rebellion continued, there'd be no standing army of substantial size left to face the darkspawn. News from the south had brought no word of further raids or attacks from the Blighted lands, but Arthur was not as stupid as those at court he'd heard were celebrating the end of the darkspawn threat. The nightmares of the archdemon still plagued him, and they could mean only one thing, the same thing that all the others had warned of; the darkspawn were not gone, just biding their time.

"Still, I hope this all ends soon, one way or another. If this fighting keeps up much longer, we won't need the darkspawn to destroy us; Loghain and the Bannorn will have done the job for them!" Bodahn added, voicing their own concerns.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "I wonder if he has any idea what we're doing?" he mused. If Loghain did, it seemed it would have been a comparatively easy task to lay further ambushes on the limited routes the Wardens had to reach their prospective allies, but there had been nothing since Zevran's attempt, something that relieved and unsettled him a bit.

Bodahn shook his head. "From everything I've heard, it sounds like Loghain's seeing Orlesians every which way he turns, lurking in trees, hiding in the privy, I could go on. Whisperers say the man's suspects his own shadow of working for the Orlesians"

"That's ridiculous," Leliana scoffed as she joined them, worming her way onto the bench beside Arthur and wrapping a slim arm round his shoulders. "No self-respecting Orlesian spy would be caught dead lurking in a privy."

The dwarf gave a bark of laughter before continuing "Be that as it may, I've spoken to more than one who has heard him claim that the Grey Wardens are working for the Orlesians. If I had to guess, I'd say that he believes that you're stirring things up to make it easier for their armies to reinvade."

"Now _that's_ just idiotic" Arthur said angrily. "It's not like the treaties are a closely guarded secret; Morrigan told me Eamon had a book on the Fereldan Grey Wardens in his library that mentioned them; Cailan probably had one, as well. It surely couldn't be _that_ hard for Loghain to figure it out, or does he even think anymore?" _These_ were not the actions of the man whose tactical brilliance had helped to free Ferelden; these were the action of a madman, howling at the moon and lashing out at enemies where none existed.

"Cailan wasn't much for reading," Alistair said wryly, "but Maric would undoubtedly have had a book - books, more likely - that mentioned the treaties. I doubt Loghain considers us much of a threat, not compared to a rebellion in the Bannorn." His expression became grim, however, as he continued "We need to get this business with Orzammar done soon. Loghain may have forgotten about them, but the darkspawn won't have forgotten about him. Avernus is right about one thing, at least; they can only be building up their strength, waiting for the right moment to strike, and if we are not ready when they come for us, then we, Loghain and all of Ferelden will be crushed beneath the boots of the horde".

"Speaking of news, I don't suppose you know what's going on up north? We're heading to Orzammar next" Alistair asked Bodahn as an afterthought. Arthur could have sworn he saw the lines around the dwarf's eyes tighten for a second, as if he were unsure what to say, but a second later it was gone, and the dwarf was his amicable self again.

"I hear tell the dwarven king has passed on. Old as he was, he was most probably poisoned or assassinated. That's how most of the dwarven kings go" Bodahn replied noncommittally. "Word has it the Assembly has ordered the city gates sealed; trade's all but dried up to nothing, hence why I'm not going there"

"No, but we'd best get going" Arthur added as he downed the last of the wine. "I only hope whoever's leading those rebels can keep Loghain busy for a good long time to come".

###########################

_The rebel camp at Iachus Valley, 20 miles north east of South Reach_

"What news?"

"Our scouts have sighted Loghain's forces. The usurper's men number around thirteen thousand" the scout reported, relaying the information he had from the report the riders had brought in.

"And ours stand at about fifteen, so we have the numerical superiority" Arl Leonas Bryland remarked. "How soon will they reach us?"

"The scouts put the usurper's men at about a week's march away" came the reply, the scout making certain not to address Loghain by the title 'Teyrn' and especially not 'King' that the latest word from Denerim had the usurper referring to himself as.

"Good" the arl replied. "Give the orders to begin breaking camp"

"You don't intend to bring Loghain to battle?" a young man clad in chainmail angrily slammed his armoured fist down on the map table, his bearded face reddening furiously.

"Even if we attain victory here, we are not in a position to capitalise on any success we gain here" Bryland replied fairly. "Have no fear, Cedric; you will have vengeance for your father's death" Leonas reassured the young man, Bann Bronach's son, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, cooling the boy's anger somewhat. The boy had inherited his father's lands after his father had been slain at Winter's Breath, and Leonas could understand his desire to want to avenge his father and the men-at-arms who'd died in that battle-Maker knew his own blood boiled to avenge so many, Bryce and Eleanor for a start, not to mention all his freeholders and men-at-arms who'd died when South Reach fell to the darkspawn- but it would have to wait until they were in position to take advantage of the situation. Impulsiveness would avail them nothing.

"You still mean to proceed with the original plan?" Bann Voldric, another of his noble allies, and one of the most vociferous about bringing Loghain to justice, particularly after that incident that had ended with several of his best men _murdered_ in as cruel and humiliating a fashion as possible on the usurper's orders. Not for the first time, Bryland could not believe he was once again involved in a rebellion to ensure the freedom of Ferelden, but Loghain's brutality could no longer go unanswered, and if they didn't do something to curtail his rampaging ambition, it would be too late.

"Of course, you know my reasons. Firstly, Highever is a better location to situate ourselves than here; once we have taken and secured the city, we will be in a better position to threaten Denerim. If we take the capital and force Anora to either denounce her father or abdicate, he will be forced to capitulate. His daughter's position as queen is the only thing that gives Loghain's claim to regent; without her, those of the nobility not involved in this conflict should accept his only authority is a usurped one and react appropriately. Secondly, my sources tell me Rendon Howe's brood have been sequestered there, and I mean to teach my 'old friend'" Leonas spat, injecting the words with venomous sarcasm "as he presumed to call me the price he has yet to pay for his betrayal. If that dullard of a second son of his has the sense to surrender the city to us, we will keep him and his sister as hostages. If not, we take the city by force and send Rendon his children's heads in a box" Bryland spat angrily. He would never have contemplated such brutality before, but Rendon Howe would learn one way or another such horrific betrayals would not go unpunished_. 'I am not so great a fool as to believe the bullshit he and Loghain spoon-fed the court after Ostagar!'_

"And thirdly, I cannot give him back his wife, his child or his family, but I can give my charge back his birthright" Leonas concluded sadly, thinking of the last connection he had to his old friend, brought in badly wounded and barely alive by a party of his men escorting a party of Wilders fleeing the darkspawn advance before the fall of South Reach. "How is he?" Bryland added, turning his attention to the only members of his war council not Fereldan by birth; a pair of Chasind auxiliaries, the de facto leaders of the numerous Wilders who'd fled the Korcari Wilds from the Blight and found their way into his service; between the darkspawn's predations and raids by Loghain's forces, his own army had been in dire need of reinforcements, and for all that Fereldans looked down on the Chasind as crude and uncivilised, they were skilled warriors who knew the nature of the enemy that waited to the south all too well. The first was a tall man in his late twenties, dark skinned and clad in leather armour, his black hair braided and tied back behind his head, a curved sword taken from a darkspawn corpse at his hip and a simple wooden shield painted with Chasind symbols hung from a strap over his shoulder. The second was a woman, barely out of her teens, also clad in leather armour, though her choice of arms was a long spear, the spearhead fashioned with curved barbs designed to tear and rip flesh.

"He still sleeps. Our tribe's healer is with him, doing her best to wake him, but his hurt runs deep" the girl replied quietly. Bryland nodded in acceptance and replied "Inform me the second he wakes. If we are to storm Highever, I do not wish to hand charge of the city over to a man in a coma. This council is adjourned; you have your orders. See to them".

The assembled nobles, captains and other individuals saluted and departed. The two Chasind warriors took their leave, heading back to the section of the rebel camp set aside for the Wilder refugees and mercenaries fleeing ahead of the Blight. Most of the Fereldans did not, with the exception of one group; a handful of about two dozen men all of whom were united by one thing; the emblem of a laurel wreath that they wore upon their shields or on their armour. The two Chasind made their way to a large tent of black cloth, its sides painted with symbols of the Wilder Gods and stepped in trappings of magic. Inside, a haggard old woman, long grey hair hanging lankly around her face, dressed in long, fur-trimmed robes of black wool adorned with bones, feathers and other charms and fetishes marking her as a shaman, knowledgeable in the old ways, sat in a corner of the tent. Though many of the old woman's practices could be technically classified as blood magic, the rebels tolerated her presence because the healers were already overtaxed as it was, and the abilities of a mage as skilled and powerful as the old crone were hard to come by. Not to mention trying to turn her over to the templars would cause all sorts of problems with the Chasind auxiliaries serving in the rebel army.

"The dog lord wants to know when the man will wake" the young man asked of the old healer, even as she channelled more magical energy into a suppurating cut on her charge's chest; a man in his mid-twenties, stripped to the waist, resting on a pallet bed at the tent's rear, tossing and turning, but otherwise unawake.

"I cannot say, Marek" the old crone snapped. "The wounds the beast-men gave him were healed months ago, and his spirit remains strong, but he will not wake of his own will, and the spirits have not shown me a way to help him back". The girl nodded but the man shook his head.

"I don't know why you waste your skills. He's been sleeping near-dead for nearly five months. He's not going to wake" the Chasind man snapped "and even if he does, what life waits for him? I've heard what his men say; his wife and child murdered along with his family, his land stolen? What life will there be here if he wakes?"

"No" the maegi snapped. "I will not open the throat of a man who I used my own blood to restore from the brink of death. Kill him while he is helpless? Would you make me no better than one of the monsters that drove us from the Wilds?"

"Smother him with a pillow if the sight of his blood distresses you so, but put him out of his misery, grandmother. It would be a kindness"

"No" the old woman snapped angrily. "You forget your place, boy! Your father's death may have placed you in charge of the clan, but I still hold power here! In this place, where the spirits and the magic hold sway, I am in charge, and I will not kill a helpless man whose care I have been charged with. And besides, how long do you think that northerner lord will keep us in his good graces if you decide to give his charge a mercy killing?"

Before Marek could make another remark in answer, a sound cut through the tension; that of a man coughing. The old woman gave her grandson a rather triumphant smile, one the youth answered with an irked scowl as he stormed out of the shaman's tent to bring word to the arl of his charge's awakening.

"Verona, help me!" the old healer called out to the girl as the two women helped the man into a sitting position. "Easy, friend, easy. You are very weak; it may be some time before your strength returns in full. The wounds the beast-men inflicted on you were severe. You were lucky my grandchildren's hunting party found you when you did; had those wounds festered any longer, I doubt even my magic would be enough to save you"

"Beast-men?" the young man asked, rubbing his head, feeling the beard that had sprouted across his lower face and neck during his time comatose.

"Tainted ones. Dragon-ilk. The Black Blooded" the old woman rattled off a list of names that clearly meant nothing to her charge before throwing her hands up in the air and letting out a Chasind curse. "What do these northerners call those creatures?"

"Darkspawn" the girl said quickly. The man's face went white with remembered terror, no doubt recalling the battle in which he had nearly died before Marek's hunters had found him. "I remember; they came out of nowhere, the ground, the very shadow. My thoughts are all a tangle; all I remember is blood, the clash of swords and that _ghastly_ screaming...it's still ringing in my ears even now...!"

"Aye; based on what Marek said, your path brought you into contact with the horde's vanguard. Fortunately my grandson and his hunters were drawn to the fighting before the beast-men overran you. They drove the beast-men off and brought you and your men back for me to heal"

"You...saved me?"

"At the same time as we were fleeing from the horde, we ran into a party of soldiers from your region of South Reach. When their leader saw you were with us, he instructed that you were not allowed to die under any circumstances. Since their protection of my clan owes to keeping in their lord's good graces, I rather hastened to obey that command" the old woman replied with a shade of amusement before her tone became more businesslike. "I am Marika. I serve as a shaman and healer to this clan of the Chasind people, the...well, in your tongue, you would call us Storm Crows. The girl is my granddaughter, Verona. And you are...?"

"My-my name?" the man replied, confusion etched upon his face as he rubbed his temples, trying to think through the miasma fogging his thoughts, trying to remember through the chaotic turmoil in his mind, to acquire details about things that seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, but finally, something came to the fore, one detail out of the madness.

"Fergus. My name is Fergus Cousland"

#########################

"I think I owe you an explanation for what happened earlier" Wynne's blunt declaration caught Arthur slightly off balance, but he nodded in agreement. He was still mystified as to how the old woman had managed to help them overcome Flemeth, not to mention the number of times she had collapsed on the road, and now seemed as good a time as any to get the truth.

"You should know that something happened to me at the tower, before you came along. You spoke to Petra, didn't you?"

Arthur nodded, vaguely remembering the apprentice girl fretting over Wynne as she made to accompany them into the tower. "She told you how I saved her from that demon? Well, I did but...I did not survive that encounter".

"You know this is a really bad joke, Wynne..."

"Oh, believe me, if I were making an attempt at macabre humour, I would do much better" Wynne replied with a dry chuckle before her expression become more sombre. "Let me explain; I engaged a very powerful demon in order to rescue Petra. It took everything I had to defeat it and when it was done, I...I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating. I remember being enveloped in impenetrable darkness, my life ebbing away when...all of a sudden, something grasped me. I was being held back, gently but firmly, like a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp. I felt life and warmth flowing back into me, and I become aware of the discomfort of the cold stone floor pressing into my hip"

Arthur felt his jaw drop. He would never have suspected such a miraculous or unusual explanation as what Wynne was telling him but this was beyond anything he might have contemplated.

"The Fade contains many strange and unusual entities, both malicious and benevolent. The benevolent spirits seldom make their presence known because they want nothing from mortals, unlike the demons. It is one such spirit that saved me; without its help, I would be dead. And, it has not left me. It is with me now, bonded to me"

"Why did the spirit choose to help you?"

"I've always had an affinity for the spirits of the Fade. I never used to fear my dreams because I knew they were there"

"What about demons?" Arthur asked; after all, everything he'd read or been told said that mages lived in utter fear of demons, particularly in their sleep when they were particularly helpless.

"I could sense the demons" Wynne nodded "and their presence frightened me, but it was the knowledge of the good spirits that took away my fear. As I spent more time in the Fade, I began to notice I was being watched. It always felt like the same entity; sometimes I would see it, a glowing, nebulous form, but most times I would just feel its presence. It seemed..._curious_ about me, and was guarding me, for want of a better word".

"Do spirits often watch people like that?" Arthur asked, curious despite himself; after all, he knew next to nothing of the nature of the Fade and its denizens.

"I suppose they must; it is these benevolent spirits that create the worlds of our dreams in the Fade. I think it is a spirit of Faith; such have never been seen before so I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. I owe it my life, and I think it gave me strength in some of my greatest struggles, Ostagar being one of them"

"Not to mention your fight with Petra's demon and Flemeth, no?" Arthur offered with a dry smile.

"I like to think I've been given a rare opportunity, and I intend to make the most of that time"

"Fighting darkspawn?" Arthur replied with a raised eyebrow. 'I _can think of many things I'd want to do if I were given a second chance at life...sky-diving naked off the top of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux comes to mind...along with drinking every bottle of wine in the royal dispensary'_

"I will not lie motionless in a bed with coverlets up to my chin, waiting for death to claim me" Wynne promised fervently. "That is not the death for me. And so I will help the Grey Wardens battle against the Blight, and prepare them for the task that lies before them. So you had better listen to me, because if I fall before the end and you don't seem to be doing things properly, I'll get right back up again to give you a good finger-wagging!"

Arthur laughed; he couldn't help himself. The image of Wynne coming back from the Fade to admonish him for not dealing with the Blight in a way she approved was such a striking image.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, you know" he smiled softly. "You and my mother would have gotten on like a house on fire; she was always threatening that if I ever became teyrn and I did something that compromised the family honour, she'd come back to haunt me when I least expected it!"

Wynne also chuckled "She sounds like a remarkable woman; I only regret I will never have that chance to meet her. But you know something?" Wynne added softly as she wrapped one arm around Arthur's shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was almost maternal. "I think you'll be alright, even without my help"

"Who knows?" Arthur said. "Perhaps there is hope for us yet"

########################

"Well, aren't you sweet and attentive?" Leliana giggled as she felt Arthur's teeth nipping at the lobe of her left ear.

It was late at night, and Leliana was lying on her back, enjoying the gentle touches of her lover's hands and mouth upon her flesh. They were still relatively clothed, both wearing nightshirts under the heavy blankets thrown over them to ward off the chill of the early winter night outside the tent. At that moment, Arthur rolled off onto his back and Leliana curled up beside him, head nestled at the juncture between shoulder and neck, luxuriating in the feel of Arthur's fingers through her hair, which she'd decided to let grow a bit at his request.

They weren't quite alone; Edward was curled up in a corner, the mabari taking advantage of the still-burning fire just outside the tent to keep warm, the dog's back turned away from his master. Occasionally, the hound made a grunt or growl as he chased a cat or two in his dreams but for the most part, he was silent. Outside, Arthur knew the others were either asleep or on guard- he could feel Alistair patrolling at the camp's perimeter, and he knew the sentries would be exceptionally diligent, for fear of another attack.

"You have something on your mind," she went on, tapping her lover playfully on the tip of his nose with the rose.

The warrior caught her hand and kissed it. "I was just wondering if you wanted to talk."

The redhead quirked a smile at him. "As opposed to what we've been doing, you mean?" she asked, a hand slipping beneath the blankets, fingers curling around the growing stiffness they found-

"That's hardly playing fair, not is it?" Arthur protested without heat in his voice; he strongly suspected that, should the bard put her mind to it, she could successfully distract him from anything short of the archdemon itself crash-landing in their midst.

"All's fair in love and war, my Warden," Leliana retorted, but she twisted in her lover's arms until they were facing, nestling her head in the angle between the warrior's neck and shoulder, and Arthur felt a little intrigued at the sweet way that every curve of her body fitted to the contours of his own flesh and how right it seemed. He wondered if this was what his parents had felt, or Fergus and Oriana, to be bonded with someone who understood and fitted you so perfectly. The thought made him tighten the circle of his arms instinctively, his mind refusing the notion of losing what he had just found. _'I won't lose what I hold dear through carelessness again'_ he thought, the emotion only growing more fervent as his fingers brushed the scar at her collarbone.

"Do you remember our discussion?" Leliana murmured, snuggling even closer, as if to draw strength from the contact.

"Do you think my memory's _that_ bad?" Arthur replied, raising an eyebrow, earning him a reproving scowl and another hank of hair pulled from his chest. After the moment of wincing, mock scolding and play fighting over that incident had passed, both of them lay back against the blankets. Leliana took a deep breath and pressed on, her tone serious.

"I thought about what you said and...you were right"

"Of course I was!" Arthur replied, before dropping his voice and asking "What was I right about?" earning himself another whack on the nose with the flower's thorny stem.

"Despite what Marjolaine said, I am not like her. I followed you to make the world a better place and so long as I remember that, I will not falter"

"I told you" Arthur replied simply. "I told you this. I didn't fall in love with the bard, the criminal. I fell in love with the woman who wanted to give everything to save the people of this land, who risked her own life to save me from my stupidity, who always believed in me and never let me stop from doing the right thing." Arthur cupped the Orlesian's face in both hands, tilting her gaze upward and smiling at her. "They were the real Leliana: the one that Marjolaine wanted to destroy. That is who you truly are."

"I know" Leliana replied, pressing her lips to his by way of thanks "but sometimes it takes another to show us the truths we hide from ourselves". She gave another contented sigh and added "Every day I thank the Maker that I left Lothering in your company; you have done so much for me..."

Arthur's response was to pull her close, the arm around her waist cinching tighter, pressing his lips to the bard's forehead, breathing deep the scent of flowers and herbs mingling with wood smoke and sweat and other scents besides; it was an intriguing and unusual mix of scents, but they were _hers_, which made them so attractive. He could easily spent the night like that but –

"You trusted me with your past" he said slowly. "I think it only fair I do the same with you. There are things you should know. Things about the Grey Wardens."

"You don't have to." Leliana sat up, propping herself up on her elbow to look down on him. "I know that the Wardens have their secrets, and I would not ask you to reveal them."

"You need to know," Arthur insisted, knowing that it was more than that. He needed to get off his chest the things that he'd been able to share with no one but Alistair to this point. "I understand why the Wardens want such things kept secret, but I don't want to keep secrets from you. If we're going to be together, then you deserve to know it all."

"That doesn't sound promising." Leliana tried to keep her tone light, but there was no hiding the worry in her eyes.

"It's not all that bad" Arthur assured her. "It's not as though we're forbidden to fall in love, to take partners or anything like that. It's just..."

"I'm sorry." The kiss pressed to his cheek was a soothing balm, and the warm presence nestled beside him pushed the pain to a safe distance, allowing him to go on.

"You know that Alistair and I can sense the darkspawn, that we can feel them when they draw close, that we can hear them in our dreams." He felt Leliana nod in affirmation against his shoulder; the bard had seen that often enough. Arthur drew a deep breath, remembering. "We can do that because, during the Joining, we drink darkspawn blood."

"You..._drank_ it?" The bard's eyes were wide. "But it's poisonous, isn't it?"

"It is, but the Wardens mix it with lyrium and other things, which allows us to connect with the darkspawn, to link into their hive mind, you'd call it." He gave Leliana a wry smile. "Another one of those things that never got passed to Alistair and me, and Avernus said little to ease my thoughts. It's still not exactly harmless, though. Daveth was the first one to drink it; for a second or too, I thought he'd be fine, but then he fell down and started convulsing, choking and vomiting. He was dead in a matter of seconds."

"Maker's mercy." Leliana shivered, pulling herself closer, as if the fire of his heart would ward off the chill. "Does that happen often?"

"Often enough that they don't tell it to all and sundry, I guess."

"But that's not fair!" the Orlesian protested indignantly. "To not tell them of such a risk -"

"How many would come forward, if they knew?" Arthur countered. "The Grey Wardens inevitably face death one way or another, and those that are lost in the Joining are afforded the same respect as those slain in battle."

"Does Arabella know?" Leliana asked suddenly. "Is she aware of the risks she faces-?"

"We told her" Arthur nodded. "But she thinks it is a small price to pay for sparing her life"

The bard nodded briefly, then pressed on. "What of the other one, the third in your Joining? Did he die, as well?"

"He did."Arthur nodded, remembering his own shock, his disbelief and fear that he might suffer the same, and reliving the memory was harder than he thought. "When Daveth died, he panicked, saying that he no longer wanted to go through with it. Duncan wouldn't allow him to back out, though, and when Jory drew a sword and tried to fight his way free, Duncan killed him." Even now, the memory of Jory's desperate pleas and Duncan's sad but adamant refusal still rang in his ears. '_I might have done things differently. Perhaps I could have talked Jory down, calmed him down enough to persuade him to go through with it, or else intimidated him into toeing the line, but had that failed me...I would have done the same, Duncan. There can be no room, no excuse for faltering now, not when everything hinges upon us'._

"But why...why wouldn't Duncan have let him go?"

"How many do you think would ask to be released from their oaths, once they knew the price?"

'_I saw the sadness in your eyes, Duncan, but I never understood why at first. Now I know. The Grey Wardens do what must be done, eh?'_ Arthur mused. _'How many times did that same scene play out before you, how many times did you do as you did? After all I've seen, all I've done, could I really do any less?'_

"They know when they agree to join that death is always possible. To let them go because the death they risk doesn't fit their ideas of glory..." He shook his head. "It can't be done, if the Grey Wardens are to continue, and if -" He swallowed, looking away from the bard. "Alistair and I know how to perform the Joining now. When the time comes, when we have the materials and the recruits we need to perform it and rebuild the Wardens, we will do as Duncan did."

He continued to look away, heart pounding swiftly, both wanting to speak and yet fearing the reaction. He should have spoken of this before anything had happened between them, but it had all come about so quickly that the thought never occurred until it was too late and they'd lost their hearts to each other, and now... "I am a Grey Warden, Leliana," he whispered, "and for the sake of my family and the Wardens who died at Ostagar, I _must_ do my duty as a Grey Warden. To do otherwise would be to insult the memories of all who gave their lives that I might have a chance at this life"

Gentle fingers curled under his chin, raising it up to bare his face to the tender regard of emerald eyes. "Then I will do my best to heal the wounds that harsh duty inflicts upon you, my Warden," Leliana told him, the final words more felt than heard as she kissed the warrior, relief and gratitude intermingling in the touch.

"Thank you," he murmured when they finally parted.

"You have accepted me as I am," Leliana replied. "I could do no less for you." She snuggled closer with a contented sigh. "So, what other Grey Warden secrets am I privy to?" she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Well, the darkspawn blood changes us," Arthur said, resting his chin against the Orlesian's hair. "The increased appetite, for one thing."

The bard giggled. "That's hardly a secret to anyone who's seen you and Alistair eat! You're like blight wolves at a carcass come meal time"

"Rubbish, I'm nowhere near as bad as he is," Arthur protested, swatting his lover in mock admonishment on the buttocks, knowing that she was using the levity to ease him into the more difficult admissions, "but there are other changes, as well. Apparently, it's difficult for Grey Wardens to have children...the taint in our veins also poisons our fertility. If you wanted such a thing, it...it may not be possible". He wondered briefly if Leliana wanted children- the bard's life probably didn't leave much time for notions but decided that was a subject that could be discussed another time.

"No," Leliana said thoughtfully, "but that's something that you should probably tell Eamon before he gets too set on the notion of making Alistair king. If we can't be certain Alistair can sire an heir, the kingdom would be no better off than it is now after he dies."

"Maybe so" Arthur agreed, "but Loghain is not an option, and nor is Anora if there's any truth in those letters. If there is no more suitable candidate, then for all he doesn't like the idea, Alistair may be our only choice. For all that Alistair has his hopes pinned on Eamon, he's old, and with Connor destined for the Circle once the war's done, he has no heir, either. Besides, Alistair's got youth on his side; from what we know, there's still a chance of conceiving so close to the Joining, while the Taint hasn't become too potent. Match Alistair with a young, healthy bride of proven fertility and the chance of an heir still exists"

"I suppose we've got time yet before we need to worry about that," Leliana reasoned, craning her neck to look into Arthur's face, "but there's something else, isn't there?"

"Yes," the Warden admitted. "The darkspawn blood: whatever they do to it for the Joining ritual keeps it from killing us, at least the ones that don't die outright, but it's still a poison; it just...takes longer to act."

"Longer to -" Leliana's words broke off as the realization sunk in. A moment later her voice, low and tightly controlled, came in little more than a whisper. "How long?"

"Thirty years, give or take" Arthur quoted Alistair. It had seemed an eternity when he'd been told, considering he was only twenty, twenty one in a few months, but now... "Alistair said that you know the time has come because the nightmares, they get more pronounced. He said that most Grey Wardens, when that happens, go to Orzammar; they head into the Deep Roads so they can go down fighting the darkspawn, rather than die slowly, poisoned and driven mad like ghouls by the Taint."

Leliana was silent, her face pressed against Arthur's shoulder.

"I promised I'd never leave you, and I mean it," the warrior said earnestly. "Death will hopefully be the only thing that will part us, and I've no intention of going down without a fight."

"I know." When the bard raised her head, her eyes were bright and determined. "Thirty years, thirty days, thirty minutes...life is never certain; we could die thirty years down the line, or we may die tomorrow with a genlock's arrow in the throat". Leliana silenced anything he might have said with a kiss, slow and sweet. "I will take whatever time that I am given with you, my Warden," she whispered, rolling on top of Arthur and pulling him in to her "We will take what we can, and give nothing back."

Leliana had promised to distract him from the harsh repercussion of duty. _'It's a task she does well'_ a distant corner of Arthur's mind muttered, though the bulk of his thoughts were somewhat distracted by the sight of the bard slipping out of her nightshirt, drawing one of his hands across her breasts and to her shoulder, the other placed on her hips as she straddled him and their bodies came together in that pleasurable dance once more.

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A day later found them standing outside the gates of Orzammar. The only trouble on the way to the mountain pass had been a chance encounter with a party of bounty hunters, no doubt seeking a cut of the frankly obscene price Loghain was offering for their heads. They found out a little too late that they'd picked a quarry beyond their ability to deal with, not that it did them much good; Arthur was not inclined to be merciful, lest the scum crossed their path again better armed and better prepared. Duncan's sword took the head of the bounty hunters' leader, along with that of an apostate witch working with them. Shale crushed the heads of two other hired thugs, and Leliana put an arrow through the head of the last man before he could even nock a bolt to his crossbow. Once the corpses had been stripped of anything of value, the Wardens and company had simply tossed the bodies off the side of the mountain; an ignominious end, but no more than puppets dancing to the tune of a usurper deserved, Arthur thought disgustedly as he kicked the bounty hunters' leader into the abyss.

Now, they were stood in the shallow ravine that ended in a pair of wrought-iron gates thirty feet high that opened into the greatest of the last cities of the once-glorious dwarven empire not overrun by darkspawn. The sight that greeted them as they entered was more akin to a shanty town; tents and bedrolls laid out, dwarves roaming. Bodahn had warned them that with the king's death, the city had barred its gates to all; trade had dried up to nothing and angry surface dwarves were congregating, demanding entry on a daily basis. Not that the stories coming from inside the city was any better; tale of civil war, running street battles as members of varying political factions fought for control of the city. '_Such a fine welcome awaits us'_ the Warden thought.

What disconcerted Arthur more as they approached the portal into the depths was the sight of a man in chainmail, bearing a sword and shield marked with the wyvern emblem of Gwaren, flanked by a qunari warrior-a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, Arthur guessed, if the look of pure venom Sten directed at him was any evidence- and a boy dressed in the robes of a Circle mage. If that were not evidence enough that the soldier was one of Loghain's lapdogs, the prattle he was barking confirmed it.

"I demand an audience with a representative of your king! You insult all of Ferelden with your actions! Be assured, King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger!"

"Well, at least Loghain's being honest about it now" Wynne muttered darkly, staring at the herald with a look of dislike. "Still, if this one's the best he can use for a diplomat, then the situation in Denerim is worse than I thought"

"Veata!" the dwarf watchman outside the gate snapped, raising a hand to silence the runt's prattling. "This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time!"

"King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr,or lords, or whatever you call them in your Assembly! _I_ am his appointed messenger!" Loghain's man sneered demandingly, the look of contempt as he referred to the dwarven culture only emphasising that Loghain had picked the worst possible man to be his ambassador to the dwarves. Fortunately, the dwarf had clearly heard this demand several times before, because the watchman merely scoffed disdainfully, turning away from Loghain's man in disgust.

"I don't care if you're the wiper of the royal arse, Orzammar will have none but her own until our throne is settled!"

"I have urgent need to speak to your king" Arthur cut in, silencing the messenger as he made to repeat his prattle again, but the man puffed up his chest in an annoyingly superior manner.

"Who doesn't?" the messenger sneered imperiously, trying to reassert his authority. "If I don't get in, no one should"

The dwarf shot Loghain's man a look of deepest loathing and then turned his attention to Arthur "I bid you welcome, topsider. If it were within my power, I would let you in, if only because it would annoy this yapping dog, but I cannot. By the authority of the Assembly, the gates are to remain sealed. Orzammar has no king; Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing upon a successor, and if the matter is not dealt with soon, we run the risk of a civil war".

"Do your people not care that this world is about to end?" Alistair demanded. "A Blight is upon us; the dwarves must put aside their differences and unite, for Ferelden's sake!"

"Wait, who are you to speak for Ferelden?" Loghain's man snapped, glaring at them suspiciously. "You're no messenger to Loghain, that's for certain".

"Thank the Ancestors!" the dwarf muttered, eliciting chuckles of amusement from the companions at the herald's indignation. "I believe this should answer all your questions, ser dwarf" Arthur said as he dipped his hand into his pack and emerged holding the relevant treaty, hoping the dwarf would have the sense to process it without alerting all and sundry to what they were. The dwarf quickly unrolled the parchment scroll and flicked his gaze over its content, his expression changing from suspicion, to incredulity, to outright disbelief.

"You're a Grey Warden?" the dwarf enquired, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. _'So much for subtlety' _Arthur cursed inwardly as the man opposite him reddened in outrage.

"The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden!" Loghain's man angrily bawled, clearly trying to get some reaction from the dwarf. "They're sworn enemies of King Loghain!"

The dwarf gave the soldier a look of deepest disdain and retorted "Well, that's the royal seal. That means only the assembly is authorised to address the matter. Grey Warden, you may pass" he finished, inclining his head to Arthur as he rolled up the scroll and returned it to him, but the regent's herald would not let the matter drop.

"You're letting in a traitor, and a foreigner?" Loghain's man protested. "In the name of King Loghain, I demand you execute this..._stain_ on the honour of Ferelden!"

If you want us dead, do it yourself!" Alistair snarled before Arthur could make some cutting remark about Loghain, pulling Maric's sword free of its scabbard. "Or are you as much a coward as your master, the traitor who left the rightful King Cailan to his death at Ostagar?"

"What! Lies and slander!" the man yowled, hand going to the hilt of his sword. "King Loghain will not suffer it! I will not suffer it!"

"Kill each other as you wish" the dwarf interjected angrily "but take your sodding fight off my doorstep!"

"Gladly" Arthur replied, and with a roar, lunged at Loghain's herald, tackling the man around his waist and sending them both tumbling down the short slope that led to the gates. Landing in a tangled heap at the bottom of the slope with Arthur on top of him, Loghain's man tried to go for his sword, but Arthur acted before he could; in a heartbeat, Duncan's dagger was out of its sheath at the Warden's hip and descending. The herald's chainmail armour parted like butter under a hot knife as the enchanted dragonbone punctured it with ease, burying itself in the man's heart. Loghain's man gasped once or twice like a fish on dry land, staring in mute disbelief at the dagger embedded in his heart, as if unable to believe the hated Wardens had bested him, before the last of his strength bled away and his life along with it. "May your precious honour give you succour in the Void" Arthur muttered disgustedly.

The qunari mercenary tried to come to his employer's aid, but staggered as several arrows, loosed in quick succession by Leliana, found the chinks in his plate armour at the joints; when the qunari turned to face her, the bard put two through the slit of his helm's visor, dropping the Tal-Vashoth silently. Before the mage boy could cast a spell, Sten seized the boy by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Before Arthur could tell the qunari to spare him, there was an ominous crack and Sten dropped the boy's limp body, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Arthur wanted to remonstrate, but knew it was pointless; regardless of his youth, the boy was one of Loghain's agents, and only a fool let the servants of your enemy live to report your existence back to them.

"You've done us a service, human" the dwarf watchman chuckled as they made their way back to the gates. "That fool Imrek's been stood here barking for a week. Are all humans so touched?"

"You are free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden" the dwarf said as, with a great rattle of chains tightening and locks opening, the great doors began to swing open "though I don't know what help you will find" he added ominously as the companions passed through the portal and into the depths beyond.


	39. Chapter 37: The First Task

_Well, here we are! Again, my apologies for the lengthy delay- real life is not cooperating at all with my writing desires- and I can't say when I'll have more, but I will keep at it when time allows, I promise you!_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes- it keeps me going when things are tough! Special thanks to __**spectre4hire**__ (yes, all the party are in Orzammar, sorry if it seemed like some were missing), __**Theodur, MysticGohan88, KnightofHolyLight and Uzumaki Ryu **__for your reviews,__and to __**Bradw316**__ for adding to favourites- the reminder so many want to read the next instalment of this is a great help against writer's block!_

_Glad to see many of you liked my little twist of reintroducing Fergus Cousland into the story- I've always wondered what happened to him while his little brother was running around trying to save the world, as well as the fact that you see next to nothing of the rebellion that is supposedly wreaking havoc across the Bannorn in game. There'll be a few chapters that detail what he and Arl Bryland get up to as the Landsmeet draws closer in the near future._

_As ever, I don't own Dragon Age (to my great regret): all content save for my embellishments belongs to Bioware._

_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"Your mind has gone to dust if you think we would pass such a writ!" a dwarf of one of the noble houses, a clean-shaven fellow with sandy-blonde hair wearing a green doublet and black breeches, carrying a staff of office in his lap, shouted across the rotunda. "Half our houses would go broke without the surface trade!"

"The proposal is only effective until we have a king to ensure we are respected by the surfacers!" another dwarf, this one with long black hair and a beard of the same, roared back, slamming his own staff into the stone floor beside his seat to emphasise every word.

"Leaving you conveniently positioned to take over all contracts, hmm?" the first dwarf sneered in answer. "I'll see your head on a spike first!"

"Lords, ladies and deshyrs of the Assembly!" a grey-bearded dwarf stood in the middle of the chamber floor cried out, sounding exasperated and irritated, as though this display was something he'd see many times already. "I have already doubled the guards to prevent violence. Must I summon more?"

"Steward Bandelor, Bhelen's sympathisers are tying our hands with trivialities!" the blonde dwarf barked angrily, waving a dismissive hand at his black-bearded opponent. "They may as well open us to the sky!"

"I propose we put the matter to a vote..." a dwarven noblewoman interjected, but the black-bearded deshyr shouted her down "And I suggest you have a taste of my family's mace-!"

"ENOUGH!" the greybeard 'in charge' of the proceedings cried out. "The Assembly is in recess until its members can regain control of their emotions!"

'_As I suspected, all out for themselves'_ Arthur thought sourly from his viewpoint in the viewing gallery above the Assembly chamber, watching as the gathering of dwarven nobles filed out. _'They have no interest in the distant concerns of the surface, when the empty throne up for grabs is in more immediate proximity'_. Three times Arthur had tried to address the Assembly in order to direct them towards the needs of the Grey Wardens, but each time, his voice had been drowned out by the uproar that had followed the announcement of one proposal or another. The noble houses were more interested in placing their chosen claimant upon the throne than facing the prospect of a Blight and they weren't above using violence to make their point clear, as the skirmish the Wardens and company had observed upon entering the Commons that had ended with one dwarf opening another's stomach with an axe had proven.

"Waste of bloody time, that was!" Arthur cursed as he sank into one of the chairs around a bar table and waved over Tapster's barmaid to take their order. Alistair and Leliana sank down into chairs beside him, while Zevran traipsed off to round up the rest of their companions, who were wandering about exploring the wonders Orzammar had to offer. Arthur and the others had gone on ahead to the Assembly, the place where all of Orzammar's political business took place, hoping to persuade the dwarven nobility to listen to the needs of the Grey Wardens; the tavern had seemed a logical place to reconvene once they'd gotten an understanding of just how murky the waters in which they found themselves were.

"Be careful. I once drank a thimble full of dwarven ale. Woke up in Jader a week later, wearing nothing but my shoes and a towel" Leliana remarked.

"Really?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. "Make hers a double". The mood lightened a little as Leliana giggled and Alistair chuckled at the jest. Wynne and Arabella were the first to rejoin them, the two mages looking like they'd been thoroughly browsing the merchant stands that ringed the Commons, though Arthur hoped they had not gone too mad; coin was not something they had in strong supply at the moment. Morrigan slunk in behind them, and Shale and Sten came in not too long after, Zevran bringing up the rear. The companions pulled up chairs of their own, save for the golem who stood silent and alert, glowering at the few dwarves foolish enough to get caught gawking at the stone warrior. Several dwarves had already come up to the party, offering princely sums to purchase the golem, and it was only when Shale had made copious threats to crush the head of the next dwarf who tried to buy it that the would-be purchasers stopped...for the time being. If there was one thing history and a diligent tutor had taught him about dwarven society, it was that most were misers at heart who'd never turn down a chance to enrich themselves, and the prospect of owning a personal golem would overcome their survival instinct soon enough.

The barmaid, a curvaceous female dwarf with bright red hair wearing a low cut dress that emphasised her ample bosom, sidled over to the table with a broad smile.

"Salroka, topsiders, what do you fancy? We've got fifty-two types of ales, seventeen types of mead, and a dozen imported wines." She gave Alistair a boldly appraising look. "If you don't find something that you like, just let me know. I'd be happy to assist" with a very unsubtle wink and a broad leer of a smile.

Alistair blushed to the roots of his hair, and Zevran chuckled, giving the girl a charming smile as he slid a handful of coins across the table, "Whatever you would recommend, _bella_. We place ourselves in your capable hands."

"Valenta's Red all around, then?" she suggested brightly. "It's known as the Paragon of ales for good reason."

"Not for myself" Sten remarked. "I have no wish to poison myself with noxious brewed intoxicants"

"I'd prefer wine, if you have it" Wynne added. "Something red, and not too dry"

"I'll have the same please, though I'd rather white wine if you have it" Arabella also asked.

"And I would prefer a mead," Morrigan said with a disdainful glance around at the tavern's other patrons, "assuming that you have one that is at least palatable."

Alistair, Arthur, Leliana and Zevran nodded in favour of the ale and the barmaid scurried off. The companions kept their conversation light and pleasant, but the second the barmaid had brought their drinks and departed, the talk swiftly turned to the matter of business.

"What have you learned?" Wynne asked as she took a sip from her cup.

"That this whole place has gone mad" was Arthur's fair reply as he took a generous quaff from his own tankard.

"What do you expect from a people who build their last great city on the edge of a lake of molten rock?" Morrigan opined. "T'is a wonder the place hasn't crumbled into the magma already!"

"Orzammar's nobility are divided between two factions, those who declare for Endrin Aeducan's sole remaining son, Prince Bhelen, and those who declare for his chief advisor, Lord Pyral Harrowmont" Alistair explained, overriding Morrigan's outburst and casting a quick look around to ensure none of Tapster's patrons had taken offensive at the witch's comment.

"Bhelen's faction is the stronger. It seems most of the nobility prefer to side with the more obvious claimant in the King's son than a man whose claim the King named him heir on his death bed is rather more dubious. After all, the only people who could confirm Harrowmont's words are all in his service, which makes their trustworthiness somewhat doubtful" Arthur added.

"And they're willing to overlook the fact the Prince had one of his elder brothers murdered and framed the other for the crime?" Leliana put forward.

"Again, words without proof are just words, my dear bard" Zevran interjected "and these words no doubt also come from those loyal to this Harrowmont. For myself, I rather like the sound of this Prince Bhelen. He does not balk from doing what must be done, and there is talk he wishes to abolish the old caste systems that restrict certain sections of the dwarven population, as well as open up more trade with the surface, which could prove useful as it would provide more soldiers and resources to combat the Blight"

"Harrowmont is a strong advocate of keeping to tradition, and as such, many of the more senior deshyrs have rallied to his banner" Wynne added. "It might be wise not to make enemies of them; with the influence and power they wield in the city, they could make our stay here most difficult"

"The ones who support Harrowmont are likely only those who fear suffering adversely because of these changes the Prince wishes to enact should he take the throne" Arabella countered with a snort. "What?" she asked at Wynne's surprised expression. "My family were very involved in the politics of Kirkwall, before I was bundled off to the Circle..." Her expression grew sullen at this point and her mouth snapped firmly shut, piquing Arthur's curiosity. He'd had no idea the girl was a Marcher, not a Fereldan, and her past was something she almost never talked about, but that was something that would have to be discussed later. '_Perhaps it would help to talk to her later, help ease her into seeing if she's feeling any better about Jowan..._' Arthur mused.

"I could also sympathise with Bhelen's claims that this Harrowmont is seeking to usurp his birthright..." Arthur muttered and the faces of his companions darkened; they knew full well what he was implying.

"Not all politicians are like Loghain and Howe" Leliana protested earnestly. "Harrowmont may well simply wish to do what he believe is best for Orzammar".

"True, but there is one more thing to consider" Arthur finished. "Bhelen has openly acknowledged the severity of the darkspawn threat, whereas Harrowmont seems happy to dismiss the horde as a concern for the surface now, as do many of his supporters. We need a king who will contribute as many resources to the fight as possible, rather than one who is happy to bury his head in the sand and ignore the fact that once the darkspawn have destroyed the surface, they'll be back to finish the job here"

"Then Bhelen it is?" Zevran asked, clearly sounding pleased that his choice for king was being taken. Arthur sighed reluctantly; given the choice, he would rather not dirty his hands in the business of politics. Neither candidate was as pure as they liked to make out, but it was inevitable they were going to have to settle with one if they wanted Orzammar to assist the Grey Wardens, and it seemed better to ally with the stronger of the two available candidates.

"Bhelen it is" Arthur nodded in reply.

#################

Five minutes later found them back in the Diamond Quarter, heading back to the Assembly. Word had it Prince Bhelen's man could be found there, and sure enough, as Arthur pushed open the great doors, he saw stood alone inside the atrium a lone dwarf who Arthur vaguely remembered seeing watching as the last session had come to its conclusion. The dwarf was clad in chainmail fashioned from blue-tinted silverite, carrying a mace and a shield emblazoned with a heraldic emblem Arthur had learned to be House Aeducan's coat of arms. The dwarf himself had short black hair and a cropping of black stubble across his chin, cheeks and jaw that, given time, would likely become a full beard, and his ruddy face was set in an ingratiating smile of welcome.

"Ah, I bid you welcome, Warden. It is always a blessing and a privilege for Orzammar to host your Order"

"You know who I am? Word travels fast"

"It is my business to know everything that goes on or changes in Orzammar, and it would be a little difficult to miss the Grey Warden and his...'eclectic' entourage" the dwarf chuckled with a smile of amusement, before giving a bow that seemed a little obsequious and said by way of introduction "I am Vartag Gavorn, second and top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. I hear you seek the aid of Orzammar's finest". By way of an answer, Arthur pulled out the scroll case containing the Warden treaty with Orzammar and held it out to Vartag.

"Ah" the dwarf remarked, unfolding the scroll and fastening a pince-nez to his broad nose. "Ancient documents indeed, signed in the reign of Eithnar Bemot, Paragon and King, more than sixteen generations ago" Vartag remarked as his gaze quickly skimmed down the parchment, before rolling the scroll up again and returning it to Arthur.

"Now, the difficulty is that the treaty only compels our king, and we are sadly lacking one of those at the moment. I assure you, no one wishes this fight over more than Bhelen, but while this debate rages, he has no power to send you the troops you need to combat what may be a new Blight"

"Are you implying Grey Wardens would not recognise a Blight?" Alistair demanded hotly. Vartag clearly realised he'd gone too far as he quickly spread his hands in a gesture of repentance.

"I believe you" Vartag replied fairly "as does my lord. But what are we to do? If Bhelen were to follow his heart and send his men to aid you, Harrowmont would steal his throne. We would defeat the Blight, only to find our home devastated by an incompetent tyrant".

"I assure you, we are not agents of Harrowmont" Arthur pressed on doggedly, and he saw a opportunistic gleam flash across Vartag Gavorn's dark eyes.

"Would you be willing to prove that?" Vartag asked fairly and Arthur forced himself to nod. 'Quid pro quo' the young Cousland thought to himself._ 'I do something for Bhelen, maybe he will grant us an audience_?'. It rankled Arthur to have to lower himself to be an errand boy, but there was little alternative. They needed a king on Orzammar's throne to confirm the treaty, and if having to work their way into the Prince's good graces was the only way to start going about that, then that was how it had to be.

"Harrowmont is engaged in a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure every house serves him. But if a neutral party were to approach certain key members with irrefutable evidence of Harrowmont's deception-"

"'Irrefutable evidence? Which I suppose you just happen to have?" Wynne muttered darkly. Vartag's eyes flashed for a second, but he kept talking without pause.

"I'm sure my lord prince would show his gratitude" Vartag concluded smoothly as if Wynne had not spoken.

"Just tell me what I need to know" Arthur replied curtly; he had no wish to know the gory details of how they needed to prove their loyalty to Bhelen. Vartag pulled out a pair of rolled up vellum scrolls from a pouch at his belt and held them out to Arthur.

"Harrowmont had promised the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs, Lady Dace and Lord Helmi; those are copies of the promissory notes he gave them. Naturally, he can't give it to both of them, but they won't find out until after the election. Show them these, and they should reconsider their votes. Lady Dace doesn't leave the Quarter much, but Lord Helmi's adventurous, likes to spend time in Tapsters. And by the way" and at this, a cold look entered the dwarf's eyes, along with a warning note in his voice "don't tell them you got these from me. As far as they're concerned, you found them and came to your own conclusions"

The blunt manner in which he finished made it clear their discussion was at an end. Nodding politely, Arthur and co took their leave of Vartag, searching for the required individuals whose attention they needed to bring the papers to. The Dace estate was easy enough to find, occupying a large expanse of the Diamond Quarter close to the stairs leading back down to the Commons. The footman waiting in the estate's main entrance was caught a little offguard by the intrusion of a large number of armed humans, but was persuaded to bring his mistress to the door when told the Grey Wardens desired an audience with Lady Dace. After a few moments waiting, a female dwarf of middle years, clad in a cloth-of-gold dress studded around the neck with gemstones, emerged from a side room, scrutinising her guests.

"So you're the Grey Warden?" the dwarf noblewoman remarked, sounding both interested and dismissive at Arthur's presence. "Fascinating how the surface has an entire order dedicated to fighting darkspawn; down here, that's all that fighting means. But I imagine it's more difficult to find them on the surface?" she asked drily. Gritting his teeth, Arthur favoured the dwarf with a conspiratorial smile and cut straight to the point. "You may wish to look at these" he said, holding out the papers.

"Well, this isn't exactly a surface broadsheet" Lady Dace muttered as she took them, her expression changing from confusion to outright shock as she took in what they said. "Where did you get these? Never mind. It is true enough. But there is nothing I can do about it," she snapped. "This deal was made on behalf of our entire house. Only my father can revoke it."

"Well, could you inform him?" Arthur offered, but the dwarf woman shook her head.

"He is leading a Deep Roads expedition, trying to secure an ancient thaig. It's unlikely he'll be back before the election, but perhaps this vote is important enough for you to brave the tunnels to tell him? The Dace family would be in your debt," she reluctantly admitted.

"How would I know where to find your father?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"He was searching an old Aeducan site" she said briskly, retreating into her study for a moment before emerging with yet another roll of parchment. "He left me with this map, in case his expedition never returned. I'll give you a pass as well. Usually, no one is allowed past the front lines," she explained, and scribbled out a note, marking it with the seal of House Dace. "Does that mean you'll go?"

"All right. We'll leave as soon as possible," Arthur assured her.

"So, Bhelen's victory means enough for you to risk your life? Interesting..." the dwarf woman remarked intrigued as her butler showed them out the door. As the party left the estate and made for the steps leading back down to the Commons to look for the other deshyr, Helmi, Arthur heard raised voices bellowing near the door. It didn't take him too long to find the source of the commotion, as a small crowd of dwarves were surrounding the arguing pair.

"It'll be two years tomorrow!" a dwarf with wild, fiery red hair and a bushy beard of the same bellowed. Even from a distance, Arthur could smell the stench of ale that clung to the dwarf like a fog, and see the stains of it on the dwarf's armour. "By all the holy sodding ancestors, how can you people just _ignore_ that?"

"Branka didn't go alone, Oghren. She took the whole house! Everyone except _you_." The second dwarf, a stout dwarf with blonde hair and beard, clad in the armour and bearing the arms of a city guardsmen, crossed his arms smugly over his chest, as if he'd just made some significant point. "So just get over to Tapsters and drown yourself already. You know as well as I do that's how this always ends, anyway."

The ginger haired dwarf, Oghren, flushed angrily, his gauntleted hands curling into fists as he growled back "You think I'm afraid of some cub warrior who's barely off the teat? Ha! I'll-!"

"You lift a weapon, or attack a single citizen in Orzammar, and you're stripped of your caste and exiled!" the other dwarf retorted, his patience clearly exhausted, and Oghren lowered his fists reluctantly, though the look of fury in his eyes remained undiminished. "Even _you_ can't have forgotten that! Now get out of here before I call a guardsman!"

Oghren made a exceptionally rude hand gesture at the other dwarf before storming off through the crowd, shouldering aside any dwarf who didn't get out of his way fast enough. Arthur and the others watched the dwarf go, then made their way to the stairs back to the Commons as the crowd watching the dispute began to disperse

Tapsters was still doing a roaring trade when Arthur and company wandered into the tavern for the second time that day. Alistair and Leliana lingered at the bar while Arthur made an enquiry of Corra, the barmaid who'd served them the round earlier, on where to find Lord Helmi. Corra directed his attention to a table in a corner of Tapsters, where a young male dwarf dressed in relatively fine clothes, minus the ale stains, sat by himself, silently nursing a mug of ale. Arthur made over to the table and sank into an empty chair by the table. The dwarf lord didn't even bother to look up at first, and when he finally did, he spoke without any surprise in his voice at having been approached; clearly, he'd been expecting to be interrupted at some point.

"Lord Denek Helmi, honoured deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly, and terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother, who doesn't approve of me spending my time in taverns" the dwarf groused by way of introduction. "You understand what I'm saying, Warden? On the surface, there are no castes, and it works fine, wouldn't you say?"

"Things are hardly more equal on the surface"

"But there are those like you who view this with concern, no?" Lord Helmi countered. "Well, I've taken the time to talk to some of the other castes. You know, most smiths and tavern keeps would make halfway decent deshyrs if we gave them a chance and a seat on the Assembly. Orzammar is so mired in tradition no one bothers to think if the caste system is even necessary"

"A controversial opinion for one of the Assembly" Arthur remarked.

"Oh, very good" Helmi muttered. "I suppose they all told you I was good for nothing, drinking my life away at Tapsters? Or did they just leave off at 'biggest shame to ever fall upon the Assembly?' I always rather liked that one" he finished drily, before taking another swig from his mug. Arthur decided it was time to press matters to their conclusion; after all, they still had to find Lord Dace, and searching the Deep Roads could easily take several hours.

"It's my understanding you vote on the next king-"

"Me and seventy nine other fine, upstanding examples of how someone who's born into every privilege inevitably wants more" Helmi muttered under his breath as Arthur pulled the promissory notes from the pouch at his belt and slid them across the table.

"You might want to take a look at this". Helmi picked the notes up with a look of complete disinterest and read them with much the same expression as he took in the fact he was being cheated by Harrowmont.

"Oh" Helmi managed to say, offguard for a moment before his cynical, world-weary personality reasserted itself. "Well, I'd ask how, or frankly _why_ you care, but I'm so sick of the whole matter I don't even care anymore. I never wanted the land, but my house would kill me if I refused it; responsibilities you know. Now I'll have to go through the whole process of rejecting the deal, and they'll have to come up with something better. And here I thought it was going to be a nice day" the dwarf sighed, looking so world weary and disappointed Arthur couldn't help but feel a touch sorry for making things more difficult.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news"

"Ah, you're just doing what you think is right" the noble replied honestly, draining the last dregs of ale from his mug and getting to his feet."If you'll excuse me, I have to inform my dear mother Lord Harrowmont hasn't bought our vote after all". Arthur allowed the dwarven nobleman to leave, then made to get up too...only to have something slam into him with considerable force, spilling ale everywhere.

"Watch where you're going, duster!" the dwarf snarled belligerently, before stopping to scrutinise Arthur more closely, which also gave Arthur the chance to see the fellow who bumped into him. With some suprise, he recognised the fiery red hair and beard; the dwarf was the drunkard they'd seen making a nuisance of himself in the Diamond Quarter. Judging how the dwarf's face, flushed already with heavy consumption of potent alcohol, darkened further and his small eyes narrowed suspiciously, Arthur wasn't the only one recognising.

"Hey, I heard about you; Grey Warden, coming down from the surface in a time of crisis. Someone saw you talking to Vartag Gavorn, and now word's all over you're running round, doing Bhelen's dirty work for him" the drunkard spat disgustedly. "I thought perhaps you might be the one, one to help me find Branka. But I guess you're just like all the rest!"

"My only concern is raising troops to face the Blight!" Arthur retorted icily, but that, if anything, only seemed to incense the drunkard further.

"You don't need a king to face a Blight; you need a _Paragon!_" Oghren blurted out as if he were stating known fact. "The Assembly elects them, but they're higher than any deshyr. They become nobles, but they're more than anyone born to a House. They're what every dwarf with a spine not made of soap dreams of being!"

"Including _you_?" Arthur sneered coldly, raising an eyebrow. Oghren's already flushed face darkened further still "Aye, being a Paragon would be a damn sight better than this. But why do _you_ care?" the dwarf demanded suddenly, eyes narrowing. "I know your boss has been looking for her, won't tell me spit, however. Is that what he's after, a little bit of the ancient's technology and he's assured the throne?"

The remarks made a whistling sound as they sailed over Arthur's head; he couldn't tell if there was any truth to what the dwarf was saying, or if it were some drunken fantasy Oghren's mind had concocted. "What are you talking about? What technology?" Arthur demanded. It was the wrong thing to say.

"You _are_ after it!" Oghren roared. "I knew it, just like all the others" he muttered angrily, before spitting at Arthur's feet. "Well, sod you Warden, and sod your mother too! Until your boss really commits to looking, you ain't getting nothin' but smoke out of old Oghren!" the dwarf growled in a hostile tone of voice, before shouldering his way past Arthur and staggering rather unsteadily to the bar.

'_Good thing too'_ Arthur thought angrily. '_Only thing you can expect from _this_ Grey Warden is a broken nose and a few missing teeth next time we meet'_

"What in the Maker's name was that all about?" Alistair asked as Arthur rejoined him and Leliana. The drunkard Oghren had purchased another bottle of imported whiskey from the bar before storming out of Tapsters, muttering something offensive about bootlicks and errand boys.

"Just someone not liking the way we're doing things" Arthur replied. "Nothing new; we haven't gotten this far without making a few enemies unsatisfied with what we've done, and doubtless we'll make a great many more here before we're done, but I'm sure we'll learn to live with it. Come on, let's go find this lord lost in the bowels of the earth and hope we don't throw our lives away in the process". It was the same as the Dalish and the Circle all over again; running around doing all the leg work and leaving always someone dissatisfied with the outcome. _'It would have been nice to have one treaty where we didn't risk our lives running errands for those whose help we need to get it!'_

His disappointed ruminations were swiftly interrupted by Leliana clutching his arm. Looking at her, he saw the bard looking into the middle distance with a rather suspicious look on her face. "What is it?" he asked.

"Trouble" she muttered, gesturing to the porch of a dwarven store where a large number of heavily armed dwarves seemed to be accosting an old man in the garb of a trader.

"So, I've been hearing rumours that a certain wine merchant is falling behind on his payments." The grizzled looking leader of the dwarves muttered in a threatening tone of voice.

"I... can't imagine what you mean," the merchant replied, shaking slightly. The sign above his store said 'Figor's Imports'. '_One assumes he is Figor'_ Arthur thought as the man persisted with his protests. "I pay my expenses-"

"What about the expenses your good friend Jarvia incurs when providing your protection?" the thug countered with a snarl. "It's not easy ensuring nothing bad happens, that no one decides to just... burn everything in your store..."

"My store!" Figor cried. "I don't have much. Business isn't so good... people are scared... T-tell Jarvia I'll get her money, I-"

"Jarvia's not happy with your promises, old man," the thug growled, and the menace in his voice was palpable. "Now, let's go inside and see what you've been holding back." Without another word, the thug pushed the old man back into his shop roughly, followed. After a moment's pause and a nod from Leliana and Alistair to investigate, Arthur quickly made his way over to the shop's door and pushed it, hearing the sound of bottles crashing as they fell, or more likely, were thrown to the ground.

Inside, the merchant Figor was desperately gathering together his store's takings- a meagre pile of silver and bronze coins, no gold amongst it- and holding it out for the thug's inspection. "T-this is all I have right now!" the merchant pleaded. "I could get more, maybe, if I sell something, but-"

The shop's door creaked as it swung open and the dwarf thug leader's ears pricked up at the sound of armoured footsteps approaching as he realised they were no longer along. The thug whirled round to face them, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Well, well. Looks like we have a visitor. Friend of yours?"

"Is there a problem here, friend? Are these men threatening you?" Alistair asked, and started to step forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Arthur raised a hand to stop his fellow Warden; they knew next to nothing about the situation, and it would be useful to get some more information before they started the willy-nilly removal of heads.

"_Please_. Don't get involved with this. You don't know what they're like!" the shopkeeper begged.

The thug grinned. "Then allow me to make some introductions. These are dangerous times in Orzammar, stranger. Lucky us, the merciful Jarvia is offering protection from the chaos. You're wearing some fancy stuff there. Might make you a target. So if you want the carta's guarantee of safety, it's yours for the reasonable price of ten gold sovereigns. Or I can't say what might happen."

"The carta?" Alistair muttered aloud, confusion written on his face.

"You really should learn more about the places you visit" the dwarf sneered at the seeming ignorance of topsiders. "The carta is the foundation of business in Orzammar. It is a commercial enterprise of like-minded individuals who make money in whatever ways suit their talents"

"Or a gang of thieves running a protection racket" Arthur spat disgustedly. It didn't surprise him to see criminals doing a thriving trade; in times of crisis, their kind always did well. He'd seen and heard enough about these kind of people, using the misfortune and woe of others to enrich themselves; they were in every war, and on both sides.

"You say 'protection racket', I say honourable business. You say 'thief', I say dead human!" the dwarf thug retorted, hand going to the haft of his axe, but Arthur was faster, pulling Duncan's sword partway out of its scabbard, just enough for the dwarf to see the dragonbone and the runes carved into it.

"Take a _very_ good look" Arthur snarled warningly. "Do you _really_ want to start this?"

Perhaps the sight of the fine sword made the dwarf realise he was in over his head because his hands moved away from his axe, instead moving level with his head, palms spread wide in a gesture of surrender.

"Whoa, whoa! All right, you win. I'm not dying for ten lousy sovereigns". Arthur stood aside, and the dwarf and his lackeys swiftly fled the scene.

"Ancestors bless you for saving my poor store. I don't know how to express my gratitude," the man babbled. Leliana gave one of her most charming smiles and said "Well, maybe by letting us look around your humble store..."

The dwarf's eyes lit up at the prospect of fresh customers and he waved them forward, gleefully gesturing to his shelves and giving "I'm showing you the lowest prices I can afford, I assure you". As Arthur and Alistair swiftly browsed the store's shelves for anything that might be of use to them, Leliana sidled up to the counter, leaning across it to give a significant view of her cleavage, and gave Figor a rather vapid smile.

"So, I imagine a man like you, smart, well connected, knows what's what in this city? Who is this Jarvia? She sounds a most frightful sort..."

"I probably shouldn't talk about it" Figor started to protest, but Leliana merely gave a rich laugh and stretched even further forward across the counter, winking conspiratorially at the dwarf, her voice becoming rather husky and her demeanour sultry.

"Oh, come now, who's going to tell them, little old me? I'm sure a fellow like you is more than capable of looking out for himself...what harm can telling little me a few titbits do?" she finished innocently and Figor's chest puffed out a little at the compliment, leaving Arthur impressed at the ease with which Leliana was able to tease the man into trying to impress her and in doing so divulge information , while being slightly annoyed at the less than subtle glances the merchant was shooting at his lover's breasts.

"Well, I suppose it can't hurt...after all, you topsiders don't know much about how us dwarves do things...yes, why not? I've never met her, of course, but she's the one responsible for all this depravity. Since good King Endrin died, they're getting bolder. The carta only used to be a problem in Dust Town, but now they're shaking down honest merchants and citizens for coin. A band of casteless thugs. They're to blame for all the crime in Orzammar these days. They're criminals and the children of criminals. The ancestors themselves declared them irredeemable!"

Arthur kept silent-they were on good terms with few people in the city as it was- but it rankled him to stay silent to the dwarf's outburst. It reminded him far too much of the all-too-easy manner in which his people dismissed the elves, but even so, he was most interested to hear Figor, prompted by Leliana's ever so subtle prodding- the bard knew her craft well- say that the city guard had been able to do next to nothing to rein in the Carta's depredations and the whispers among the merchants that someone in the noble houses was funding the Carta, paying them to stir up trouble to delay the succession long enough for one candidate or another to gain enough support and influence to force the matter.

'_Interesting. This may well be worth looking into...after we've finished our current task'_

####################

"What's this, a human? Did we even make these tunnels big enough for humans?" the dwarven veteran in charge of the gates leading down into the Deep Roads asked of his men as Arthur and the others approached, eliciting a few soft chuckles of amusement. Only a small party were to accompany them, thus hopefully avoiding attracting too much attention; Arthur and Alistair were obvious choices, given their ability to sense any darkspawn close to hand, Edward and Shale because the dog's ability to track scents would no doubt be of great help in locating Lord Dace in the labyrinth of tunnels that awaited and the golem had exhibited a great interest to seeing the Deep Roads and perhaps gain a further insight into where it had come from. Morrigan and Leliana completed the grouping, the witch and rogue's talents no doubt to prove useful for healing, overcoming large numbers of the horrors that lurked in the deeps, and to detect any traps, ambushes or pitfalls lying in wait in the caverns.

The others were staying behind to attend to various other matters; Zevran had said during his convalescence at Redcliffe while they'd been traipsing round the ruins of Ostagar, one of Ignacio's 'little birds' had showed up at the castle for the Wardens with a contract on the head of a man called Gainley, a diplomat in Loghain's employ who'd been the royal ambassador to King Endrin before his death, though it seemed Gainley was not held in as high esteem by either of the late King's would-be successors. Zev had no idea why the diplomat was wanted dead, but hinted that the contract would assist in unsettling Loghain's plans and keeping the Crows off their backs, so Arthur had reluctantly nodded in agreement, as well as to Arabella's offer of assistance; a skilled assassin and a blood mage as powerful as her would likely be sufficient to 'remove' the ambassador and any bodyguards he might have with him.

Wynne was likewise looking for tasks that might either increase the contents of their coin purse or at least raise their standing in the city. According to the old mage, her excursions in the Commons and the libraries of the Shaperate had already seen her offer to help a girl eager to send a message to the Circle of Magi asking to be allowed to study at Kinloch Hold, assist the daughter of an impoverished noble house recover patents of nobility or other such proofs of her noble status from the ruins of the House's thaig in the Deep Roads and recover a tome of lore stolen from the Shaperate, tasks that Wynne argued would likely be of benefit either financially or in terms of earning the gratitude of two of the most important bodies in dwarven society. Wary that, once news that the Wardens had allied with the Aeducans became public knowledge, those loyal to House Harrowmont might express their displeasure by openly attacking the Wardens and their companions, Arthur had requested Sten accompany Wynne on her travels. If the qunari felt any discomfort or distaste for being reduced to a bodyguard, he gave no sign.

"I'm sorry, I can't allow you beyond this point. Orzammar cannot risk its honoured guests on casual visits to the Deeps. And I've heard of no new patrols scheduled to leave today"

"Are darkspawn the only danger in the tunnels?"

"'Course not!" the commander replied. "Down here you're bound to run into giant spiders, deep stalkers and all other kinds of vermin!"

"Deep stalkers?" Arthur questioned; he still remembered old Aldous's lessons on natural history well, and this didn't sound like any sort of animal he'd ever heard of.

"Ugly beasts, they are" the dwarf replied with a grimace. "Walk on two legs, but they've the head of a worm, and hunt in packs. Be careful, they're not afraid to take on a group their own size".

"Are there no dwarves past this point?"

"A few scavengers" the Commander shrugged indifferently. "And a few Legion of the Dead outposts, fools that they are"

"Legion of the Dead...I've heard that name before" Arthur said, remembering a tale told to him long ago, not by his tutor, but by his father...

"An independent company of soldiers. They take no commands but their own and swear their only goal is a glorious death. Anyone can join, regardless of their crimes or..._sanity_" the Commander finished with a snort and Arthur nodded in recognition, more from his father's old stories of King Maric and Queen Rowan emerging from the Deep Roads after escaping the disastrous slaughter at West Hill in the company of a band of dwarven veterans from the Legion of the Dead, dwarves whose skill at arms, stalwart determination and near-suicidal courage had helped in a great many battles to turn the tide against the Orlesians in the latter stages of the rebellion.

"Anyway, that's why I can't allow you past this point" the dwarf persisted but Arthur was not so easily perturbed. "Perhaps this will move things along" Arthur added, holding out the sheaf of paper Lady Dace had given them to show at the front lines. "We're on business for Prince Bhelen. We need to find Lord Dace"

The companions waited patiently while the Mines Commander looked over his paperwork. After a moment the man nodded reluctantly, and handed the papers back. "I see you have his daughter's seal, so I will not stop you," he said "But be careful" the Commander added warningly. "Just because the beasts have pulled back from Orzammar doesn't mean there are any fewer in the tunnels. Either we finally have the edge, which I doubt, or the beasts are building up numbers for their next attack."

"Actually, they've made their move – on the surface," Alistair interjected, eliciting outcries of shock and horror from the guards listening to the conversation.

"The surface!" one of the soldiers exclaimed incredulously. "But I thought the vermin never went up that far except..."

"Except during Blights," the Mines Commander cut him off, looking grim, and gave the two Grey Wardens a questioning look. The curt nod Alistair gave him was all the confirmation the dwarf needed. "Ancestors save us if that's what's happening now" the Mines Commander groused, making a dwarven gesture to ward off evil with one hand as his other ordered his men to step aside and allow the Wardens and company past the checkpoint and into the bowels of the earth.

#######

The map was a Maker-sent gift; otherwise Arthur felt they might have gotten lost in a matter of moments. They'd all heard stories of the Deep Roads, how they were the last remnants of the once glorious dwarven empire of old, still impressive and grandiose despite having been abandoned and left for the darkspawn to befoul and degrade as they saw fit for untold centuries.

In truth, they were a confusing maze of tunnels that felt like they had been created by the deranged mind of an architect crazed beyond imagination. In addition to the main roads dug as thoroughfares for the ancient traffic of the dwarven thaigs –tradesmen, columns of soldiers, and workmen on various digging, mining and other forays- there were also hundreds upon hundreds of other passageways –side roads, mining tunnels cut out over the years by members of the Mining Caste, dug in the endless search for ore, precious metals and gemstones, places where the roads intersected natural cave systems, and the countless unmapped passages dug not by dwarven hands that led down into the fetid nests and pits where the darkspawn made their lairs, all combining to create a labyrinthine network of catacombs that without direction, one could find oneself hopelessly lost down forever. They were able to stick to the main roads most of the time, except when rock falls forced them to take to the side passages to try and find a way around the blockage.

They hadn't been in the tunnels long before they had their first encounter with darkspawn. Thankfully just a handful of genlocks that had scattered swiftly after the Alpha leading them lost its head to Maric's sword. After that came more darkspawn, another handful of genlocks led by an emissary, that lost their nerve when the emissary found itself on the receiving end of a brutal right hook from Shale and was pummelled to the ground, its head closely resembling a cracked egg, and several run-ins with the abhorrent creatures known as deep stalkers. Those creatures were horrific, with bipedal, lizard-like bodies and freakish worm-like heads with small, beady black eyes and a tooth-ringed orifice of a mouth. As the Mines Commander had warned, they always attacked in packs; sometimes leaping out all at once, other times having one of the pack lure their prey into an ambush. Some of them were also capable of spitting a caustic poison; it might not kill a person, but it could weaken and disorient someone enough for their mouths to do the rest, and as the Commander warned, they weren't afraid of taking on prey much bigger than themselves. Still, their size made them easy to deal with, and the party dispatched them as much with hands and feet, stamping on and snapping spines underfoot or dragging them off as they tried to find flesh beneath the armour to sink their teeth into and snapping the creatures' necks, as they did with blades, bows and magic. After destroying three sizeable packs of deep stalkers, the creatures became more wary of attacking.

But the denizens of the Deep Roads weren't the thing that worried Arthur. In the back of his mind, he could hear it...a voice calling out, singing to him. The first time he'd heard it, Arthur had assumed it had been Leliana singing to herself as she sometimes did and angrily hissed at her to be quiet lest it attract attention. She and the others in the party had protested that not one of them had made a sound, and when Arthur forced himself to listen, he could hear that it certainly wasn't one his companions who was talking; none of them sounded anything like the husky, seductive voice whispering in the back of his mind, repeating the same words with the persistence of a lover trying to tempt him back to her bed.

'_Come to me...come to me...heed my call...'_

Judging from what it said, and the absence of many darkspawn in the immediate vicinity- Arthur could feel the creatures out there, but they were all moving away, heading towards the west, the same direction as the taint indicated the voice was coming, angrily bubbling in his veins as they turned south instead of west into the tunnels- he had a very good suspicion what was calling out to him. Alistair seemed to be in similar discomfort, and it only urged them to quicken their steps and complete their business as soon as possible, lest the call prove too strong to resist before long.

When they finally reached Lord Dace, they found him and his men on the verge of being overwhelmed by a sizable pack of deep stalkers. One of the dwarves was down, his gorget torn away and his throat a red ruin where the armour had been, and Lord Dace and his surviving men were desperately trying to keep the creatures from dragging the body away to feed. Arthur and company quickly waded into the fray, and the addition of their force to Lord Dace's turned the tide; the swords of Arthur, Leliana and Alistair carving through the ravenous creatures, with Shale's fists, Morrigan's magic and Edward mopping up those who survived the storm of blades to fight on, most ending up as a grisly red paste clinging to Shale's granite fists. A second large group of deep stalkers attacked shortly after the first mob were destroyed, drawn by the scent of blood from the copious corpses littering the thaig, but the dwarven party, coupled with the Wardensand their companions easily cut through the ravenous animals. After losing more than three-quarters of the pack to the blades of their would-be prey, the survival instinct of the deep stalkers overcame their desire for fresh meat and they fled back into the darkness, Edward giving chase, catching several that didn't get away fast enough, seizing them in his jaws and shaking them like rats until their spines snapped. With the battle over, the dwarves began to tend to their injuries, Morrigan moving over to assist with magical healing while their leader approached the Wardens.

"You pulled us from a tight spot, friend. You have my gratitude. I am Lord Anwer Dace. So what brings a band of humans into the Deep Roads?" he asked, looking with pointed curiosity at the odd assortment of companions.

"You might want to take a look at these" Arthur told him, holding out the promissory notes for the lord's inspection.

"I don't understand. What could ...?" Lord Dace began, as he took the proffered papers and ran his gaze over their content. He stopped abruptly, eyes bulging as an angry scowl crossed his face. "These are the terms of a deal we made with Lord Harrowmont, but... the charlatan! He's promised the exact same land to Helmi! Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I owe you twice now, my life and my house's fortune."

Arthur smiled and bowed out of courtesy. "I am glad I could be of service." he said.

"May the ancestors smile on you," Lord Dace said, then quickly gathered up his men and ordered them to begin moving out. "I must return to Orzammar; my men need healing and I wish to investigate this further. Do you wish to travel with us?"

"Sure, safety in numbers right?" Arthur agreed in an attempt at levity, though he didn't feel any. More than anything he wanted to get out of these Maker-forsaken tunnels, away from the smell of decay, rot, and the whispers of that accursed voice in the back of his mind.

'_Will you be joining us soon_,...brothers?'

The return journey back from Aeducan Thaig was far easier than the journey there; the deep stalkers were too wary of the Wardens and their company now to attempt an attack, and the taint coursing through Arthur's veins told him the darkspawn were still making their way en masse to the west, even as it bubbled angrily like tar as he put more distance between him and that point. Orzammar was a welcome sight when they reached the checkpoint and the Mines Commander allowed them back into the city. Still, Arthur knew, even if they had reduced themselves to running errands, much like with the Dalish and the Circle, getting one step closer to resolving the business with the treaty was not to be sniffed at.

They parted company with Lord Dace and his men at the entrance to the Diamond Quarter, the dwarf heading back to his estate to speak with his daughter and the change in their allegiances from House Harrowmont to House Aeducan, while Arthur, Alistair and the others made their way to. En route, they encountered Zevran and Arabella walking in the opposite direction of the Royal Palace, making a piss-poor job of trying to look nonchalant. When Arthur asked how they'd gotten on with their 'little job', Zevran had drawn one of his daggers free and indicated the thin traces of blood that clung to the edge. "Seems Loghain will need to appoint a new ambassador" the elf replied with a wry smirk.

The second they walked into the Assembly, they were greeted by the sound of applause to their left; whirling round, the company saw Vartag clapping slowly, his expression one of triumphant satisfaction.

"You've done good, Wardens. Lady Dace went through the quarter on a tear; she's telling everyone what a leech and a liar Harrowmont is. Good job...so you were sincere about wanting to help us" the dwarf smiled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I believe your actions are enough to secure you an audience with our good Prince. Are you ready to meet Bhelen now?"

"Of course, he sounds so _charming_" Zevran chuckled, and Arthur let out an exasperated groan as Vartag's face flushed angrily, one hand ever so subtly moving towards the haft of the mace at his belt.

"I'm going to assume that _wasn't_ sarcasm" Vartag growled warningly, before his usual veneer of obsequious courtesy reasserted itself. "I warn you, be on your best behaviour. And keep your weapons sheathed"

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Arthur hadn't realised that the building he'd walked past several times already that day on his way back and forth from the Chamber of the Assembly had been the Royal Palace. The building's exterior alone was impressive-it was one of the largest buildings in the Diamond Quarter, eclipsed in size only by the Assembly- but the interior was awe-inspiring as Vartag led them inside. AS they stepped into the atrium of the palace, Arthur found himself astounded at the feats created by dwarven engineering and architecture. Precisely cut gemstone cabochons and precious metals shaped into ornate and elaborate decorative patterns spanned the length of the walls around them. Stonemasons of incredible skill had adorned the stone tiles that lined the floors with the Aeducan coat of arms with precise intricacy and attention to detail that made the work of the finest human craftsmen look like the shoddy attempts of half-wit apprentices, along with the doors and artwork that adorned the chamber.

"I have heard about the halls of the dwarven kings, but the stories do it no justice. It is so strange, harsh yet...beautiful" Leliana muttered from behind as Vartag ushered them through the corridors, past the crowds of curious dwarven nobles no doubt dumbstruck at the presence of so many surfacers in one place, and to a chamber at the end of a long corridor.

Vartag pushed open the door and motioned for the group to enter. Inside, the room was lined with bookcases, each containing hundreds of books each that put to shame the Teyrn of Highever and Arl of Redcliffe's studies. A large stone desk stood in the middle of the study, at which sat a stout dwarf with short blonde hair and an impressive beard of the same, clad in dwarven armour of finest make, swiftly scribbling out a number of missives. The approach of feet caused the dwarf to look up from his work, his eyes gleaming as he took in his guests.

"I am impressed" the dwarf smiled, getting to his feet from behind his desk, his motions the practiced actions of a royal who knew the significance of every gesture, every motion. "Few outsiders are so swift to grasp Orzammar's rather..._convoluted_ politics. I am Prince Bhelen Aeducan, though I assume you are already aware of that fact. I apologise that I could not meet with you sooner; my family have long been friends to the Grey Wardens, but in such times, one cannot be certain who to trust. Still, by your actions against the usurper seeking to claim my father's throne, you have proven yourself a friend and ally to myself and my cause, and I thank you for it" the prince finished smoothly.

"I thank you for your graciousness, Prince Bhelen. I am Arthur Cousland, knight of the Order of the Grey Wardens. My companions are Alistair Theirin, son of the late King Maric of Ferelden, also a knight of the Grey Wardens, Leliana, a bard late of Val Royeaux, Zevran Aranai, late of the Antivan Crows, Sten of the Beresaad, Enchanters Wynne and Arabella, late of the Ferelden Circle of Magi and Morrigan, a sorceress of no small repute". Bhelen made gestures and noise of courtesy to each of the group in turn and Arthur chose to press on to the matter of business; delays benefitted no one but their enemies.

"However, I must be candid; while I thank you for your support and your hospitality, your politics are somewhat of a secondary concern to me in comparison to the threat of the Blight that even now threatens to destroy all of Ferelden"

"Then we have a common goal" Bhelen nodded approvingly. "Whether or not we like each other is irrelevant; the Blight is our first priority, and I hope you will agree with me, Warden, when I say Orzammar needs absolute unity if we are to do battle against the fulcrum of true evil!"

"Then you will honour Orzammar's agreement with the Grey Wardens?" Arthur added hopefully at Bhelen's forthright remark.

"Absolutely, and sworn on the mail of my ancestors, as soon as Orzammar is united beneath my rule. Unfortunately, while this debate rages, I have no power to send you the troops you need. You've surely seen for yourselves the city is a slaughterhouse; criminals run rampant and lawless, and blood flows freely in the street. I could never take the throne if I allowed such chaos, and I fear I must ask for your help again in bringing such lawlessness to an end"

"What do you mean?"

"You have already struck a blow against House Harrowmont and for that, I thank you...but there is now another faction coming into play here. Oh, not a contender for the throne" Bhelen added quickly at the inquisitive looks he received "but powerful and dangerous nonetheless...too powerful and dangerous to be ignored any longer. Tell me, during your time in my fair city, have you heard of a woman by the name of Jarvia, or the Carta of criminals she heads?"

"Only that they're wiping the floor with the city guard" Arthur replied drily, remembering well their encounter with some of the Carta's agents in the Commons, as well as what Figor had said about the city guard doing next to nothing to rein them in.

"The Carta knows Orzammar is divided and has no time for them; the knowledge has only served to embolden them. Every day the Assembly hears more petitions from merchants and traders whose businesses in the Commons are suffering to the Carta's malpractices. If I could eliminate such a threat, well...let's just say it would show that I, rather than Harrowmont, possess what is needed to protect this city" Bhelen concluded in .

"If your aim is to assassinate this woman, why have you not done so before now?" Leliana put forward. Arthur had to admit, it was a good question. If the Carta had posed a problem for so long and those in power knew who was directing, severing the serpent's head seemed the most logical course of action. It struck Arthur as odd someone would have taken so long to conceive of such a notion.

"Jarvia is secretive, and is only the most recent head of a group that has been plaguing Orzammar for decades; she came to prominence less than a year ago, when her predecessor Beraht was murdered by one of his lieutenants over a deal gone bad or some similar matter- we never learned the specifics. Since then, the Carta has moved up from petty crime-blackmail, theft, extortion, fraud and the like- to near-all out war with the city guard. Before my father's death, the Carta at least restrained their crimes to Dust Town, but now they're attacking honest merchants and citizens in the commons".

"Dust Town?"

"The lowest part of the city, and the reason why it's been so difficult to root out Jarvia. Only the casteless dwell there and they're too scared of Carta reprisals to co-operate with guardsmen" Bhelen explained.

"So you wish us to investigate instead of sending in more of your own men?" Arthur asked, sensing the way the conversation was going. "You feel that we're more likely

"My men have few sources in Dust Town. Perhaps the casteless will talk more freely with a stranger. If you can eliminate Jarvia, then I promise you will have all the troops you need the moment I take the throne!"

"We will begin searching first thing tomorrow" Arthur promised the Prince, whose smile at having acquired such beneficial allies stretched almost from ear to ear.

"Excellent! I shall await news of your success eagerly! For now, Wardens, please enjoy the hospitality that I have until now been unable to extend to you . As I believe you surfacers like to say, my palace is _your_ palace. I will have the cooks prepare a sumptuous meal befitting such honoured guests as swift as can be, and fitting quarters must be provided, of course. And you must relay to me all that is happening on the surface. The most unbelievable tales we've been hearing, regicides and traitors in power, civil war across the land while the darkspawn pillage and burn at will...unbelievable!"

Arthur let Bhelen babble on, paying little heed to the prince's requests and comments, his mind already churning with thoughts on how to go about the task of infiltrating the lair of the most powerful gang of organised criminals in the city and assassinating their leader who had likely taken numerous measures to avoid suffering such a fate.

################

"Politics" Arthur spat disgustedly. Leliana looked round from her place by the vanity, where she'd taken the opportunity to indulge herself in the luxury of the brushes and other products for her hair that Bhelen's mistress Rica had given the, imported from Val Royeux. The quarters Bhelen's seneschal had given them were opulent and luxurious to the extreme, and judging by the arrangements, someone had clearly been informed Arthur and Leliana were lovers, since they'd both been given the same room. The others had also been allocated the best of the guest quarters within the Royal Palace , Zevran and Arabella's sleeping arrangements in particular having elicited some amusement, the assassin and mage having been given the quarters of the late Ambassador Gainley who, according to the criers, had suffered a 'tragic accident' earlier that day when he'd tripped and fallen headfirst into a lava shaft.

"You don't care for the Game, I take it?" Leliana asked over her shoulder as she returned to running the ivory handled brush through her coils of her, gleaming like burnished copper in the light of the fire burning in the grate, Arthur admiring the light playing on it from his position lying on the bed, his head propped up by the pillows, lounging about idly, one hand dangling over the side of the bed, resting on Edward's head and idly running through the dog's fur, the mabari oblivious to the attentions of his master, far more interest on gnawing the immense bronto leg bone some of the kitchen maids had smuggled out for him.

"I'm the second son; I was never meant to shoulder any responsibility" Arthur replied as he lay back on the bed. "My parents taught me and Fergus how to play the game, so that we'd know how to act, how to think, how to stay within certain boundaries and to how to recognise those who stepped outside those, but I never expected to have to use what I was taught. Fergus was the heir, he would have become the teyrn, the responsibilities were all his, keeping the peace, dealing with the other nobles, upholding the king's peace and whatnot. Me, my greatest concerns were running around proving how good I was with a sword, when I wasn't looking for the next drink or the next pretty young thing to warn my bed. I would probably have been married off sooner or later- I still remember my father saying to my mother after I got caught on another 'indiscretion' in the city's red-light district "Don't worry, Ellie; there's bound to be at least one family willing to offer a daughter in exchange for the friendship of House Cousland, and Maker willing, the girl will be able to knock some sense into him" and for all that Rendon Howe kept offering that stick-up-her-arse shrew Delilah, I think my father was planning to offer me to young Alfstanna of Waking Sea or Leona's Bryland's ghastly daughter. Once I was married, I'd no doubt be given charge of some minor castle within Highever's borders and doubtless be pressed into service when Fergus called out the banners or be called upon to support him in the Landsmeet but it was never something I relished the prospect of..." Arthur's voice trailed off. Leliana put the brush down and lithely padded across the room to the bed, resting her head on Arthur's chest as he idly ran his free hand through her hair, the motion simple and yet so potent.

"I've never had any time for this sort of thing, this double-dealing. I can do it, yes, but I never wanted to. I was more than happy to let Fergus shoulder that burden because I never wanted to lower myself to the level of people like Howe, ready to step over anything and anyone who get in their way if it suited their purposes. I despised the notion that the man who sups with you and makes a toast of friendship in the morning could be plotting to sink a dagger into your back by the afternoon, as no doubt a great many of those dwarven nobles who smiled ever so politely and made such generous compliments at dinner are even now plotting on how they can remove us from the picture. And once we're done in this viper's nest, we have to throw into another one, one where the stakes are going to be even higher. Despite what Eamon believes, there will be more at stake than just placing another scion of the Theirin line on the throne. If we fail, I will never have justice for my family, and neither will there be justice for those who have died needlessly in this bloody conflict so far. If we fail, do you think Loghain will be in any way inclined to show mercy? No, our heads will end up on spikes decorating Fort Drakon if we fail, and in so doing, that fool will have all but guaranteed Ferelden's destruction at the hands of the darkspawn but Loghain and Howe are so well entrenched, so secure in their power that I fear...I fear that to destroy my enemies, I must become like them, and the notion sickens me". The worry and fear in his voice galvanised Leliana to sit up and look him in the eye, and when she spoke, her tone was sympathetic, but firm.

"The Game changes so swiftly; alliances shift and change like sand beneath men's feet. For all we know, by the time we return to Redcliffe, the tide may have turned in our favour. Loghain and Howe's heavy handedness and brutality will not win them many allies, and your own actions and all that you have suffered can be used to good effect to garner great support, should you choose to do so. And look on the bright side, with the knowledge you acquire here, surely you'll have a comprehension of how to replicate the decision and actions you make with one line of succession on assuring another. I know you have no taste for politics, Arthur, but you are no longer that boy who lived free without a care for worldly matters; you are a man who, by his very actions in so many ways, as Teagan and Eamon have pointed out, has proven that you are willing to do what is necessary and right. You are, like they said, famous, popular and have proven you are willing to do all in your power to defeat the Blight, unlike your opponents and that will not soon be forgotten. Nor should it be, least of all by you. You are intelligent, determined and driven to accomplish any task when your mind is set to it. If experience has taught me anything, used at the right time in the right place, such can be used to deadly effect. You need not become like your enemies to defeat them, not when your own talents are more than sufficient". Arthur looked her full in the eyes, and his gaze held a mingling of surprise at the faith in which she held in him, and gratitude at the knowledge at least someone would always believe in him.

"Now, I think it's time I live up to that promise I made you in camp, wouldn't you agree?" Leliana whispered as she sat up until her face and Arthur's were level and she swiftly leaned in for a passionate kiss that washed away the talk of politics and corruption.

"Right now, that sounds like a very good idea" Arthur chortled in reply as he pressed his lips to hers again and his hands moved up to ease the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders.

Try as she might though, there was one thing Leliana couldn't completely distract his mind from, no matter how fine her ministrations as a lover. Even she could not prevent dreams.

'_The reptilian face hung before him, dead-white eyes gleaming with malicious amusement, the edges of the mouth curling to expose the stained dagger-like teeth, the cavernous jaws opening wide, exuding the stench of death, decay and carrion that clung to the dragon's foul breath, and as its mouth opened, Arthur heard it...the voice, whispering to him again, half tantalising, half mocking as it repeated the same thing to him again and again'_.

'_Will you be joining us soon..._brother?'


	40. Chapter 38: The Second Task

_Well, sorry for how bloody long this has taken, I've no doubt you've all been waiting patiently for this. Real life has really been co-operating with my designs for writing these last couple of weeks, but things have eased up a little, so hopefully the next few won't take as long. This chapter might be a little weaker than the last, since it's just to bridge the gap between Orzammar and the Deep Roads (I always found Orzammar to be the dullest part of the game to be honest) and writer's block has a near-constant companion at times, so sorry if this isn't as good as the last few. It's not pretty but it had to be done. _

_Just so you know, the next 3-5 chapters should cover the search through the Deep Roads (I've got some big things planned for that), then I might go off tangent and canon a little to dabble in just what Fergus Cousland and company are up to in the Bannorn(though I might make that a short story running parallel to __**From The Ashes**__, I'm still working it out), then a brief chapter in Redcliffe, and then it'll be on to Denerim and the Landsmeet, at last! _

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this: special thanks as always to __**Theodur**__ (whose short story __**Price of Immortality,**__ a chilling look at just how far will a Warden go to escape the Calling is worth a read), __**ffdrake, spectre4hire, MysticGohan88, KnightofHolyLight, ethan89, InuManKa91 & Koopatrooper**__ for your reviews, as well as to __**Darth Interfector, FictionShadow,**__**Marceos **__and __**Appealtoreason**__ for adding this to favourites; I assure you, knowing so many were waiting on the next part of this has at times been the only thing keeping me going!_

_To those who reviewed, I noticed a great many showed surprise that I sided with Bhelen. I and Arthur, in my first game sided with Harrowmont, but after the epilogue showed how badly he screwed up, I've never sided with him since, as while Bhelen is ambitious, amoral and power-hungry, he is better in the end and while I can't agree with his take on fratricide, some of his better policies I and Arthur can swallow. And thanks to all those who enjoyed my take on how the taint called out to Arthur; I'm trying to expand on the darkspawn as more than the mindless animals they're made out to be; I assure you, there'll be similar to come, especially with what I have planned!_

As always, **Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**

And above all else, enjoy!

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When Arthur had been eight years old, he'd snuck into the Highever Alienage on a dare of Niamh's. The Alienage had been squalid and decrepit, ramshackle buildings all packed together, elves trying to eke out a meagre existence as much as they could in a society that at best, ignored them, and at worst actively sought to sweep them under the rug. And the Highever Alienage wasn't the worst of the lot, not after his father had done his best to try and improve conditions and limit the restrictions on elven freedoms as much as he was able; the Denerim Alienage was apparently much worse.

But it had nothing on Dust Town.

'Spare a bit for the needy, ser?'

'Help a poor cripple?"

"What do you want down here, Warden?"

'Three bits for a tumble?"

"Well, well, look what we have here. Not every day ol' Nadezda sees a fine stranger in Dust Town..."

'Town' was a rather generous term for the sprawling settlement, not part of the main city itself, but built on the outskirts of the Commons to cordon off the casteless from the rest of the city, set up in a series of tunnels, reclaimed from the mines and converted to a ramshackle shanty-town. Beggars scrabbled into corners as they passed like rats. The buildings, most cobbled together from stone, mud bricks and other detritus, were pock-marked with damage from street brawls, fires and other incidents, most looking like a light breeze would knock them down. A variety of dwarves, male and female, all united by the tattoos branding them forever as casteless, segregating them more fully from , poked their heads out around doors, out of windows, from the shadows like rats emerging from their holes, only to scurry away lest they drew attention to themselves.

"Ah, the seedy underbelly one finds in almost every city in Thedas. One can clearly smell fear and oppression down here...stinks almost as strongly as the sewers" Zevran opined. Arthur had only taken a small group with him- Zev, Leliana, Sten, Edward and Morrigan- hoping to draw as little attention as possible, and only taken individuals based on the descriptions of similar individuals Bhelen's men had reported milling about Dust Town that seemed to imply the Carta was hiring surface mercenaries by the dozen.

"I really do think we're on a fool's errand here" the elf continued to add. "Look around; the power this Carta wields around here is keeping them in line. These folk aren't going to risk their own necks by telling us anything"

Zev's words proved prophetic. Despite Bhelen's hope that the Wardens would prove less conspicuous than city guardsmen to investigate, the casteless seemed just as unwilling to talk to them. Most scurried into their 'houses', slamming doors and window shutters closed when they saw the group approaching, and the few that remained on the street running away without a backward glance the second Arthur or any of the others tried to engage them in conversation. After several failed attempts to get some of the casteless to talk, Arthur found himself chasing down a casteless man running into an alleyway, the others trailing in his wake as Arthur pursued his quarry into the dead end.

To his surprise, the dwarf had stopped running and had turned to face him, a snuggle-toothed smile spreading across his face as a pair of dwarven thugs, knives in hand, leapt down from the roofs of the two buildings on either side. The dwarf he'd been pursuing also drew a long-bladed knife from his belt, grinning viciously.

"Jarvia said you were looking for trouble. Congratulations...you found it!"

Arthur reacted instantaneously, slamming his shield into the dwarf's face, drawing a garbled yell of pain, a satisfying crack of bone and several teeth parting company with the thug's jaw. The next dwarf ripped a short sword from its sheath and stabbed low, aiming for the base of the fauld; Arthur dropped his shield swiftly and blocked the attack, then drove Duncan's sword through the thug's left eye. There was a loud gasp of pain and Arthur whirled round, his sword cutting into the neck of the third dwarf who'd been trying to sneak around behind him and slip a knife between his ribs, but as the dwarf pitched forward, all but decapitated save for a few strands of muscle keeping his head attached to the neck, Arthur saw the blow had been unnecessary; two arrows were buried between the dwarf's shoulder blades and at the entrance of the alley, he could see Leliana and Zevran lowering their bows, the Warden inclining his head in thanks for their quick reactions.

"DON'T KILL ME!" the first dwarf burbled through a cracked jaw, casting away his blades and prostrating himself at the Warden's feet. "Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleeding archdemon!"

"Why did you attack us?" Arthur demanded.

"Jarvia said you've been asking-oh don't look at me like that!" the dwarf groused at Arthur's icy expression "I've got a kid and no other way to bring in coin!"

"Tell me where your mistress is hiding, or join your friends!" Arthur growled, raising the sword level with the dwarf's neck. Realising his life was on the line, the dwarf spilled his boss's secrets with surprising alacrity.

"The base is below the city. You can enter it through the third house on this row" the dwarf blurted, casting what looked to be the finger bone of a dwarf, filed and carved into a key-shape at Arthur's feet. "Place that in the slot and it'll open" his voice trailed off as the dwarf realised his mistake; now he'd told everything of value, there was no reason to let him live.

"Will...will you let me go?" the dwarf pleaded from the floor. Arthur let the moment hang for a little while, letting the dwarf sweat for perhaps a little too long, before finally raising his sword away from the dwarf's neck and sheathing it.

"Go. And make sure you're not at Jarvia's when I get there"

"_Really_?" the dwarf blurted, clearly amazed he was being granted a reprieve. "Oh thank you! You're a...a good person. How do they say it? The Ancestors have shown their favour...bless you" before bolting off without a backward glance, lest the reprieve prove only temporary.

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The door the thug had mentioned was easy enough to find, and after Zev and Leliana had spent a few short minutes examining every facet of the stone portal, the assassin found a small crack barely bigger than his little finger. Zev inserted the finger bone the dwarf had surrendered into the slot, and after a few seconds, there was a soft click of a lock turning and the door swung open to reveal a tunnel.

They stepped into the tunnel hesitantly, heading slowly down the rough stone slope. The tunnel was much cooler than the city above, probably from the lack of open lava streams that seemed to provide Orzammar with much of its light and warmth. The carta's hideout proved to be a veritable rat's nest of tunnels that connected different smaller chambers, each one filled to the brim with stolen goods. Chests of weapons, both used and new, as well as large crates spilling over with armour littered most of the rooms, along with more chests packed to the brim with gleaming gold coins, most likely acquired through unscrupulous activities.

The hideout had also clearly been prepared for intruders; evidently, Jarvia and her predecessors had considered the possibility that sooner or later, the city guard would discover their location and come down in full force to root them out. As such, a good number of traps, including exploding barrels triggered to trip wires, some bear traps designed to cripple and incapacitate were also set up throughout the hideout, causing Zevran and Leliana to split up frequently to disarm them before the others could walk through.

The tunnels were also overrun by Carta dwarves, who though caught by surprise, still fought with the tenacity of ants defending their nest. Jarvia appeared to hire on anyone willing to work for her, and not just casteless dwarves. Apostates, brontos trained to attack and even a good number of Tal'Vasoth mercenaries, whose demise Sten had particularly relished.

"Vashedan" the qunari had snarled as he pulled Asala from the spine of a slain mercenary "Abandoning the sanctity, the clarity, the wisdom of the Qun for _what?_ Coin? Is that good enough cause to sink to the level of these dwarven bas...pathetic"

After an hour or more of traipsing through the tunnels, facing a wide variety of opponents, the tunnels brought them to a single door that barred the way forward. Arthur drove a boot into the door, sending it slamming open, and they stormed into the chamber to find themselves face to face with a stocky dwarven woman, a handful of armed thugs at her side. Like all dwarves, Jarvia was short and broad, her wide face ruddy and marked beneath the right eye with the casteless brand, framed by long braids of brown hair. She, and the men around her that were clearly her inner circle, were dressed in the finest armour and armed with the best weapons the Carta's ill-gotten money could buy; Jarvia was dressed in blued silverite chainmail, with a pair of silverite axes hanging from a loop on her belt and in her hands, a longbow that had clearly been made by a master craftsman on the surface, since as Arthur knew, there weren't any dwarven wood cutters in Orzammar. An arrow was already notched to the string.

"So, Bhelen _finally_ realized his throne means nothing if he can't hold it, yet he still doesn't bother to send his own men?" Jarvia chuckled darkly, her lip curling, sneering down at the surfacers in her lair. "Well, you picked the wrong side, stranger. It doesn't matter who's king, as long as there's a _queen_!"

"Certainly cocky, isn't she?" Zevran chuckled, as if the dwarven woman was making a very poor joke. "Your entire carta lies in pieces behind us, your men bleeding their last into the dirt as we speak, and you _still _think you can win this?"

"You'll pay for their deaths a hundred times over!" Jarvia spat. "I'll take their vengeance in blood!"

"Oh shut up and die, wretch!" Arthur growled, raising his sword.

"Excellent idea!" Jarvia snarled, raising the bow and drawing back the string. "Boys! Help the mouthy bastard take his own advice!" the Carta leader roared as she loosed the arrow.

Arthur fell into the defensive routine immediately, blocking the arrow with the shield level to his head. With a shout, a carta thug came running at him, trying to Before the dwarf could recover, Arthur stabbed downwards, plunging his sword into the dwarf's chest, before reversing the blade and driving it into another Carta thug trying to sneak up on him from behind. The familiar whistle of arrows sounded behind him, Leliana's lethally accurate archery proving itself once more as a dwarf at the far end of the room running to join the fight pitched forward down the stairs with an arrow in his throat. Another took a lightning bolt to the head as Morrigan worked her magic with as deadly effect as ever.

Another dwarf charged Sten, but the qunari leapt aside with surprising speed, bringing Asala down on the back of the thug's head with a grisly crunch. Zevran was trapped, blades locked with a carta assassin, elf and dwarf straining to get the advantage over the other, but out of nowhere, the dwarf let out a cry of pain and staggered, a flaming arrow protruding from the back of his knee. Before the dwarf could recover, Zevran slashed his daggers across the thug's throat, sending his foe to his knees with a spray of blood.

Another pair of carta assassins emerged from a rear chamber to assist, but before they could, there was a feral roar and the companions leapt aside as a huge grizzly bear charged straight past them, straight at Jarvia. The dwarf shot another arrow at the attacking Morrigan-for it could only be her, Arthur knew- but the shot missed. The two dwarf thugs looked less than eager to attack, but Morrigan didn't give them a chance; the first dwarf was sent flying across the small chamber by a vicious blow to the head, dead from a broken neck before he struck the wall. The second lived a little longer, driving his dagger into the bear's left forelimb, but when Morrigan pulled her furred arm back, the blade was wrenched from the dwarf's grasp, leaving him defenceless when Morrigan's fanged jaws closed around his throat. The dwarf's scream came out as a wet gurgle as the bear's fangs ripped his throat out almost down to the vertebrae, leaving only a few scraps of muscle attaching the head to the neck. Even before the body had fallen to the floor, Morrigan was on the move again.

"I'm gonna wear your pretty teeth around my wrist!" Jarvia shrieked at the charging Morrigan, loosing another arrow that sank into the bear's hip. Morrigan's answer was a berserk roar, her golden eyes bright with fury, bearing down on Jarvia in a loping sprint, reaching the dwarf's position amidst a large number of wooden barrels, the contents of which Arthur didn't want to guess at, rearing up on her hind legs to strike the dwarf down...and triggering the tripwire none of them had seen.

No one afterwards was quite sure what happened; there was a blast of sound as loud as a thunderclap, a roar and a sudden blast of heat that struck them all, even those at the edge of the chamber, knocking those closest to the centre of the explosion off their feet. As Arthur tried to clear his head of the immediate grogginess, he could see Jarvia desperately trying to get to her feet, the left side of her face a charred mask of burns with most of the hair on that side burned away, her armour blackened and the longbow she'd been wielding was now little more than a burned wooden stick, and behind her, another was getting to its feet, looming over the dwarf like the shadow of death. Morrigan also looked a little worse for wear, some deep burns scarring the length of her ursine snout and a fair few patches of fur charred away, but it seemed the dwarf had come off worse than the witch.

As Jarvia realised what was behind her, the dwarf woman whirled round, hands swiftly flying to the hafts of the axes at her belt...but not swift enough. Morrigan's fanged maw opened and descended again, closing around the upper portion of Jarvia's skull. Jarvia's screams were horrific to listen to, becoming choking gurgles as the bear's teeth sank deeper and deeper, accompanied by deep cracks as the fangs crushed flesh and bone with ease and a morbid tearing sound as the muscles of the neck began to give way. Finally, with a deep-throated growl, Morrigan tore her head back...and Jarvia's mangled head was torn clean off her neck, a good number of vertebrae still attached, accompanied by a spurt of arterial red that drenched the walls and floor behind the dwarf's position.

"Oh, sweet Maker" Arthur muttered, feeling a little nauseous as he watched the dwarf's head go bouncing across the floor. He barely heard Leliana excuse herself from the room, though all present heard her vomiting in the corridor. Even Zevran looked a little green; the sheer visceral brutality of the Carta leader's death was something that even the assassin, experienced in dealing out death in its many varied forms, seemed not to have experienced.

"Well, that was fun" Morrigan idly commented as she idly loped over to the group, wiping the dwarf blood away from her mouth, a feral grin on her face that...and surprisingly, still fully clothed, unlike the previous times she'd transformed into animal form. "A little trick I picked up from Mother's grimoire" Morrigan explained, gesturing to a cluster of strange symbols sewn into the shoulders and sleeves of the blue and gold robes of Tevinter make she wore. "These runes ensure that the robes and trinkets I wear, and the magic bound within them transfers to the form I adopt. Fair more useful than having to continually remove my gear and replace it simply to perform a spell...no wonder Flemeth kept it from me"

"Maybe your mother didn't want to deny us the chance to see you in all your glory" Zevran opined with a cheeky grin, earning him a scowl from Morrigan.

"You've already got one mage dropping her knickers for you at the drop of a hat; if you want a second, you'd be better off with the old one, elf. I can assure you, I'm far more demanding than the old crone or the blood mage"

"Promises, promises" Zevran muttered, sounding not in the least bit perturbed.

"Did you have to be so...?" Leliana said in a weak voice as she stepped back in, still looking very green.

"Well, I could have been more subtle about it...but where's the fun in that?" Morrigan chuckled as she strode away. "If you'd care to hurry up looting whatever these moles had of value on them, we can be out of this ghastly pit. I can assure you I have no desire whatsoever to learn to transform into some cave-dwelling creature to blend in" the witch complained as she bent down and seized Jarvia's mangled head by its hair, waving it at Leliana, chuckling at the yowl of disgust the bard made before dumping the skull into a hessian sack.

"Is it not enough that you butchered that dwarf in such a monstrous fashion?" Leliana demanded angrily. "Do you want a trophy of such savagery as well?"

"We need proof that we've done as required" Morrigan snapped. "Or are you expecting the Prince to simply trust our word and honest faces that the task has been done?"

############

"Well, I hear you've simply outdone yourselves" Bhelen remarked, clapping lazily as the weary company trudged into his study, rising from behind his desk, his eyes gleaming at the sight of their blood stained weapons and armour and the hessian sack in Arthur's clenched hand, dripping blood onto the stone floor. The guards had initially balked from letting them into the palace in their present state, and it was only the influence of Vartag that had smoothed their passage back into the Prince's presence.

"The whole city is talking about how _someone_ finally went through Dust Town and slaughtered the Carta like genlocks. Is it true?"

By way of an answer, Arthur reached into the sack and deposited the mangled severed skull on the desk, earning an astonished noise of disdain from the Prince and mutters of outrage from the Royal Guardsmen standing on duty by the door.

"What is..._this?"___Bhelen's second demanded, holding up the severed head by its hair, trying to make sense of the mangled features, the crushed brow, the scalp all but torn off, the burns covering a good portion of the face and the teeth marks that had torn down to the very bone.

"Jarvia wasn't as...accommodating to the Prince's wishes as we would have liked" Arthur replied as Bhelen's ruddy face split into a broad grin at the sight.

"This should shift the balance quite nicely. Vartag, call an emergency session of the Assembly. Tell Bandelor I demand it; use whatever means you have to, but make sure he calls the Assembly to session within the hour; I think it only prudent that the Assembly hears this good news as soon as possible...

"You have my thanks for your assistance in eradicating the threat posed by the Carta" Bhelen replied as he swiftly. "Now if you will excuse me, I must see now how the waters clear. Please, feel free to enjoy what Orzammar has to offer; the wonders of my fair city are rarely seen by outside eyes. Once we have a better understanding of how things stand now the situation has changed, I will have Vartag find you..."

#######################

_**The Chamber of the Assembly, one hour later**_

"What is the meaning of this, Bhelen?"

"_Prince_ Bhelen" Vartag corrected the lord through gritted teeth. Pyral Harrowmont sat on the far side of the chamber, glowering at him, as did the gaggle of deshyrs and lords who still clung doggedly to Harrowmont's ever-crumbling position._ 'Soon it will collapse altogether, and when it does, oh will there be a reckoning_!' Bhelen swore to himself.

"You summoned this emergency session of the Assembly, Prince Bhelen; I suggest you tell us the reason why" Steward Bandelor insisted from his position on the rotunda's floor. Many of Harrowmont's lackeys also echoed the cry; by way of an answer, Bhelen waved forward one of the guardsmen who'd accompanied him as an escort, carrying the blood-dripping sack and plunging his hand into it as Bhelen gave his answer.

"I wished for the Assembly to know as soon as possible how it is by my hand that a threat to the stability of our city was brought to an end" the Prince declared triumphantly as the royal guardsman pulled Jarvia's severed head from the sack and tossed it down the stairs. The head bounced down the stairs, leaving bloody red splotches on the marble flooring before coming to rest in the middle of the Chamber, the assembled nobility staring in astonishment and disgust at the ugly spectacle.

"What is this..._thing?"_ Steward Bandelor demanded furiously, nudging the severed head with a foot.

"About an hour ago, that was the head of the Carta. Now, it's just a head" the Prince replied, a few deshyrs on his side tittering at the witticism, before his tone become more abrupt, cleaving to the heart of matters. "Mount it on a spike, have the criers tell the Commons that Jarvia and the Carta have been destroyed...and make sure to mention that it was the doing of Prince Bhelen Aeducan that ensured the Carta shall plague the Diamond Quarter and the Commons no longer"

The silence that followed was deafening, and Bhelen pressed his advantage, seeking to cut to the heart of matters before Harrowmont and his lackeys could recover their composure and react.

"My lords, ladies and deshyrs, we can no longer afford any delays. While we sit idle in our seat of comfort and power, the world churns beneath our feet. Even as we speak, the darkspawn mass their numbers for an inevitable attack. As you know, two members of the Order of the Grey Wardens arrived in Orzammar to discuss with me the threat we now face. What they have told me confirms what the reports of our own scouts imply and what we have long feared; another Blight is upon us and while we delay with pointless politics, the power of our enemy only waxes stronger-"

A derisive snort came from Harrowmont, echoed by many of his supporters. "You think just because you hire a few surface mercenaries to do your dirty work and have a few casteless slaughtered will automatically grant you the throne, then you're in for a bigger disappointment than when your father named _me_ the heir! You present half-proven claims and assurances from your own lack witted cronies, and you think these demands will avail the Assembly to yield you the throne?"

"So far, the only one I hear speaking is you!" Bhelen retorted. "I demand nothing. By all means, let the Assembly decide; decide whether they wish us to be led by one such as you, who proposes we bury our heads in sand and hope the world and our enemies will just pass us by, or if they would rather have one like myself at our head, who would have Orzammar play a key part in the future of this world, as befits a civilisation as old and influential as ours!"

The vote, unfortunately, went no way like Bhelen had hoped it would. While to his satisfaction, a greater number of nobles than before wisely chose to align themselves to him, thanks in no small part to the events in Dust Town-many of the families no doubt having secret desires or agendas that the Carta had forced them to pay through the nose for-, the greater number of deshyrs chose to stay at Harrowmont's side, their power and influence just giving his rival enough to cling on to his position. The vote ended in an inconclusive stalemate once again and the session degenerated into the usual melee of shouted insults and barely veiled threats, not that Bhelen stayed for that. Once it had become clear how matters were going to end, Bhelen took his leave along with Vartag, his guards and a good number of his most prominent supporters, leaving Bandelor to deal with the mess. The Prince barely paid any attention to the wittering and chatter of his allies, all talking amongst themselves about potential courses of action, when a throwaway remark by Lady Helmi caught his attention.

"This would not be dragging on as long as it has if we had a Paragon here to speak, or at least knock some sense into their heads..."

"What did you say, my lady?" Bhelen spun round to face Lady Helmi, the venerable dwarven matriarch looking slightly surprised at the look of astonishment in the Prince's eyes.

"I was just saying how there would be no need for this debate were there a Paragon in the city to resolve matters-"

'_Of course, how did I not think of this before?_' Bhelen cursed himself. '_No one would dare speak against the word of a Paragon, certainly not that stiff-necked old bronto; he's far too proud and honourable to dare challenge the old traditions. The only trouble is that by now, she's gone far too deep into the tunnels for our scouts to even contemplate going that far; not even the Legion of the Dead dare venture that deep into darkspawn-held territory. The only ones who do are_-' and then everything fell into place.

"Run and find the Wardens" Bhelen snapped to his second. "I have one more little job for them..."

#####################

Arthur found himself walking through the Commons in the company of Alistair, Zevran and Leliana, with Edward bringing up the rear. All of them kept a hand close to their weapons; while the streets were quiet for the moment, Wynne had warned that bands of armed thugs loyal to one faction or the other were prowling the Commons and the Diamond Quarter, looking for rivals to unleash their fury on, and it was with one eye warily watching their surroundings that the group explored the environs. Sten, Wynne and Shale were all in the Shaperate, all seeking varying forms of knowledge, Morrigan they could see perusing the wares of a dwarven merchant close by, and Arabella was nowhere to be seen, having left their company much earlier.

"Ah, a whole city at our fingertips, what should we see first?" Zevran asked. "I wonder if there's a brothel or a gambling den around her, I fancy a little action"

"A one-track mind, I see?" Alistair chuckled, showing a manner of good humoured camaraderie that was the complete opposite of his earlier attitude towards the elf.

"I quite fancy the sound of the Proving" Arthur put forward. "I haven't taken part in a tournament since I was a teenager; it might be nice to fight as a test of skill, rather than for survival"

But before they could decide, the sound of raised voices arguing from the far side of the Commons drew their attention. Quickly racing over to the side of the Commons where the inn was situated, the source of the commotion, the companions saw Arabella Amell storming away, her robes trailing behind her, from a beardless male dwarf dressed strangely enough in Chantry robes, and preaching an extremely self-righteous spiel.

"How dare you turn your back, how dare you walk away from me, mage? Need I remind you that '_Magic is to serve man-!"_

What happened next was so fast no one saw it coming; quick as a flash, Arabella whirled round, her left hand seizing the dwarf's fleshy neck in a claw-like grasp that choked him into silence, while a flame ignited in the palm of her right, hovering dangerously close to the dwarf's quivering jowls.

"Finish that spiel and I _guarantee_ it will be the last time you have a tongue to do so. For a start, I am a Grey Warden, not one of your Circle dregs who comes running like a trained dog every time you Chantry overseers snap your fingers, and second, if you want to find someone stupid enough to help you set up shop here, probably best not to ask a maleficar for help, eh?"

"Blood mage" the dwarf choked out, shock and outrage mingling in his expression. "Heathen witch..._'Foul and accursed are they who have taken his gift and corrupt_-!" he just managed to say before the grip around his throat tightened and the fires crept ever closer.

"Did I mention how much I _hate_ religious diatribes?" Arabella hissed, smiling sweetly even though the look in her eyes was nothing short of murderous. "I will not help you and if the dwarves have any sense, they will keep to their own faith with iron resolve, rather than listen to a self-righteous, pompous fool like you. Now get out of my sight, and if you are smart, you'll not cross my path if you know what's good for you!" the mage finished furiously as she threw the dwarf to the floor, leaving him gasping for breath and a crowd of dwarves astonished at the spectacle who parted before her as Arabella stormed past and straight into Tapsters.

"What in the Maker's name was that all about?" Arthur demanded.

"We had a minor...disagreement" Arabella commented icily, taking a sip from the wine and not looking at them.

"What disagreement?"

"I merely said the Chantry boy had to answer a question of mine if he wanted me to help him. He didn't like the question"

"Which was?"

"If he thought it ironic Andraste had fought to overthrow one tyrannical empire, only to have her followers raise up another in its place" Arabella laughed coldly as she took yet another deep swig of drink.

"The Chantry is _not_ a tyrannical empire!" Leliana bristled angrily, rising from her seat. "How can you say such? The Chantry has done such for so many; it gave me a home, forgiveness, a purpose, it helps so many others- widows, orphans-"

"But not to me" Arabella hissed fiercely. "Tell me, since you are such a staunch supporter of the Chantry, do you agree with everything it does? Such as taking children who've never done anything wrong in their lives and locking them up for the rest of their lives for something that's beyond their control? For threatening the parents of said children with death and excommunication if they dare to ask after them, or on the other hand, allowing them to pay a hefty tithe to sweep them out of sight? For forcing those children to grow up in a gilded cage where they're told day after day their very existence is a crime against the Maker's will, surrounded by armed thugs who beat, rape and kill them on a whim? No, don't preach to me about how good the Chantry is; I've seen no evidence of it". Arabella sank back into her seat, leaving an astounded Leliana gawping like a fish in astonishment.

"What's brought this on?" Arthur asked. "It can't just be anger at what that dwarf said, not that I'd blame you. Is this to do with Jowan? I'm sorry about what happened to him, but there was no other way..." but Arabella took the conversation off on a different tangent.

"Do you know I'm not Fereldan? I'm a Marcher by birth; my family, the Amells, were once one of the most prestigious in Kirkwall. My great-uncle, Aristide Amell, was at one point tipped to be the Viscount of Kirkwall, and besides that, he was one of the most wealthy, influential and popular members of the nobility in the Free Marches"

"So what happened?"

"I was born, that's what happened. Initially, that did nothing to him, though I had to suffer the abuses of a father who seemed to consider my very existence a mortal insult since I wasn't the son he wanted, and the cowardice of a mother who did nothing to stop him. I spent my childhood growing up in fear of my father's wrath- he'd beat me when he was drunk which was nearly all the time, if I did something wrong, or even just when the mood took him- but things finally came to a head when I turned twelve, thirteen"

"What happened?" It was Zevran who spoke this time, sounding intrigued, and he wasn't the only one. Arthur knew the elf and the mage had an on-again, off-again sort of relationship going; he knew they'd shared a bed, among other things, but he wondered just how much of their pasts they'd shared with each other.

"My father was in another of his drunken rages, and after beating me to satisfy his temper, he tried, he tried to force himself..." Arabella couldn't bring herself to say it, but the meaning could not be clearer. Leliana, her earlier anger put aside, placed a comforting hand on the other woman's hand, both of them united by having suffered the same horrific experience.

"And I don't know how it happened, but I thought how much I wanted to kill him and the next second, my hands and his head were on fire. It didn't burn me, but him, well...I didn't think I'd heard a sound as sweet as that bastard's dying screams as his head melted". The smile that crossed her lips was ghoulish, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a chill at how eagerly the woman described the murder of her father in self-defence. _'I can't imagine hating my own family with such vehemence'._

"What did you do then?"

"Well, my father's screams brought his men-at-arms running; I ended up leaping out a window to get out. Tried to run away, not that it did much good. I'd planned to run off to Ferelden-I knew my aunt Leandra had fled there years before and my mother always spoke highly of her so my plan was to try and find her, not that it worked. Aristide's retainers found me trying to pawn my mother's jewellery into passage aboard a ship across the Waking Sea. The templars were already clamouring for me to be shut up in the Gallows, but my uncle paid an exorbitant tithe to that doddering old biddy of a Grand Cleric to have me placed in a Circle outside the Free Marches. Some liked to claim it was an act of kindness, protecting me from being locked up in the worst of the Circles, but I knew it was to sweep me under the rug so the scandal of a mage child wouldn't diminish his political ambitions...not that it did much good" Arabella smiled wickedly again. "I took some comfort in my exile knowing that I was just the start of how everything fell apart for my great-uncle's ambitions"

"And then began eleven years of my life in the Circle. Granted, it was better than it could have been, but I never forgot that it was forced on me. Yes, the Fereldan Circle didn't treat me too cruelly, yes the First Enchanter personally oversaw my education, but I never forgot. And then Jowan made things so much worse and it was all downhill from there..."

"What happened with you and Jowan? You mentioned you and he were friends, but you never said how..." Arthur asked.

"Friends? He was the closest thing to a brother I had and he took care of me growing up in the tower. He was careful when it came to me, but not when it came to himself. Poor stupid bugger got involved with a Chantry wench about the same time I went through my Harrowing-must have been two or three weeks before Ostagar. Shortly afterwards, Jowan and his girl asked for my help in helping him get out of the tower before that old fool Gregoir had him made Tranquil. Needless to say, all did not go smoothly; we got caught breaking into that vault, Jowan used blood magic to get away and me and his girl were left to face the music...she got shipped off to prison and I was locked up in a dungeon in the basement of the tower, though I know full well Gregoir would very much have liked to have transferred Jowan's sentence to me...sometimes I really think the templars regret that old law saying mages who've been through the Harrowing can't be made Tranquil"

"What happened then?"

"Not sure, but after a while, my jailers stopped coming. And then one day, a pair of Libertarians show up at my cell, unlock my chains and tell me Uldred's freeing the Circle one way or another and do I want to play a part in it? Not having much of a choice, I said yes, and of course, we all know what happened next; Uldred went mad and left those stupid enough to follow him to die for his crimes, I ended up turning to blood magic to save my life from a bunch of templars who'd have killed me simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I fell in with a bunch of mages trying to fight their way out of the Tower, and then our paths crossed..."

"Not that I didn't find the story intriguing, my dear, but is there a point to this?" Zevran asked, earning him a reproving scowl.

"My point was that the dwarf was talking rubbish. After all that I've seen and that's been done to me, I owe loyalty to no one, not my family, not the Circle, not the Chantry, no one that I do not choose" Arabella firmly declared. "In all my life, the greatest gesture of kindness has been shown to me was by the Grey Wardens; you saved my life and gave me a chance to redeem myself for my stupid mistakes" she said with a grateful nod to Arthur. "I owe you, no one else, a great deal, and I will repay that kindness in any way I can, I promise you"

"You're too kind" Alistair replied with a warm smile "but we're more than grateful for it. I've no doubt, Bella, that you will make a fine Grey Warden. I don't doubt Duncan and the others would have said much the same" earning himself a warm smile of gratitude from the mage. Arthur was about to say something similar, but before he could, someone cleared their throat behind him, drawing the attention of all.

"Forgive my intrusion, Wardens, but Prince Bhelen wishes to see you. Immediately" Vartag Gavorn barked.

##################

The comforts of Bhelen's study were welcome, though Arthur suspected what was about to happen here would not be good. Bhelen's consort Rica, a voluptuous dwarf maiden, easily distinguishable by her pale skin and bright red hair, unusual amongst dwarves, and by the tattoo under her right eye that identified her as being one of the casteless, had invited the others to partake of some light refreshment and most had taken her up on the offer, Wynne and Leliana all but dragging a reluctant Morrigan along. They'd invited Arabella along, but she'd refused. Given her strident declaration of support for the Grey Wardens, he hadn't expected any different.

Now Arthur, Alistair and Arabella, as Grey Wardens, sat in Bhelen's study, waiting for the Prince to relay what had happened in the Assembly. The Prince's expression was clearly meant to be welcoming, but even as he poured them generous glasses of a fine whiskey imported from the surface, Arthur saw the look in Bhelen's eyes that said clearly things had not gone as the Prince had planned.

"You have my thanks for your part in the Carta's destruction. Knowing that their depredations will no longer play havoc on the ambitions of many of the nobles houses has convinced many to switch their allegiance to me, and as such, my position has become stronger; Harrowmont cannot possibly hold out much longer. I promise, as soon as I take the throne, you will have all the troops you need"

"When will that be? The darkspawn don't wait on politics" Arthur pressed. He'd used his position as a Grey Warden to speak to the Mine Commander at the checkpoint leading into the Deep Roads and ascertain the situation. According to the Commander, his scouts were reporting evidence of the darkspawn massing in great numbers to the south; the words 'horde' and 'beyond our ability to deal with' had been mentioned, which did not bode well, since sooner or later, the darkspawn would either turn their attention to the undermanned dwarven city, or worse make for the surface to join up with the hundreds of their ilk already rampaging there, which, judging from the reports he'd heard on a brief sojourn outside the city amongst the merchants topside, Loghain and the Bannorn were still doing nothing about, preferring to carve up Ferelden amongst themselves while the darkspawn pillaged and burned at will.

"Alas, I cannot say when. While many deshyrs appreciate my ending the threat Jarvia posed, most of the Assembly's old guard still hold great loyalty to Harrowmont. We will need something more..._drastic_ to shift the balance"

"What are you getting at?" Arthur questioned, raising an eyebrow. He could already sense Bhelen was working up to asking him a big favour, and that he wasn't going to like it in the slightest.

"What do you know of the Paragon, Branka?" Bhelen asked. The question wasn't what Arthur had expected, but he was prepared; after that altercation with the drunkard in Tapsters, Arthur had made several stops at the Shaperate to speak to the Shaper of Memories and increase his understanding of dwarven history and culture.

"She was a member of the Smith Caste, raised to Paragon status after her invention of a new form of coal that allowed the Caste to triple its production rates, while reducing the number of deaths from black lung and other such illnesses caused by its less efficient substitutes. But...it's my understanding she went into the Deep Roads two years ago with the entirety of her House, searching for some long-lost dwarven artefact and no one's seen or heard of her since"

Bhelen nodded to confirm the information, looking both surprised and impressed at how well-informed the Warden was. "She is the only Paragon in four generations, and she turned her back on her responsibilities". The prince at least had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued "A Paragon is like an ancestor born in this time; if she were to return and endorse someone for the throne, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly, and they would be honour-bound to accept her wishes. Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged"

"So you hope to bring her back to endorse you as king?" Arabella interjected; she clearly knew enough about politics to see the way the conversation was going.

"I hope _you_ will bring her back to endorse me as King" came Bhelen's reply. The look on his face was regretful, but the prince failed to hide the avaricious gleam that had crept into his eyes.

"What makes you think she's even still alive? She's been out there for two years, in tunnels overrun with darkspawn and worse...it was my understanding nearly all your people believe she's dead" Arthur put forward fairly.

"Branka had an entire house with her, dedicated to her protection, more than one hundred souls. With the number of abandoned outposts and thaigs out there, they could last for quite some time. And Harrowmont has his men out looking for her too; with the stakes so high, it's too dangerous to simply assume Branka is dead, only to have him take the credit for finding her"

"What is Branka like?"

"I did not know her personally; two years ago, I was still considered a child, hardly one to consort with Orzammar's finest. From what I understand, her intellect was unrivalled, but the social graces were..._beneath_ the notice of one so _gifted. _ I do know that my father said Branka hated darkspawn with a passion; I think she would be a most vocal advocate of honouring your treaty"

"And if she refuses to come back...?"

"I was hoping you might use your...legendary charm to persuade her the rightful king should take the throne. However, if the Deep Roads have...'addled' her wits, it might be better she not return before the matter of the throne is decided"

"Are you saying we should ki-?"

"I would never dare say that!" Bhelen snapped swiftly, cutting across Alistair's near accusation "Nor should you be so foolish to mention such a ridiculous notion aloud!" the Prince continued, warily pacing to the door of his study, opening it half an inch before slamming it shut and locking it behind him. _'No doubt, even here in the palace, the walls have ears' _Arthur thought. He'd could already imagine what the criers in the employ of House Harrowmont would start shouting if word of this conversation fell into the wrong hands.

"What I meant was that, while I am honour-bound to protect a Paragon, I must also respect her wishes. Should Branka wish to stay in the Deep Roads instead of helping the rightful king take the throne, then we must assist her...by any means necessary"

Arthur sighed bitterly; the meaning could not be clearer. He was not exactly impressed with this turn of events, but there was no other option. They needed the dwarven armies, and to obtain that, they needed a king, or as the dwarves put it, 'an ass on the throne'. _'We backed this horse. Now we need to make sure it finishes the race' _he thought bitterly.

"Very well. We will do our best to discover Paragon Branka's present location and convince her to return and endorse Your Highness for the throne"

"Then we will both go down in history as a Paragon's saviours" Bhelen said jubilantly, making no effort to disguise his satisfaction at their acquiescence. "My men traced Branka's disappearance to Caridin's Cross, an ancient crossroads the darkspawn captured four centuries ago." Bhelen sighed, his beard twitching. "It was once a main thoroughfare, but before Branka, no one had set foot there in generations. Her trail ends there; perhaps, with your Warden's expertise, you can find what my men could not".

"We shall depart first thing tomorrow"

"You have my thanks. Seek Branka in Caridin's Cross. I will try to delay the vote as long as possible." Bhelen smiled curtly and exited his study.

Alistair sighed wearily. "We don't really have much of a choice, do we?"

"Do we ever?" Arthur muttered darkly as the three of them drained their glasses in one go.

.

######################

The next morning found Arthur and the group he'd chosen to come with him into the Deep Roads- Leliana, Shale, Arabella and Wynne, along with Edward- heading towards the checkpoint leading into the tunnels. The rest were staying behind, some not all willingly. Alistair in particular had protested when Arthur had said he was splitting the companions into two groups, one that would enter the Deep Roads first, the other to follow if the first didn't return, but Arthur had been adamant. He wasn't going to risk all their lives in one go on this wild goose chase, not when they'd need at least one Warden to deal with the problem of the Blight.

Arthur had instructed the others to wait three weeks for them, since he had no idea how long they would need to comb through the abandoned outposts and colonies lying in the Deep Roads, and if they did not return, they were to head into the Deep Roads themselves for the Paragon or return to Redcliffe- he left the matter open to the others. After all, they still had the Landsmeet to come and all the problems that would entail, and Arthur had no wish to do Loghain's work for him by potentially leading all his companions to their deaths in the Deep Roads.

"You there!" a gruff voice called out from behind them. The companions whirled round to face the speaker coming from behind them, uncertain who could possibly want to speak to them at such a time.

"Andraste's ass, not you again!" Arthur groaned as the familiar, fiery red hair and beard of the drunkard who'd accosted him in Tapsters came running up. Arthur had to admit the dwarf looked a great deal cleaner than before; his armour was devoid of ale stains, gleaming as if freshly polished, clearly of the finest make and bearing the sigil of House Branka, Arthur having seen the heraldry in one of the Shaperate's many books on the Paragons. In his hands, the dwarf carried an impressive looking maul, the immense stone head engraved with numerous geometric designs of dwarven iconography, and also carved affectionately with the name '_Nug Crusher'_.

"Thought I'd spoken to a Grey Warden, but for some reason, I chalked it up to the drink"

"What do you want, dwarf?" Arthur growled "Because I have far better things to do today than listen to another torrent of foul-mouthed abuse from you". The dwarf had the good grace to look a little abashed, face reddening in embarrassment, though it was hard to tell, considering his face was already flushed red; the dwarf had clearly been drinking beforehand.

"Look, I know I hardly made myself, and I don't doubt you've had nearly everyone in the Warrior Caste tell you 'Watch out for old Oghren, he pisses ale and kills little boys who look at him the wrong way!'-which is mostly true- but what they fail to mention is how I'm the only one trying to save our city's only living Paragon. And if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her"

"We know she was looking for some ancient technology..." Arthur began, but the dwarf abruptly cut him off.

"Yeah, they all know that, but you don't know what, right?" Oghren pressed. "I know what Branka was after and where she planned to start looking. You, presumably, know everything Bhelen's scouts have discovered about where she went missing. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a good chance of finding Branka; otherwise, good sodding luck"

"Don't we have enough armed lunatics following us?"

"Perfect! What's one more?" Oghren grinned broadly, before becoming more serious. "Branka was a brilliant girl, but half the time, she'd add two and two and make fifty. If you want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks". The dwarf left a pause for the importance of his statement to sink in, and then continued:

"You should know that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void. The Anvil" he went on at the sight of their confused expressions "might have been the most important invention in Orzammar's history. The smith Caridin built it and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. It's supposed to be just past Caridin's Cross... Course, no one's seen that thaig for five hundred years."

"If you know all this, why haven't you gone already? Why aren't you out with Branka? She is your wife, after all"

"Why do you sodding think?" the dwarf snapped belligerently to Wynne's query. "She left me! Took off with our whole House on her mad quest for the Anvil! It was a stupid move; if I'd been with her, she'd have made it back years ago...but I forgive her"

Arthur coughed to draw attention away from Wynne, still bearing the brunt of the dwarf's angry gaze and said "Bhelen gave us a map. We know the way to Caridin's Cross"

Oghren's face lit up and he took a deep swig from a hip flask pulled from a pouch at his belt before declaring with a loud belch "If we're going, let's get going. Branka's not going to sodding find herself!"


	41. Chapter 39: Contaminated

_Well, this is a quicker turn around then usual; real life is co-operating with my writing plans for a change! Let's hope things stay that way!_

_Just a couple of story notes: I've decided to make the party as small as possible since I'm a believer in not putting all your eggs in one basket. I'm really not sure the Wardens would want to risk the lives of everyone in their company when they need someone in order to deal with Loghain and the Blight, so I've kept the others back in Orzammar to reflect this (I might refer to what they're up to in the course of the story). I've also tried to streamline the Deep Roads as much as possible, so to that end, I chose to omit Caridin's Cross entirely- it really doesn't serve a purpose. Hopefully, it'll work for you all._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or subscribes: special thanks to __**Theodur, Knight of Holy Light, spectre4hire (**__I hadn't thought of that, but I might now), __**FictionShadow**__ (in answer to your question, Arabella learned blood magic from Uldred just when he began his little insurrection, but she didn't start using it until after Uldred went nuts and the Circle became 'every man for himself'-I'll touch on it a bit in the next chapter) __**and MysticGohan88**__ (In answer to your question, I agree that the mages were long overdue their freedom, considering that the Chantry is corrupt, apathetic and way behind the times, considering its laws were written to deal with the ancient Imperium and the problems it caused-i.e. the First Blight-, but I personally think Anders is the WORST person in Thedas to lead such a revolution, considering that he and that 'spirit' living in his head are the living embodiment of everything the general populace hate and fear about magic;plus, if he wanted to blow up something, the templar barracks in the Gallows would have been the better target to prove the mages could fight back against their erstwhile oppressors. I can understand his rationale in trying to remove the chance of a compromise that was only delay the inevitable, but I also think what he did to the Chantry will have only confirmed its claims about magic and those who wield it in the eyes of many)._

_Also, thank you to __**Rob of Eternal Fire**__ and __**ReppinOrphanTears24**__ for adding this; knowing so many keep wanting to read this is a great incentive to keep writing!_

_As always, __**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"By the tits of my ancestors... Ortan Thaig. I _never_ thought I'd see this place in the flesh."

It was something of a relief to be at their destination. Caridin's Cross was three days behind them, the labyrinthine tunnels serving to be a great annoyance, putting all of the group on edge. Only the dwarf's knowledge of the depths according to his so-called 'stone-sense' to find their way. Arthur still was unsure what to make of the dwarf. His determination to find Branka seemed sincere enough, but despite his devotion to his errant wife, he'd made passes at every woman in the group, including Wynne, since joining them, and his belligerent manner made it difficult for the companions to warm to him. Despite the fact that he was eternally drunk-or perhaps because of it-the dwarf was a formidable fighter, even in a berserker's rage, and there was a gruff practicality to him when he wasn't going out of his way to be offensive – which was most of the time. The height of conversation anyone had gotten from him so far had been a rather abrupt "Stop wasting time. I'm not here to chat"

Still without him, they would never have recognized the faint chips in the stone that marked Branka's passage, and likely never found that the Paragon's next destination had been Ortan Thaig, so some credit had to be given to the dwarf.

All of them had grown tired and claustrophobic, their surroundings doing little for their mood. Only Oghren and Shale seemed completely unaffected by their surroundings. Arthur often caught himself glancing to the stone that hemmed them in from above, below and on all sides. Arabella had developed the restless irritability of a caged lion, Edward snapped and growled at every little thing and Wynne, while still steady and calm, was graver than usual and Leliana...she worried him the most. The endless, oppressive darkness was smothering the Orlesian's bright spirit, as much as she tried to hide it. Sound carried in the caverns, resonating from the stone, which meant that conversations were kept low, and music and song could not be indulged in. Deprived of both the sun and her music, the bard had grown pale and quiet, clinging to Arthur during the brief periods of rest they'd managed to claim as though fearful that something in the shadows might pull one of them away, and she could frequently be heard whispering the words of the Chant as she walked, drawing what little comfort she could from her faith.

Even as he kept his eye on the bard, he could hear Oghren pacing back and forth near one of the walls, running his fingers over the stone surface, looking for any anomalies or irregularities. "I can see Branka all over this place. She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel- to check their composition." He gazed across the expanse, frowning. "If she was still here, though, she'd have sentries out by now."

"Where would she have gone if not here?" Arthur questioned.

"Not sure. No one knows where the Anvil was- at the time, Ortan Thaig was considered part of the main city. Nobody bothered to mark down where the Anvil was stored, so now it's impossible to know whether the Anvil's been lost or even destroyed, but Branka said she knew where to look...I just hope she didn't think of going to Bownammar"

"Bownammar?" Arthur questioned; the name was unknown to him. "What's that?"

"The City of the Dead, another one of Caridin's creations. Paragon built it to honour the Legion of the Dead, meant for them to use it as their base in the tunnels, but it was more like a soddin' mausoleum than anything else. Nowadays, it's better known as the Dead Trenches; has been ever since the darkspawn conquered it near twenty years ago. Much of the Legion was destroyed when the fortress fell. I sure hope we don't have to go there; darkspawn are thicker in the Trenches than maggots in a corpse!"

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it, Oghren" Arthur replied fairly. "Who knows, five minutes into the thaig, we might get likely and find your wife and the Anvil ready and waiting for us to head back to Orzammar!"

'_I'm not holding out much hope for it, but it would certainly make life much easier!'_

Barely ten metres from the entrance, they found a large number of bodies lay scattered at the entrance to a side tunnel; some of the giant spiders Oghren had referred to as 'thaig crawlers', legs curled up towards their bodies, several missing limbs or portions of their bodies, and five genlocks, armour punctured or even ripped open, their normally pallid skin even paler, clearly having been poisoned.

"No deep stalkers, nugs or brontos this deep. The only things you find down here are the spiders and the darkspawn. Makes sense they hunt each other" Oghren explained.

"Somehow I don't think spiders did _that_" Arthur countered, pointing to one of the genlocks, who looked to have had the back of its head hacked open. "That looks more like an axe wound and there are wounds on these bodies that look like teeth marks". Oghren merely shrugged at the statement.

"Darkspawn are just as happy fighting amongst themselves as they are against us dwarves. They fight for just about any soddin' reason-food, territory, dominance, or heck, just boredom- and the weakest darkspawn inevitably become prey for the strongest. Maybe some of these buggers" Oghren said, kicking one of the genlocks in the ribs "survived the spiders, only to run into some peckish hurlock"

Deeper into the tunnels, they could hear the sounds of fighting; the ringing clash of blades, angry hisses and screeches, and a deep, sonorous roar that could only be an ogre. "Looks like we'll find out soon enough" Arthur replied as they followed the tunnel into a large cavern that stretched for several metres, filled with, as Oghren had said, darkspawn battling to the death with giant spiders. Near their entrance, an ogre howled angrily, beating its fists against its chest as attacking spiders closed in a circle around it. The ogre's boulder-sized fists smashed one spider to a pulp but two others sank their fangs into the extended arm. As the beast spun round, Arthur saw its back and lower body were already scored with dozens of similar wounds, and Arthur wondered just how much spider venom the ogre's constitution could withstand.

Further in the cavern, a genlock alpha thrashed on the floor underneath two spiders fighting for the right to feed first. The genlock managed to bury its axe between the eyes of one spider even as the other sank its fangs into the darkspawn's gut. Even as it bit down, two hurlock archers left arrows in the spider's bloated abdomen and the alpha stabbed the spider through the thorax. Other spiders battled with genlocks and hurlocks throughout the length of the cavern, each side sharing varying successes; two hurlocks hacked a thaig crawler into pieces even as a trio of spiders dragged off a screaming genlock.

"Stay back" Arthur commanded. "Let them wipe each other out as much as possible; we'll mop up the survivors". It was more than mere prudent strategy; the behaviour the darkspawn had exhibited over the last few days was starting to worry him. The creatures had been rather reluctant to engage the Wardens, all heading en masse towards the south-west, drawn to whatever was calling out to the blood of every tainted creature in the tunnels and the few that did engage behaved even more strangely. Nearly all their attacks seemed to focus on Leliana and Arabella, the monsters always attempting to try and seperate the mage and the bard from the rest of the group. Only those two; Wynne seemed to hold no interest for them.

Even more worryingly was that while the darkspawn simply tried to kill the others, their attacks against Leliana and Arabella seemed more intended to cripple and incapacitate, as if the darkspawn wanted to keep them alive to carry off, and more frighteningly had been the events of an attack two days past, when Leliana had been tackled to the ground by a hurlock emissary but instead of trying to kill her, the creature had instead pawed at her groin, as though it were trying to get at her womanhood. Though its obsession had kept it from defending itself when Leliana had driven the Thorn of the Dead Gods up through the lower jaw and into the emissary's brain, it only added another question to a list that didn't promise any good answers. Arthur had no idea why the darkspawn were acting like so, instead only having a morbid certainty that when he did find out the answer, he was going to wish he hadn't. His parents had made sure his tutors didn't sugar-coat the truth when it had come to learning the history of the rebellion against Orlais; Arthur knew full well that it was all too common in war for soldiers on both sides to take women as spoils of victory, using them as they saw fit-which inevitably included beatings, rape and torture-before either killing their prizes or just discarding them like trash. The memory of that vision on the journey back from the Gauntlet had added an all too personal touch to that knowledge, but it still didn't answer his questions.

'_Young, healthy, fertile women. That's what the darkspawn want, but why?_'. Despite all the stories, in his travels, Arthur had seen no evidence that the darkspawn took prisoners as slaves, so it couldn't be for that reason. Nor had he seen darkspawn exhibit any signs of being interested in women for rapine or other such notions; '_Hell, I'm not even sure how, or even if darkspawn _can _reproduce! So what's the answer?_'. But no answers came...for the moment.

After a few minutes, and numerous combatants on both sides had fallen, Arthur gave the command and their own attack began; sinking its crystal encrusted fists into the ground, Shale tore up a great chunk of the thaig's stone floor and hurled it. The stone connected with the centre of the ogre's brow like a missile shot from a trebuchet and with a resounding crack of bone, the ogre toppled to the floor with an earth-shaking thud, the meagre contents of its shattered skull leaking into the floor. The spiders hissed hungrily, swiftly descending on the carcass to feed, but even as the monstrous arachnids clambered over the ogre, Arabella loosed a fireball straight at the body that exploded, the spiders keening in agony as the fire chewed at their chitinous forms. With a roar, the mage loosed another flaming missile straight into the heart of the melee further in the cavern, darkspawn and spiders alike shrieking in horror as they burned.

One of the hurlock archers desperately tried to put out the flames clawing up at its legs while trying to notch an arrow, but Arthur's own shaft was buried between its eyes too quickly. The genlock alpha tried to rally its ilk to fight, but with its reactions slowed and confused by the spider venom coursing through it, its efforts were sluggish and the darkspawn slow to respond to its cajoling, and the little success it managed to gain was swiftly ended when Leliana put two arrows through the alpha's throat. That decided the course of the battle; deciding discretion was the better part of valour, the remaining darkspawn fled into the tunnels, leaving the spiders their prize...for the few moments before the company destroyed them. Arabella trapped two of the remaining spiders in a jet of ice that Wynne smashed into pieces with a boulder conjured from her staff while Arthur blocked the stabbing forelegs of the third and hacked them off in answer, burying his sword in the shrieking creature's thorax before it could recover. A stream of fire conjured from the tip of Arabella's staff incinerated a further two and sent the remainder scurrying after the darkspawn.

"Sometimes, it's too easy" Arabella laughed, but even as Arthur made to reply with a similar comment, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye; a dark shape that flitted in and out of the shadows, moving into position. Before he could shout a warning, Arabella's laughter suddenly turned into screams that intermingled with a high-pitching rasping screech as the shriek that had come bursting out of the side passage to their left seized the young woman around her waist and tackled her to the floor, its momentum dragging them a fair distance along the cave floor. The gangly darkspawn assassin managed to pin the mage's arms to the ground, its fanged maw descending for her neck, and Arabella just managed to worm her right hand free in time to grab the shriek by its throat, just keeping the snapping jaws at bay. Suddenly, the darkspawn pulled its head back and her grip slipped on the darkspawn's leathery skin, and quick as a snake, the shriek's fangs bit into the mage's arm just above the wrist, Arabella's pain-stricken screams mixed with gleeful growls as the shriek tore and ripped at the flesh, lacerating the limb almost to the bone without pause.

With a motion of his master's hand, Edward went on the attack, leaping onto the shriek's back, claws sinking into flesh to secure himself as the mabari's fangs went to work, biting the darkspawn's shoulders and neck. The shriek released its grip on Arabella to free its arms, angrily yowling as it lashed out trying to get the warhound off it, though the dog moved too quickly for the shriek's claws to pry him off, but Arabella, her arms and robes streaked with blood, made good use of the distraction; despite her pain and shock being evident, she managed to grab her staff from where it had fallen and, as Arthur commanded his hound to get clear, blasted the shriek with lightning from the staff's tip. Even as it writhed and thrashed as the magical electricity lashed and burned its body, Oghren's maul took the shriek's legs out from under it, the thin, spindly limbs snapping like twigs, and the dwarf swiftly brought his hammer down on the shriek's head as it tried to drag itself away, pulverising its skull into something closely resembling a crushed tomato.

"We need to get moving; someone's bound to have heard that" Arthur warned. Sound carried quickly in the tunnels, and considering that the darkspawn's destination towards the south-west required them to pass through this cavern, soon enough more would come, and in far greater numbers. Wynne nodded and made over to each of the companions in turn, checking them for injury and then moving on to the next, but when she got to Arabella, the younger woman waved aside the elder mage's attempts to check her over.

"I'm fine"

"Arabella, let me see. If that wound festers, it could cause-"

"I SAID I'M FINE!" the mage snapped, and Wynne took a step back, shocked at the anger in her reply. Arabella took a deep breath, raised a hand in placation and replied "Just give me some bandages and leave me to get on with it, I'll be fine". Wynne looked far from satisfied, but didn't choose to pursue the argument, probably because Shale chose to interject at that point:

"Enough!" Shale intoned "If the mages do not cease making so much noise, I will crush their heads and then they will cease. Or would they rather wait until their bickering brings the darkspawn horde down on our heads as the Warden seems to think?"

Wynne scowled, but swiftly delved into a pouch at her belt and brusquely tossed a linen bandage roll at Arabella without so much as a passing glance; the younger woman caught it and swiftly began wrapping it around her wrist while muttering an incantation and pouring healing energy into the wound. After a few moments, she finished binding up the wound, tying off the bandage and finishing her incantations. "There" she replied archly, waving her bandaged wrist at Wynne "Good as new, and without you needing to interfere"

"Let's move" Arthur commanded before Wynne could make any acerbic comment in answer. The old woman stormed away, surprisingly taking the lead with Leliana and Edward, followed by Oghren and Shale. Arthur was moving to bring up the rear when he realised Arabella wasn't moving, instead hanging back to scratch at the bandages.

"You coming?" Arthur asked of the mage. For a half-second, Arthur thought he felt a twinge of something familiar coming from her, but afterwards, he must have imagined it, because Arabella seemed fine, giving a broad smile as she nodded in answer.

"Of course" Arabella replied, waiting until the young man's back was turned to give a wince at the twinge of pain that had shot through her right arm a second before. More worrying was the slight burning sensation in her wrist that lingered for far longer than it should have, and how it seemed to spread down the arm to her hand before finally dissipating.

"It's nothing to worry about. It'll pass soon enough" she told herself even as she performed the spell. A minor blood cantrip, just to make it seem she was healthy and clean, bereft of any sign of illness...or infection; if Arthur and Wynne found out the wound was bothering her, they'd never stop pestering her, wasting time they didn't have. "I won't need it for long...just until we can find this Anvil and get out of these tunnels. Just so they don't notice...

'_It _will_ stop hurting in a bit, don't worry..._'

##################

Go away! This is my claim, not yours! Only I gets to plunder its riches!"

"Andraste's blood," Leliana whispered, aghast. "What...what is that?"

"It's a dwarf," Wynne remarked. "Or it _was_ one."

The creature did indeed resemble a dwarf, but its limbs were twisted by some strange contraction of the muscles, its head twisted at an awkward angle. The skin visible through the tattered remnants of clothing and armour barely held together was pallid white and covered in dark blotches, and the eyes were sunken and glassy opaque in colour, surrounded by more of the darkly stained skin, mottled and almost scaly in places. Most of its hair had fallen out in great clumps and there was a foul smell clinging to the dwarf, the reek a mixture of body odour and a scent of decay, like sour milk.

"Be gone, you! You'll bring back the dark ones, you will! They'll crunch your bones!"

"Dwarf?" Oghren scoffed darkly. "He's a scavenger, and from the look of him, he's good as soddin' gone".

"How did it get like this? It looks weak and pathetic...much like a baby bird" Shale muttered darkly from behind. Arabella also looked revolted, her hand darting unconsciously to her wrist.

"Word is the only way to survive down here is by eating the darkspawn dead" Oghren muttered, gesturing to the genlock carcass by which the creature was squatting. Looking carefully, Arthur could see that the fingers had been cut off and portions of the body had had strips of meat cut away. "Keeps the 'spawn at bay, but it has the downside of turning yer brain into mush"

"It burns when it goes down, it BURNS!" the dwarf screamed anguished, before scurrying back a tunnel behind it, scrabbling on all fours like a monkey and yelling over its shoulder "It's my claim, not yours! Crunch your bones!"

Despite this dire malediction, the group had given pursuit into a smaller cavern that was littered with debris and detritus of a variety of forms-weapons, tools, pieces of armour, masonry, among other things, culminating in a dead-end. There was a whistling sound from ahead and a clatter as a crossbow bolt slammed into the cave wall a few feet from Arthur. Looking round, Arthur saw crouched by the small fire burning to one side of the cave, the dwarf sat with a darkspawn-crafted crossbow levelled with the Warden's chest.

"Go!" the dwarf yelled, slowly notching another bolt. "Go away!"

"We're not here to take anything or to hurt you," Arthur told it, keeping his voice low and calm. "We just want to talk."

"Don't be so sure of that," Oghren grunted, surveying the cavern with narrowed eyes, observing the discarded chests, locks picked open, and the scorch marks on the cave floor. "Looks like this bone-picker's sitting in Branka's old camp. See the marks on the floor? There were a lot of people and fires here once."

"No!" the deformed dwarf cried out. "It's mine! You leave my territory!"

"We're not going to steal anything, I promise," Leliana said in her most persuasive tone, lowering her bow and her daggers to the floor, raising her hands in a placatory gesture while shooting a warning glance at Oghren.

The eerily opaque eyes regarded her with a mix of fear and wonder. "Pretty lady," he murmured, looking awestruck at Leliana. "Pretty eyes, pretty hair, smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock...beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen." Arthur fought back the instinctive urge to step protectively between the bard and this unclean, twisted..._thing_. "Pretty lady won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take Ruck's shiny worms and pretty rocks?"

_Ruck?_ Arthur felt a great surge of disappointment run through him, that only increased when he saw Wynne's solemn expression. This was the dwarf Wynne had told them about, the missing son of the dwarven matron Filda, whose fate the old mage had assured the grieving mother and widow she would try to discover.

"No, Ruck," the bard told him quietly. "We won't take anything. We just want to talk."

"Oh." The mottled face screwed up, pondering over her words. "Ruck not mind that...maybe. Ruck not talked to anyone in long time."

"How'd you get here?"

"She did not know what I did, nobody knew. I was very angry, someone was dead...they wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, she would know, everyone would know...so I came here instead. Once you eat, once you take in the darkness, you not miss the light so much..."

At this, Ruck's dull eyes swung round to look at Arthur, staring at him with a scrutiny that was most discomforting. "You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes...he sees the darkness inside you"

""I'm... I'm a Grey Warden. It isn't... it's not the same." At least, he hoped it wasn't the same; he had no wish twenty or thirty years down the line to wind up like this mutated, twisted creature, deformed and driven mad by the taint coursing through him.

"Grey like the stone. Guardian against the darkness" the dwarf added, nodding dumbly in a fashion that didn't reassure.

"How did you survive down here?" Leliana pressed.

"When the dark ones came, I hid, kept to the shadows. They don't look in the shadows, not if you're quiet, not if you _eat their flesh_. As for the crawlers, they didn't want me; the smaller dark ones are much more to their liking...but now the dark ones are gone, and the crawlers go hungry. So little for them to eat, so little to bring to the great nest. They takes things of steel and things of paper; they takes the shinies and the words!"

"Papers and words?" Oghren's brow furrowed as the dwarf muttered to himself. "Branka was always one for writin' stuff down, was like an obsession with her. Could be hers, might give us a clue to where she went from here."

Arthur gave a half-nod, barely hearing Oghren's comment, still digesting Ruck's remark, the knowledge only confirming what he could feel. The darkspawn were all passing through, drawn by the taint to one destination. "Do you know where the darkspawn went, Ruck?"

"I think they went to the south. Far, far, far to the south. That is where the Dark Master calls them with his beautiful voice. So much joy when he awoke!"

'_He is calling to us...Can you hear him? It is beautiful!'_

'_The dark master calls them...'_

'_Come to me...heed my call...will you be joining us soon, brother?'_

He'd heard variations of the same phrase on his journey, once from a tainted woman in Ostagar, from the presence in the back of his mind that had been crying out to the taint in his veins and now from this poor tainted creature, and he could think of only one thing that could manifest such power, command such fear and adulation among those carrying the taint.

The archdemon.

'It's here. It's close, I can almost feel it'.

"After the Dark Master awoke, he called his children and they all went," Ruck continued in his hoarse whisper. "I wanted to go, too, and gaze upon his beauty...

"Where is the 'Dark Master' now?"

"He stopped calling. I wish I could go see him, but Ruck is a c-coward." He reached for Leliana and Arthur almost put himself between her and the tainted dwarf. Ruck gave an uncertain look at such forcefulness and an awkward silence fell over the cavern, that Wynne tried to broach, speaking slowly and carefully.

"Ruck...I talked to your mother -"

She got no further; Ruck's features twisted into a mask of anguish, and he jammed his fingers into his ears, wailing and shaking his head frantically. "Nonononono! No Filda! No mother! No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories! No,no, NO!"

"But she is worried about you." Leliana stepped up beside Wynne, compassion winning out over revulsion and fear, though the shadows of both were still in her green eyes. "She misses you."

He shook his head even more vehemently. "She remembers a little boy with bright eyes and a hammer. She cannot see -" A single, forlorn gesture made it all to clear that Ruck was aware of his wretched, diseased condition. " - _this_." The eyes lifted to stare at the companions, pleading.

"Swear...promise...vow you won't tell!"

"I promise, I will not speak of this" Arthur said. He couldn't imagine Filda would want to know her son's fate was _this_, but - "Would you rather she thought you were dead?"

He nodded. "Yes! Yes, dead, dead! Tell the mother Ruck is dead, tell her his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again"

"Warden? A word in yer shell?" Oghren had withdrawn toward the mouth of the cavern; with a quick glance at Ruck, Arthur joined him, the others close behind. "I don't care what he did, Warden, no one deserves to live like this. _That_" The dwarf's face was grim as he gestured to the twisted creature squatting by the fire "isn't life, that's death slowed down to a crawl. Nothing that could have happened in the mines is worth what this poor soddin' fool's done to himself. Killin' him would be a kindness."

"What? Surely you can't mean-?" Arabella's mouth hung open like a guppy for a few moments, then closed as she looked helplessly to Wynne. "Is there anything we can do for him? Magic?"

The older mage shook her head, her eyes sorrowful. "I wish I could but there's nothing we can do. Once the taint's advanced to this stage, not even the Joining can save them -" She glanced back to where Ruck crouched beside the fire, crooning to himself as he pushed a few polished stones around in the dust with a finger. "And yet, is it really for us to decide if he lives or dies? Is that not the Maker's choice?"

"I agree. Who are we to choose? Would you do the same if it was one of us in his place?" Arabella questioned, looking thunderous, again rubbing her bandaged wrist unconsciously. _'It's becoming something of an obsession with her...and not a good thing'_ Arthur thought to himself. _'I should really advise her to stop; it won't help her wound heal if she keeps scratching at it'_

"Dwarves don't follow your Maker, Wynne," Oghren replied gruffly, "and hell yes, girl. Leaving him like this is just drawing out his suffering. He's gonna die sooner or later anyway; the taint will kill him in the end if a hungry spider or ogre doesn't do for him. Or do you plan to lie to his mother?" he challenged Wynne.

"I -" She couldn't seem to form words, and Arthur could tell her mind was caught between two equally unpalatable options. "He doesn't deserve to live like this...but I don't think I can kill him." Wynne muttered, turning the sad, solemn gaze of those dark eyes of hers to Arthur, who felt as conflicted and utterly powerless in this as she looked.

"It's all right," Leliana spoke up suddenly, her face calm. "Give me your wineskin" she snapped at Oghren, who looked a little surprised at the demand, not to mention annoyed at having to give up his private stash, but the dwarf acquiesced. Arthur saw the bard open the cap, tipping a phial of blue-green fluid inside before swiftly replacing it; fortunately, Ruck hadn't noticed anything, far more enamoured of the detritus he'd accrued over the years. She turned and moved easily back to the dwarf's side, a warm smile on her face as she knelt beside him. He flinched fearfully as she slipped an arm around his shoulders, but then relaxed, looking up at her in hesitant wonder.

"We will tell your mother that you died a great hero, Ruck," she told him gently. "She will be sad, but she will be so very proud of you."

"You will?" His incredulous look gave way to a smile of joy that made him only look more wretched and pitiful. "Thank you, pretty lady! Pretty lady is like Mother, too bright, too pure for the darkness! Ruck will always remember you."

"And I will always remember you, Ruck." Arthur had not thought it possible for the afflicted dwarf to look any happier, but when the Orlesian smiled softly, pressed the wineskin into Ruck's hands with a whisper of "Something to remember me by", his face lit up with pure joy at such kindness. The same pitiful expression was etched on Ruck's face as he watched them depart from his cave, taking a deep draught from the wineskin's contents and clutching it close to his chest as if it were the most priceless treasure in Thedas.

"What did you give him?"

"Whatever swill was in that thing, mixed with a concentrated dose of Adder's Kiss, enough to kill a horse. There's no pain" she added in response to Wynne's expression "he'll just...fall asleep and not wake up". After that, she said no more, her silence almost defiant, as if challenging them to say something, but no one could. Arthur felt torn by guilt: guilt for Ruck's death, guilt that Leliana had taken it upon herself to do what the others had lacked the courage to do, guilt over the knowledge that they would now lie to Filda, even though the lie would be a kind one. And the way Arabella kept looking back at Ruck's cave...

'_I will truly be glad when we are done here. Whatever glory and history once lingered in this place is long gone, and there is nothing left in these tunnels but madness and evil...The darkness has claimed the Deep Roads, and after what I've seen, it's welcome to it'_.

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"Have I mentioned how much I _really HATE_ spiders?" Arthur roared even as Duncan's sword all but hacked off another arachnid's abdomen. He heard a squeal from behind and whirled to see another spider collapsing, its head and thorax riddled with arrows.

The nest had been far larger than they'd expected; a great cavern that was hung from end to end with copious cobwebs, adorned at various points along its length with web-wrapped corpses, a readymade larder for both the adults and the hatchlings. At varying points, the arachnids had laid their eggs in hollows in the ground, each clutch numbering at least fifty apple-sized eggs. Whatever the chamber had been in the thaig's heyday, the spiders had firmly laid claim to it now, and they didn't intend to relinquish it without a fight.

The spiders that emerged to defend their eggs were much larger than the ones they'd encountered so far, and far more aggressive; huge things the size of donkeys, covered in dark-purple carapaces and dark bristles, dozens of black eyes flashing and mandibles clicking hungrily that clambered down the walls to deal with the intruders, and worst of all, they stank to high heaven of rotted meat and the taint. Leliana reacted first, skewering one such creature to the cave wall with arrows loosed in rapid succession but the rest continued their descent and attacked the second they reached the ground. Shale smashed one's spider's head to a pulp and, seizing another in its granite fists, tore it in half, spraying the ground with stinking black ichor. Another suffered much the same as Oghren smashed a good number of its legs into mush and then crushed its head underfoot, but more spiders continued to descend from above. Dozens of flashing black eyes stared at them hungrily from all directions; Arthur plunged his sword between the eyes of one spider and hearing clicking noises behind him, whirled on his heel, the sword biting easily through the tainted chitin, half-severing the spider's head. A third spider tried to sink its fangs into his leg, but the silverite plate denied it, trails of dark venom running down the Juggernaut boot. Before the spider could press its attack, Edward came charging from the left, sinking his fangs into the side of the spider's head, the two struggling for a few moments until an arcane bolt to the thorax provided enough of a distraction for Edward to get a more firm grip on the thrashing arachnid's head; there was an audible crunch, accompanied by a brief, agonised screech as the mabari's powerful jaws and razor-sharp teeth crushed the spider's head.

The spiders continued to press the attack, led by one far larger and even more aggressive than its smaller ilk which, judging how ferociously it tried to protect the egg clutches, had clearly laid, but a combined attack by Arthur, Edward, Oghren and Shale had brought; Arthur had hacked off two of the eight legs and Edward tore off a third. Its movements hampered, and its abdomen aflame from well-placed arrows of Leliana's, the spider tried to lunge at Arthur, overextending itself...and leaving itself completely open to simultaneous blows of the dwarf and golem, the stone fist and hammer head pulverizing the spider queen's thorax into foul-smelling, ichor stained mush. With its death, the remaining spiders broke, fleeing deeper into the tunnels. _'Let them run' _Arthur thought _'If we don't catch them, the darkspawn beyond will'._

As the battle came to its end, Leliana and Oghren sifted through the debris and detritus that the spiders had gathered, just as Ruck said, while Wynne, Shale and Edward systematically destroyed any surviving clutches of eggs rather than leave them to hatch. '_The last thing we want on the way back is a ave overrun with thousands of flesh-hungry spider hatchlings!' _Arthur knew. Arabella had sunk down to the floor. Arthur had tried to check if she was alright, and gotten a rather tart response for him to mind his own business. Arthur managed not to take much offence, merely dismissing it as the irritable manner that had afflicted them all down here.

As Arthur watched, Leliana and Oghren sifted through their hall, pulling out a large number of coins, silvers, bronze bits and gold sovereigns, a brutal-looking hand axe, its notched and serrated blade fashioned from dragonbone that Leliana claimed for herself, some scrolls of parchment that Oghren said were marked with the seal of House Ortan-Wynne took the scrolls at that and placed them in her pack, explaining that a young dwarf woman she'd met in the Shaperate might find them of interest- and finally, a leather-bound journal, slightly battered and worn, but more or less intact. Oghren had given a jubilant outcry.

"Ha-ha! This was Branka's! Mark my words, this'll tell us where the old girl's headed!" But his satisfaction didn't last long.

"Bah, should have known!" Oghren cursed, tossing the book away. "Paranoid old nug-humper was always so afraid someone would steal her ideas, she made her hand-writin' bad on purpose so no one but her could make sense o' it!"

"Let me try; I was always good when it came to poor hand-writing; reading through and marking countless essays on magic from Maker-knows how many teenage mages over the years, one has to be" Wynne remarked with a wry smirk as she picked up the discarded journal, idly sat herself down on a boulder and flicked through the journal until she came to the final entry. After a few brief moments as she skimmed her gaze over the passage, Wynne began to read it out loud, her recitation of the Paragon's last, spine-chilling writings only adding to the air of tension and unease.

**We found...evidence today that the Anvil of the Void was **_**not**_** built in the Ortan Thaig. We must go south to the Dead Trenches. The Anvil lies somewhere beyond. My soldiers tell me I am **_**mad**_**, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with darkspawn, that we will surely die before we find the Anvil...**_**If**_** we find it**.

**I leave this here in case they're right. If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil...for if it remains lost, so do we all**.

"Right little ray of sunshine, your missus was" Arthur scowled at Oghren. "Lovely mental picture that entry conjures up."

"**If I have not returned and Oghren yet lives, tell him**..." Wynne paused, frowning. "**No, what I have to say should be... for his ears alone...This is my farewell**," Wynne finished. The silence that fell upon them was not reassuring, though one of their number seemed less than worried by the journal's dolorous content.

"Branka was thinking about me!" Oghren muttered, sounding unexpectedly happy. "I knew she still cared, that old softy!"

'_I wouldn't bet on that'_ Arthur thought to himself; the journal entry did not read like that of someone in their right frame of mind. Whatever the Paragon had to say to her husband, Arthur doubted it was anything good or warm. '_After all, if she truly cared, why'd she leave him behind?'_

"Looks like the Dead Trenches is our next stop after all" Oghren pronounced heavily. "They say the darkspawn nest there, whole packs of 'em." Oghren shrugged, as if the thought of running into countless legions of the fiends didn't bother him one bit. Considering his rather berserk approach to combat, perhaps it didn't. "But if that's where Branka went, then that's where I'm going."

'_Well, so much for being done in five minutes!_' Arthur thought darkly to himself. To proceed deeper into the tunnels, deeper into territory that was overrun with the fiends, if the taint bubbling angrily beneath his skin was anything to go on, looking for a dwarf woman who was clearly insane...it was almost enough for him to say "Sod it!" and declare the dwarves all lunatics whose help against the Blight was in no way worth all the bloody trouble they'd gone through to get it.

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About half an hour on into the tunnels leading towards the Dead Trenches, the party stopped. Arthur knew something was wrong when he felt Edward tugging at his gauntlet, the mabari whining insistently. The rest of his companions had stopped as well, all curious as to what was wrong with the dog...except one.

"Arabella's lagging behind again. There's something wrong with her, Arthur and I'm getting worried" Wynne added.

"I'm not deaf" Arabella muttered in a soft voice as she caught up to them. "Maybe if I could just have five minutes to rest a bit...I admit I'm, I'm not feeling all that great"

"What's wrong?"

"Bit of a headache, and my stomach's never felt this tender before..."

"Ah, that might be my bad" Oghren winced, raising a hand sheepishly. "I think those deep stalkers I rustled up for dinner last night might have been a little undercooked-"

"No, it's not that" Arabella began, before she clutched her bandaged wrist with a horrific scream of pain as if she'd just been burned. That was only the start of the problem; a second later, Arabella made several retching noises and then vomited up a grisly spray of black blood, falling to her hands and knees. She looked up briefly, and Arthur heard a gasp of mortified horror from Leliana that mirrored his own thoughts as he saw the skin of Arabella's face and hands had gone pale and waxy in complexion, her cobalt blue irises starting to turn white and opaque at their centre and the veins on her forehead had become prominent and blackened, standing out like lines of black ink across her face.

"Sodding Ancestors, what's wrong with her?" Oghren roared as more reeking vomit sprayed across his boots. And then Arthur felt it, surging to life as whatever spell Arabella had used to try and disguise it as long as she had finally dissipated...the taint. Dropping to his knees, Arthur seized Arabella's wounded arm, tore away the bandages, already crusted with dried blood and recoiled. The wound the shriek had given her had festered with alarming rapidity, the edges having turned an ugly reddish black. Blackened blood that stank of decay periodically oozed from the bite wound and the veins and arteries at her wrist had turned black like some necrotic spider's web. Arthur removed his gauntlet and pressed a hand to her skin; it was burning hot to the touch, like that of someone suffering a fever.

"I knew...I knew when it happened" the girl just about managed to choke out through gritted teeth.

"Why-why didn't you say something?" Arthur demanded; surely telling them sooner and allowing them to try and do something to arrest the taint's progress would have been better than keeping silent until it was too late? Unwelcome images of Ruck came back to his mind, of how the rampant taint had forced them to put the poor, wretched dwarf out of his misery...

"Stupid, stubborn cow I am...thought it would go away...bloody stupid, I know...besides, not like you could have done something even if you knew...no cure, right?" Arabella managed to chuckle, before her expression grew sombre, and though they didn't fall, Arthur could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Maker, such a fool I am...all that rubbish I said about making amends, repaying the Grey Wardens for what you did for me, proving myself worthy...and instead, I'm gonna die in this Maker-forsaken shithole, aren't I?"

"I'm not going to let that happen!" Arthur angrily swore, though he had no notion of how, and it may as well have been written on his face.

"You're a terrible liar...if empty promises could save me, I'd...still be...in Kirkwall" Arabella tried to joke, but it was clear the pain was starting to really affect her now. "Just go...leave me...said it yourself, you can't save me...I can't go on, and I'll nev-never make it back t-to Orzammar...j-just find the Anvil...I'm not going anywhereeee!" Arabella's plea turned into a high-pitched scream accompanied by another burst of vomiting, but that was only the start; even as her vomiting ceased, Arabella continued to wail, clutching her head in her hands and curling up in a foetal ball. "GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD!" the young woman screamed, her blue eyes wide with terror, staring out to a point far off in the distance.

"Arabella, please calm down!" Wynne pleaded, her earlier anger at her younger companion forgotten as she tried to hold Arabella still to try and treat her injuries. Leliana and Shale, at the older woman's direction, tried to do likewise, but Arabella refused to be still or silent, her eyes wide with fright, screaming at whatever horrors the taint was inflicting on her dying mind.

"I CAN HEAR HIS VOICE! HE'S SINGING TO MY BLOOD!" Arabella screamed, clutching her head in pain "MAKER, IT HURTS SO MUCH! MAKE HIM STOP, _PLEASE _MAKE HIM STOP!"

Arthur was at a loss for what to do, fumbling through his backpack just to do something with his hands and distract his mind from the fact that he was stood useless as one of his friends died before his eyes. Poultices and bottles of medicines..._'What good will they do, trying to treat the incurable_?'...Duncan's dagger...'_Worthless, unless I slit her throat and spare her the lingering death the taint will bring'_... And then his hands brushed against it...the glass vial Avernus had given him, its contents of lyrium and darkspawn blood still fresh as that mad man had promised, but what use was it incomplete? But before he could toss the damn thing against a wall to see it shatter like the useless trash it was, half-forgotten snippets of conversation came to him, slotting into place so easily...

"_He is calling to us...can you hear him?"_

"_Far, far to the south...that is where the Dark Master calls them..."_

"_T__he rarest and most valuable of all the Joining's components__...a single drop of blood taken from the veins of an archdemon..."_

As Avernus's voice rang in his ears, Arthur's blood went cold and he clutched the phial to his chest, horrified at how his unthinking anger and stupidity had nearly destroyed the last chance Arabella had. '_How can we do this?...it might have moved on by the time we get there, not to mention there's the question of how we're going to draw blood without getting killed in the process...but she's dead either way, whether we do something or not...and I rather give her one last chance than just leave her to die along and forsaken in this maze while we carry on_!'

"Leliana, Oghren, come with me. The rest of you, follow as soon as you can...just keep her _alive_!"

"What are you going to do?" Wynne demanded as she poured another health potion down the convulsing younger woman's throat while simultaneously channelling a similar spell into Arabella's shaking body.

"Something desperate, idiotic, near-suicidal...and the only chance she has left" Arthur replied as he seized his weapons and broke into a run, Leliana behind him, Oghren bringing up the rear, puffing and blowing like a kettle and shouting "Slow down, you blighted surfacers! Do I look like I'm made for cross-country?"

'_What is it with me and promising to save women from infectious illnesses with impossibly ridiculous cures?_' Arthur thought to himself, remembering well running through the ruins of the forest to save Leliana from the curse, and now he was doing the same thing to save another young woman from an even more virulent corruption.

If what he planned worked, they would save Arabella's life from a slow, lingering death and gain another Grey Warden into the bargain.

If it failed...then Arabella Amell would likely not be the only one of their number to die in these accursed tunnels.

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To be continued... (Yes, I know I'm such a bastard for leaving it on a cliffhanger like that! I'll have the next part up soon, I promise!)

Next time: Never mind getting blood from a stone, how does one get blood from an archdemon?


	42. Chapter 40: Join Us

_And here we are: the second part resolving that cliffhanger we left it on last time. Hopefully, I've done the whole matter justice, creating a unique, yet still believable continuation of this story._

_One story note: I've never been happy with the portrayal of the Archdemon in game. I mean, it's supposed to be a living god, one of the most powerful beings in the universe, and yet it seems as much an animal as the dragons in the mountains. Whether you believe the Old Gods are truly deities, or as the Codex seems to imply, members of a prehistoric, more intelligent, more powerful species of High Dragon, they're clearly creatures of intellect and ability beyond comprehension, and I've tried to reflect that in this chapter._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this: specials thanks to __**Ygrain333**__, __**MysticGohan88, Theodur, KnightofHolyLight, FictionShadow **__and__** spectre4hire **__for your enthusiastic reviews as ever, and to BoomTown5 and karthik9 for adding to favourites; as I've said before, knowing so many want to read this is a great aid to combating writer's block!_

_I have already got the next chapter more or less done and I have the basic ideas for the ones that follow it, so hopefully the next few updates should take too long (call it an early Christmas present!)_

_As always, __**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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The pressure in Arthur's temples was growing the closer they got to the point where the taint suggested the darkspawn were all massing, the pain in his skull intensifying, whispering voices that mocked, threatened and enticed ringing in his ears, a rasping edge to their words that was so insectile in quality that made it clear he was hearing the call of the hive mind crying out for him to join it. And he at least had the benefit of having been through the Joining to protect him from the worst of it; he couldn't imagine the agony Arabella was experiencing as the taint tore through her, but the notion only made him hasten his steps; every second lost was a second that brought Arabella closer to death.

Eventually, they emerged from the tunnels into a cavern, much larger than any their group had passed through so far, the ceiling too high for them to see. In the near distance, an ancient stone bridge leading to a great pair of steel doors thirty feet high, likely the entrance to the fortress of Bownammar, spanned a canyon through which likely ran a river of magma, if the light and heat radiating up from the canyon was anything to go on. Their surroundings were quite impressive and imposing, but Arthur didn't let his guard drop even as he appreciated them; his senses told him the darkspawn were _extremely_ close and there was something about this place, a strange sense of déjà vu...

"I feel like...I've been here before" Arthur muttered, half to himself. Leliana cast a rather curious look at him, that made Arthur feel only more foolish. He knew he was being ridiculous, that likely no one but darkspawn had set eyes upon this place in years, but still, he couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen it before...

Oghren had edged to the rim of the canyon and was looking down. "Oh sod" the pair heard the dwarf mutter darkly and made over quickly to join him, wondering what had managed to dampen the dwarf's usual insistence that nothing unnerved him.

They looked over the edge of the canyon and Arthur took a step back as the pressure in his skull intensified painfully like a fist to the temple, accompanied by a surge of noise like the chirping of a million crickets, insectile rasping with no sense or coherency, just mindless noise that drowned everything out but the light, the light not from lava, but _torches_. Torches burning brightly far below in so many clawed hands.

Not hundreds of them. _Thousands_, maybe more_._ Too many to count, snaking away and out of view along the bottom of the canyon in both direction. Below them, faces cast into an eerie play of golden light and blackest shadow, marched the darkspawn: genlocks and hurlocks, ogres and shrieks, emissaries and alphas. All of them moving together, with a purpose he'd seen only once before, at Ostagar. And all the while, the noises in his head finally began to make sense, resolving into thousands of voices screaming one word in a chant repeated over and over:

"_Urthemiel, Urthemiel, Urthemiel, Urthemiel!"_

"Andraste's Blood, there must be thousands of them down there" Leliana cursed. "Perhaps more". Turning to Arthur at that point, her expression both frightened and comprehending, the bard asked "This is why we've seen so few in the tunnels; they've all been coming here, haven't they? You'd..._sensed_ it, had you?"When Arthur nodded brusquely, her expression of fear only grew more intense, her brow furrowing and her jaw clenching. "Why? What are they doing, where are they going?"

"South," Oghren said at once. The Warden caught his meaning in a heartbeat.

"These tunnels must come to the surface sooner or later" Arthur whispered. "They'll emerge somewhere in the Wilds or the Bannorn, and by the time Loghain and the rebels realise what they're up against now, it will be too late". Loghain would keep denying it was a Blight until the darkspawn were battering down the gates of Denerim, and from the little Arthur had heard of the rebels, their guerrilla tactics would be insufficient to combat an enemy of this magnitude. They were almost out of time to stop this nightmare before it consumed them, their friends, their enemies, all of Ferelden without pause or mercy.

And the word 'nightmare' stuck in Arthur's head as he realised where he recognised the city from; a half-forgotten glimpse in a taint-fuelled dream not long after the Joining, darkspawn gathered in the ruins of the Deep Roads, stood about chanting and waiting in the dark beneath the world...

All that was missing was one thing...

And then he felt_ it. _The one thing that had been missing, the dark, powerful presence he'd only ever felt in his nightmares, approaching from below fast_. Very_ fast.

"Back! Get back!" Arthur commanded as he leapt to his feet, shoving Oghren and Leliana away from the edge of the canyon, but not fast enough, as with a deafening roar, a huge, dark shape swept up from the canyon, borne aloft on leathery, bat-like wings, the back draft from its ascent all but knocking the trio off their feet.

Arthur felt his mouth go dry and his heartbeat quicken as the archdemon circled over their heads and then descended with phenomenal speed. The creature had been terrifying enough in his nightmares, but to see it up close now, taking in the gargantuan, muscle-bound body, the reddish black scaly hide as thick as plate armour, the sinuous tail tipped with the spike-encrusted bone tail club, the serpentine neck writhing, the triangular head crowned with long bony spikes on both sides of its skull, tapering to the blunt snout tipped with yet more spines and the gnashing mouth, crammed with rows of jagged, serrated teeth stained yellow with corruption, was something else altogether. Arthur felt awe and terror in equal measure run through him as he watched the dragon hovering in mid air above them, well aware it could kill them all in a blink of a nictitating membrane, but still part of him yearned to prostate himself in praise before the Old God.

'_And we're supposed to kill this thing_?' the last rational part of his mind not subsumed by the taint cried out, leaving the question of how unanswered.

The screeches of adulation, the cries of obeisance and worship from below reached a crescendo as Urthemiel landed on the bridge overlooking the abyss with an earth-shaking thud, weaker portions giving way under the dragon-god's weight, plummeting into the canyon to inevitably pulverise a few darkspawn when it hit the bottom, but Arthur suspected that would matter little to the archdemon; after all, soldiers were not something it had in short supply.

The taint in his veins had responded strongly to the presence of the darkspawn, but it was nothing compared to the reaction the Archdemon's presence triggered: bubbling like burning oil in his veins, accompanied by an insatiable yearning, as one might feel were their heart's greatest desire almost within reach, and in his mind, Arthur could hear a siren song of such powerful, seductive beauty that it seemed amazing that the very stone itself didn't move in answer to its call. For the first time in his life, Arthur could understand why the ancient Imperium had worshipped the Old Gods with such fervour, had dared the Maker's fury at the behest of the dragon-gods, for what were the Maker and Andraste compared to the almighty deity in all its glory barely a few paces away but a disembodied presence who'd abandoned his creations twice on a whim after professing to love them so deeply and a madwoman whose claims her god directed her were little more than lies to satisfy her ambitions of conquest? What were they compared to this living icon of power and beauty made manifest? For neither the Maker or Andraste had ever made him quail in respectful fear before their power and majesty, nor made his heart ache in their presence to make the youth throw himself down in praise and worship.

Almost without thinking, he felt himself moving towards the bridge without thought, one hand snaking towards the hilt of his sword, the other reaching out as if to touch. Part of his mind screamed at him to do his duty, to slay the dragon while its back was turned, while the other, spurred on by the taint bubbling like tar beneath his skin, urged him to abase himself at the Old God's feet, to bow down in worship before him. He barely felt Leliana and Oghren tugging at his arms, trying to stop him from getting too close before the dragon took notice of the interloper behind it, but he shook them off, snarling angrily at them for daring to come between him and his icon of worship, about to get to his feet, to race to the bridge-

'_Do not go to it'_

The new voice in his mind washed over him like ice-cold water, disrupting the taint's stranglehold over his mind and allowing Arthur to reassert some sense of rationality, blotting out the worst of the compulsions whispering in his mind and leaving Arthur deeply grateful that both his lover had heard none of the deeply heretical thoughts that had been going through his head and that there were so many darkspawn around that the archdemon couldn't actively pinpoint him among the thousands of tainted minds calling out, since he did not doubt his thoughts would have gained a lethal response had the dragon heard them.

'_Do not answer its call'_. The voice was calm and resolute, getting to its point without any preamble, cutting through the seductive calling of the taint. '_Nor seek to slay it. It is not yet time. If you try, you will go to your death and ensure the destruction of Ferelden'_.

'_Morrigan?'_ Arthur asked incredulously, the no-nonsense, practical tone of the voice in his mind uncannily familiar.

'_No, it's the Queen of Nevarra!'_ The biting tone of the retort answered his query. _'This was the only thing I could do that would stop Alistair's insistent whining that you'd been gone so long you were likely injured or dead and prevent him from charging off into the Deep Roads to look for you by himself'_

'_And where are you? Tell me _you_ didn't go into the Deep Roads_!'

A snort came from the witch. '_Please, if I wanted to attempt suicide, I'd just throw myself into the lava Orzammar is built on. No, this scrying spell is just another piece of knowledge I gained from Mother's grimoire. It requires a great deal of power, particularly to find you as deep as you are, but that is one of the few good things about Orzammar; lyrium is not something in short supply there. Now enough talk; be silent, wait until the creature is gone and continue'_.

_It's right there!_ The Archdemon was right…there! He was a Grey Warden; it was his _job_ to kill it! Who knew if they'd ever be this close again? And never mind killing the damn thing, they still had to find some way to draw blood...

'_You will never succeed; you are tired, at the limits of your endurance. It will take the archdemon little more than a moment to cut you down, providing of course it doesn't choose to merely let the legions of darkspawn willing to die doing its bidding perform the task for it. There will be other times yet to come, when the circumstances are more in your favour to strike. Trust me when I say you cannot kill it now..._

###################

The screeches of awe and wonder that rose from the legions massed on the canyon floor as the plume of dark flame emitted from their master's mouth rose up high were most satisfactory, almost reminiscent of the days of old.

Freedom from the stone cage in which he'd been bound all those aeons ago was glorious, along with the worshipful respect and fear that the Dragon Children, to call them by their true name-the name 'darkspawn' was so trite, such a pathetic attempt by the mortal races to place a name to something they could not begin to understand-proferred to their draconic master. It was not quite the same as the days of old, when the great and powerful of the Imperium had raised up statues and temples to their dragon gods, and fallen to their knees in praise as they performed rituals of bloodletting and sacrifice in worship –these crude creatures could not hope to match the lavish grandeur the ancient humans had bestowed upon the Old Gods- but there were advantages to be had of the Dark Children.

'_They're animals, essentially, but animals have their uses; they can be made to obey. Animals do not have ambitions, desires or secret agendas that involve you. And animals do not make demands of you that they expect you to honour, such as those fool magisters who tried to extort Brother Dumat for his power in return for obeying his commands and we were laid so very low when their incompetence inevitably ended in failure. No, mortals failed the Old Gods in far too many ways, and so we will throw them down and raise up another species in their place'_

Urthemiel ran a glance over the legions assembled below him. Tens of thousands had already answered his summons, and more were coming with every hour, finding their way through the tunnels to link up with the main host massing in the canyon, and he could feel thousands more deeper in the tunnels. '_Four hundred years have passed since Brother Andoral was slain, more than enough time for an army to replenish those that were lost' _. Granted, it was nowhere near the size of the gargantuan horde Dumat had commanded upon his awakening, but it was more than sufficient to destroy the meagre hosts of the fools who preferred to fight amongst themselves like wild dogs over a bone. The intelligence he'd gleaned from the minds of his shrieking scouts already on the surface had told Urthemiel everything he needed and now, like every predator that lies in wait for a prey to make a fatal mistake, the moment to strike had come.

'_The weak die so the strong may prevail'_ was very much the maxim of the Dark Children, and it was very much true here; the weakest, most feeble creatures had been purged, any possibility that their inadequacy might compromise the army's effectiveness removed. Only the strongest, the most cunning, the most ruthless of all four variations remained, every creature a perfectly evolved predator, devoid of mercy, conscience or any such weak notions of self that were one of the many reasons mortals were inadequate servants of the Old Gods. There would be none of the pathetic moralising or acts of compassion that could occur in times of war and jeopardise even the best laid stratagems, just direct orders to the servants, and unquestioning obedience to the masters, commands given and obeyed without pause as it should be.

'_This day, we march from the shadows into the light_!" Urthemiel roared both physically and telepathically. To anyone else listening, the sounds coming from the fanged mouth would be no more than the typical sonorous bellow one would expect to hear from the maw of a dragon, but in the minds of those who bore the taint, Urthemiel's voice was a resonant male baritone, redolent with intelligence, commanding, compulsive...and expending obedience in all things.

"_The fools above think us nothing but bogeymen to frighten their children with on dark nights, but we will show them their folly when we burn their cities to ash and drown their armies in rivers of blood. We will remind them that we ruled the darkness beneath the world when the fools above crawled through mud like beasts! We will remind them that our kind cast down the greatest civilisation the humans raised up, that we have brought their kingdoms to their knees four times before, and we will be denied our ultimate victory no longer!"_ Urthemiel howled to his army, rearing up to his full height to emphasise that every word of destruction and fury was meant.

The effect was instant; the darkspawn screamed their approval at their master's cry, almost rabid in their eagerness to spill the blood of mortal prey, beating their weapons against their shields and in his mind, he heard them all screaming with one voice-hurlocks and genlocks, ogres and shrieks, emissaries and alphas- crying out as one:

"WE OBEY THE WILL OF URTHEMIEL!"

Urthemiel felt a great satisfaction; this was his moment, and soon it would be his victory; the fools brought low and made to kneel at the feet of the true gods as his armies reduced the precious land they had tried to defend for their own selfish reasons and yet only hastened its destruction, to a diseased wasteland of ash and bone. All those who had come before him- merciless Andoral, capricious Zazikel, fiery Toth and mighty Dumat- had tried and failed to remind the mortal races of their folly in abandoning the true gods for another, to repay mortal blasphemy with their extinction, but glorious Urthemiel would not fail. What would come to pass would not be war, but the descending of an unstoppable force, like a storm or a locust swarm sweeping aside all that tried to stand in its path. They would try, they would fail, they would be swept aside and what they sought to defend would be consumed. Nothing could stop the inevitable victory of the Dragon Children now. _Nothing._

"FORWARD!" Urthemiel bellowed as his forelimbs slammed into the stony floor with another shaking crash and a second plume of dark fire erupted from within the dragon's gaping, fang-lined jaws.

##################

"They're moving out" Arthur muttered, though it was fairly obvious. Even if one couldn't see the lines of darkspawn below moving slowly like fiery snakes down the length of the canyon, the sound of thousands of marching feet was loud enough to carry even to their position at the gorge's rim.

"And so is he" Leliana added, pointing at the archdemon, crouched low as if about to spring, its leathery wings unfurled and flexing, ready to bear the monster back into the air. He could sense the archdemon's intention vaguely; it would circle the area one last time to make sure that its underlings heard the commands it wished them to and then it would move to the head of the marching columns and direct their ascent to the surface.

With a roar, the archdemon leapt into the air, plummeting down into the canyon, its wings snapping open with an audible crack to slow its descent, and then came the loud thudding sound of powerful wing beats as the archdemon began to make its ascent again, before making a circuit around the canyon, inspecting its troops. The three crouched low to the ground, hiding as much as possible behind boulders to ensure the dragon didn't catch sight of them.

"Can you hit it?" Arthur asked as Leliana notched the arrow to the string of her bow, ready to loose at the right moment, as they had discussed. "His circuit is going to take him right over our heads. Can you hit him as he passes over us?"

"Please" Leliana snorted. "If I can hit a pigeon in flight at fifty yards, I'm pretty confident I can hit that overgrown lizard"

"When did you do that?" Arthur retorted, raising an eyebrow; he knew the bard was skilled at archery, but he'd never heard of her attempting such a feat.

"Before I met you; I was eighteen years old and Marjolaine had just taken me into her service. When she asked me what I could do, I made that boast. When she challenged me to make good on the claim, I did it first time"

"Is there anything you need?"

"Some courage" Leliana replied with a weak smile. "Not that kind" she added as Oghren proferred an open hip flask, before pulling the bowstring taut, her face calm, hiding the fear she undoubtedly felt at the thought of openly attacking such a creature.

The archdemon rocketed back up to the cavern roof, hovering over their heads, its powerful wings beating periodically to keep it airborne, before the wings snapped closed around its body and its descended at great speed, the wings quickly opening to stabilise its descent, gliding over the canyon, letting out a shrieking wail that rang horribly in Arthur's ears-

And as the dragon's shadow fell over them, Leliana loosed the shaft. It flew straight up, and as all held their breath, the barbed tip sank into the leathery membrane of the dragon's right wing, cutting deep and passing through, the force of the shot pulling the shaft and fletching through the hole the arrowhead had torn. Thick drops of burning hot blood rained down on them from the blood vessels and capillaries the arrow had ripped open in its flight, hissing angrily like boiling oil as the droplets touched the ground. Arthur felt periodic spots of warmth against his skin as the Juggernaut plate's enchantments dissipated the blood's fiery heat, but he ignored them as he held out the uncorked vial into the red rain.

"Perfect!" Arthur cried jubilantly as one drop of blood landed on the rim of the glass vial, and then inexorably slid into the dark purple liquid that filled it; with an audible hiss, the liquid turned black as ink, stinking of rotted meat and soured milk, just as it had when he'd drank the same foul concoction all those months before. '_We have a chance to save her, if we can just get back in time...and assuming we get away from here with our skins intact'_.

"Now what?" Leliana asked, lowering her bow.

"Now we have a bigger problem, salroka" Oghren yelped as yet another roar, this time reverberating with hateful anger, emanated from that fanged reptilian mouth.

#################

The arrow had no more hurt Urthemiel than a bee sting would have. But that didn't mean he hadn't felt it.

'_Who dares? Who dares to raise a weapon against me? I am among the oldest, the most powerful, the most glorious of beings ever to have walked upon this earth, and these fools, these ants to be crushed at will, dare to presume they can harm me?'_

Twisting around in midair, Urthemiel descended at speed, stooping like a bird of prey in the direction the missile had come from, His senses working furiously to identify the fleeing figures who had launched the attack. He caught the scent of one of the stinking cave-dwelling moles that the Dark Children had warred against for centuries, stubbornly refusing to accept the inevitability of extinction, and that of one mortal, female, but the third was harder to place; mortal certainly, but there was something else to this one; a lingering trace that seemed so familiar...

And then He felt it; the taint, linked to the third mortal attacker. Giving power and strength without destroying their mind or subsuming them to His will, which left only one explanation...

_Slayer. One of the griffon ilk who had slain the four before me. And now they seek to kill me, to end my conquest before it has begun. But this one would not be allowed to escape to try and finish the task another time' _the Old God swore, landing with an earthshaking thud at the mouth of the cavernous passage into which the interlopers had fled, lunging headfirst into the passage, only to stop as the small size of the tunnel, just large enough for a human to pass through but nowhere near wide enough for a dragon to fit, conspired to thwart His pursuit, allowing the blasphemous mortals to escape without just punishment for their sin of raising their hand to Him.

'COWARDS!" Urthemiel roared telepathically. '_You mortals dare raise your hand against ME, a GOD? You think to slay me, when you have seen me in all my glory, with all the power I command? You will regret your outrageous folly, I SWEAR IT!'_ Urthemiel raged through the taint, His own telepathic power combined with the taint to, accompanied by several torrents of fire the dragon-god let loose from its gaping maw, but the cowards were too far away for Him to do anything but rage helplessly, thwarted for the moment. It would be so easy to rip through the stone until he found them, to unleash all the might and power of an Old God to shred the very earth to scraps as He hunted the fools until they paid the price for their blasphemy, but He could not. Without His leadership and iron will to keep them in check, the Dark Children would easily devolve into a threshing, animalistic mob driven only by their baser instincts, pillaging and burning at will without thought or direction, acting to satisfy their innate cruelty and bloodlust instead of His wishes, stalling and failing to act on their successes, as the thousands already above were doing. '_I am needed elsewhere'_. Growling with furious disappointment, Urthemiel directed His attention to the countless servants prowling about the depths that had yet to link up with the army marching towards the surface:

_Scour the tunnels for the would-be slayers. If you are incapable of dealing with a band of striplings and halfwits, then drive them deeper; She Who Hungers should prove sufficient to overcome them. But one way or another, those fool mortals who did me injury do not leave this labyrinth alive, am I understood!"_

"_We obey the will of Urthemiel!"_

"_You will be the first to die. And once you are dead, none of the fools above will be able to stop my children from devouring their precious land like locusts, or stand against us as everything burns beneath my shadow_!" Urthemiel ranted, directing the full brunt of His fury at the fleeing stripling as he returned to the head of his army, raging furiously at the sheer audacity of the boy for daring to try and do Him, a god of the ancient world, harm.

'_They will never survive. I will be ruler over a realm of ash and charred corpses while She Who Hungers sucks the marrow from the stripling's bones!_

_That is my will. And the will of a god shall not be denied'_.

##############

They'd run for their lives as they'd seen the serpentine neck twist round, those merciless white eyes narrowing as it saw their position, fleeing deeper into the tunnels from where they'd emerged, too small and narrow for the dragon's bulk to possibly get through. They'd heard it screaming and howling in rage, and more than once Arthur had been certain they'd come close to being incinerated as the archdemon let loose torrents of fire that pursued them through the caverns, hungrily devouring the meagre oxygen in the air, sending dark clouds of smoke that burned their throats and stung their eyes, choking and making them cough until they finally managed to get far enough away.

But the most terrifying thing had been when Arthur had felt the Old God roaring at the top of his voice within the confines of Arthur's mind; the raw force and power of Urthemiel's anger was so palpable it had brought him to his knees, hearing the tirade of hateful threats reverberating in the darkest corners of his mind long after the furious roars and the tongues of flame licking at their heels from the dragon's mouth had died away. It had been so painful, not to mention a terrifying notion to know that all the hatred, all the fury of a being that had existed for centuries before even his distant ancestors had been born, possessed of intelligence and power beyond mortal comprehension, was directed at him that he barely heard the rest of the archdemon's tirade, no doubt commanding the darkspawn to kill him. It had been a great relief when the pressure clawing at the inside of his skull began to die away as the archdemon and its darkspawn minions continued their march in the opposite direction, even tempered as it was by the knowledge that the people of the surface would likely sooner suffer because of the monsters' presence in his place.

"Are you alright?" Leliana asked, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her expression concerned, but Arthur shrugged "There's more important things than me to worry about" but his voice trailed off as the sound of approaching footsteps came from directly ahead of them; Arthur whirled round, his sword raised, as Leliana notched an arrow to her bow and Oghren hefted his maul as the individual drew near...

"If the Warden cannot tell the difference between me and a hurlock, then Ferelden is in even more dire straits than I thought" Shale groused as the golem appeared around the corner of the passage ahead , carrying Arabella in its immense arms as easily as if she were a doll. The young woman was limp and unmoving in Shale's grasp, her eyes closed and for a moment Arthur feared the worst, but then he saw her chest rise and fall, though erratic and slow, and behind the golem, Arthur could see Wynne channelling magical energy a pale green hue in colour into Arabella's torso and Arthur felt a surge of temporary relief; Wynne wouldn't waste her magic on a corpse.

"When did she lose consciousness?" Arthur asked as he patted Edward on the head to calm the dog, barking joyfully at being reunited with his master, Leliana taking over to lavish attention on the mabari to quiet him down.

"About ten minutes after you left us. She's been getting worse; her breathing's all but none-existent and her heart rate has been going from one extreme to another; one minute, it's racing like a horse, the next, it's slower than a snail. For the love of the Maker, tell me you got whatever you went for because I don't think she's going to last much longer!"

By way of an answer, Arthur held up the phial with its jet-black contents "Set her down" he asked of Shale, the golem gently lowering the mage to the floor, before turning his attention to Wynne. "Is there any spell you have that can bring her around, just for a second? I think it might be best for her to be conscious for this". He had no idea how an unconscious body would react to the darkspawn blood, and Arthur had no desire to find out.

With an audible hum of power, Wynne channelled more healing magic into the younger woman's body. Arthur saw a shimmer of blue light flicker across the older woman's eyes, suggesting that she were using the power of the spirit bound to her to augment the power of her healing abilities, drawing both concern from Arthur that this action might prove too much for Wynne, and hope that despite everything, it would work. Whatever she was doing, it clearly worked, because with a gasp of shock, Arabella's eyes snapped open, a shriek of relief escaping her cracked, bleeding lips as the spirit of Faith did its best to repulse the taint.

"Do it now!" Wynne commanded as Arabella's almost-blind eyes flicked to Arthur, caught sight of the glass bottle in his gauntleted hand and realised its significance. It was not how he wanted to have done it, if Arthur considered it, but fate had a habit of making mockery of their best laid plans.

"It is time. Join us, sister. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and one day we shall join you"

With that, Arthur nodded to Arabella. The younger mage was now so weak that Wynne had to hold her head up, drawing an agonised wince of discomfort from Arabella, accompanying her rasping gasps for breath. Her blue eyes were now an opaque white, her pallor even whiter than it had been when they'd departed into the tunnels, and the continual grimace that crossed her face only made Arthur respect the woman for holding out against the pain ripping through her, keeping the taint from reaching its lethal terminus.

"Arabella Amell, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good" Arthur began as he tipped the vial's black contents into the woman's mouth; realising it was her last chance of salvation, Arabella greedily drank down the foul liquid like a babe at its mother's breast, heedless of its taste. When the last drags had trickled down her, Arthur completed the intonation that every member of the Order had heard, the same words that had been spoken to him what felt like a lifetime ago.

"From this moment, you _are_ a Grey Warden"

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Arabella let out another scream as her eyes rolled up in their sockets. There was only silence, and for a moment, Arthur feared he was seeing a repeat of Daveth's untimely end. But before despair could set in, he _felt _it; a raw surge of power as the taint that had been poisoning Arabella slowed, then stopped, and became the agent of her rebirth.

##################

'At first, there was darkness all around her, shifting slowly into memories that flashed in front of her gaze without pause or sense. '_Am I dying then?_'. That was what they all said, wasn't it? That life flashed before the eyes as death came?

'_Earliest memories of her childhood in the Free Marches, living in fear of her abusive father's wrath until that fateful day when her own power had rose up to protect her...'_

'_Arriving at the Circle tower, twelve years old, alone and frightened, the other children in the apprentice quarters watching her warily as she was led in-doubtless they'd heard stories from the templars of what she'd done with her new found magic- until one dark haired boy had come over and introduced himself as Jowan, earning a tentative smile from her in return..._

'_Emerging from the basement chambers, to find a semi-circle of templars waiting for them, swords drawn and levelled with their chests, Greagoir and Irving pushing their way forward to the front of the crowd, the Knight Commander's expression furious, the First Enchanter's one of disappointment..._

'_The door to her cell opened and two Senior Enchanters stepped inside; one a sallow-faced man with short brown hair and a beard of the same, the other a brunette female elf; Libertarians, the both of them. Initially, she'd expected the pair about, so she'd been caught completely off guard when the elven woman had unlocked the manacles around her wrists and told. "_Now are you going to sit here chained up like a good dog until the templars decide you're too dangerous to live for the crime of being born different, or fight for the freedom that can be yours, that should be yours?"_ the man asked, extending a short knife and the staff they'd given her after the Harrowing. The choice seemed clear; they'd name her maleficar soon enough, whether or not the accusations were true. Jowan had been right about one thing at least; some things in this world-love, hope, freedom- were worth fighting for..._

_Running for her life from the audience chamber as it became apparent Uldred had lost control, both of the situation and what he was trying to summon, knowing that now, even as her palms bled and ached, that she'd gotten in way over her head, that she'd never been fighting for freedom, to change things for the better for her kind, but to assist Uldred massage his ego, wanting to make things right but not knowing how..._

_On her knees begging for her life at the feet of a Grey Warden...and then hearing him say the words that saved her from the templars' wrath..."I am taking this matter out of your hands. First Enchanter Irving, I am invoking the Right of Conscription on Arabella Amell. The templars will turn her over to the custody of the Grey Wardens!"_

'_The lush bed in the captain's cabin was gloriously warm and comfortable, but nowhere near as pleasurable as the feel of the Rivaini woman's mouth on her breast, teeth tugging and twisting the nipple to hardness, moving down her flat stomach towards her hips and what lay beneath, even as she felt the elf's arms close around her waist-Maker's breath, Zev was an exceptionally proficient lover, one hand slipping between her legs, easing them apart as she felt the growing stiffness, sliding within..._

'_The shriek's slavering face as its fangs tore down to the bone, the puncture wounds burning painfully as the tainted venom it bore sank into her blood to begin its lethal work..._

_And then the memories were gone, faded away as she found herself alone in the ruins of a city built from jet-black stone, and then she felt the heated breath on the back of her neck, along with the stench of carrion. Turning around, she saw it looming overhead; the dragon, its wings unfurled, its maw opened wide enough to swallow her whole, all the while as a cold, mocking voice taunted in a sing-song voice "One of us, one of us..."_

Arabella bolted awake with a scream of terror, the thin blankets that had been thrown over her falling away around her waist as she gave vent to the fear that had been trying to claw its way out of her since she'd realised she was near to dying in the tunnels, realising almost too late that she was in nothing but her small clothes under the blankets, and hastily pulled them back up to the level of her chest as Wynne came running in.

"Easy" Wynne chided, forcing her former student to lie back "You've been through quite a lot and you're very weak, though frankly you're lucky to be alive"

"Still know what's best for everyone?" Arabella groused, rubbing her head to alleviate the throbbing headache that had set in. "Where are we?"

"A dwarven outpost just outside the fortress of Bownammar" and Arabella nodded in relief. '_So we made it...well, I suppose it could have been worse, all things considered'_, only to grimace as another painful throb passed through her brain, though mercifully no whispering voices came with it. Wynne leant forward, her expression concerned. "Are you alright? Did you at least get some rest?"

"No" Arabella replied, though for once, the demons hadn't called out to her, hadn't tried to speak to her with their offers and temptations as they had ever since she'd listened to Uldred and made the pact letting her learn the magic. The pact was long since over, the demon from which she'd learned it destroyed along with Uldred but still others had come to her in her sleep, thinking that if she'd made one bargain, she might be susceptible to forging another but not this time; this time, while no less frightening, her sleeping mind's foray into the Fade had been devoid of demonic interlopers. '_Why would they?'_ she thought, thinking of the draconic presence she'd felt looming over her, one that would brook no intrusions. _'If I'm not mistaken, a far older, greater and more terrible power has laid claim to me'_

"Bad dreams, eh?" another voice asked, and Arabella looked up to see Arthur enter the small room, Leliana and that dog at his heels. Arabella smiled openly at her fellow Warden now; she would never have though it possible when she was down on her knees on the blood-soaked floor of Kinloch Hold, begging for her life at his feet, but here and now, Arabella was exceedingly grateful for the hand of fate that had caused her and Arthur's paths to cross. '_He's saved my life three times now; from himself, from the templars and now from the darkspawn as well as giving me the chance to redeem myself for the mistakes I made...can I ever repay him, them for all they've risked to trust me, all they've done for me? I don't know, but I'm sure the chance will present itself sooner or later...and when it does, I will pay my debt, no matter the cost'_

"They'll get easier to deal with as time goes on, but for the first little while, it's tough; believe me, I know, I used to wake in the night screaming, cold sweats and everything"

"Are these dreams going to be a coming thing, because I don't recall seeing that dragon in my head every night being part of the job description! The sight of that thing is enough to make anyone think of early retirement" Arabella joked, but Arthur did not share her humour.

"He"

"What?"

"He, not it. He has a name, Urthemiel. We know our true enemy now; we should acknowledge that"

"Urthemiel?" Wynne questioned curiously, the scholar's persona reasserting itself. "The Dragon of Beauty? The patron deity of artists, musicians, playwrights and poets in ancient Tevinter?"

"Beauty is not a word I would associate with that _monster_" Leliana spat with a shudder as she exited the small room. "And I think it now has more interest and appreciation for the qualities of my soft, succulent flesh than those of my music"

"Don't worry; if I remember Alistair correctly, with a bit of time and experience, you can block" Arthur replied, placing a supportive hand on Arabella's shoulder. "And even we can't give you all the answers, I'm sure Avernus or another Warden can explain when this business with the Blight is said and done...provided, of course, you don't do anything stupid like keeping another life-threatening illness to yourself!"

The others left Arabella alone while she got to her feet and quickly dressed, though judging from the comments she heard, Arthur and Wynne had to intervene to stop the drunkard of a dwarf from adding 'peeping tom' to his list of fine qualities. Once she'd gotten her robes back on and recovered her belongings, Arabella exited the small side room in which she'd been convalescing and They were sat in what looked to be an abandoned gatehouse, where. Nor were they alone; sat around a small fire were seven dwarves, five men and two women, clad in jet-black armour, enamelled in silver on the breastplate, helm and pauldrons with dwarven iconography of death and battle, most prominently the skull heraldry of the Legion emblazoned in the centre of the chest, eating parts of their meagre provisions or sharpening their weapons as they observed their unlikely guests. An eighth, likely their leader, a stout, grizzled dwarf with a bald, impressively bearded head adorned with impressive tattoos, along with a leather patch over his left eye and a nose that had been broken more than once, approached the companions, eyeing them with both curiosity and suspicion. Arthur and Arabella made over to the approaching dwarf while the rest of their companions found seats around the fire.

"Atrast vala, Grey Wardens. I'm Legionary Captain Kardol. These are my warband. You were lucky you ran into us when you did; alone and standing about as you were in the tunnels, you were pretty much laying out a free meal for the 'spawn"

"I am Arthur Cousland, and this is Arabella Amell, soldiers of the Order of the Grey Wardens, at your service"

"Have to say, in all my time down here, I've never seen one of your kind in the Deeps before."

"You don't sound very surprised, though," Arabella replied, nodding at the dwarf's rather nonchalant expression regarding their presence.

"I recognise a fighter of darkspawn; it marks you" Kardol replied and Arabella unconsciously rubbed the scar on her wrist. '_Oh, that it does. In more ways than you know'._

"In the Legion of the Dead, we abandon our lives to be free of fear, free of hopeful blindness. The coming Blight is obvious to us. The surprise is not that you have come, but that you have come in so small a number." He eyed their group steadily, his beard twitching slightly in a returning smile. "What do you want here, Warden?"

"We're looking for allies against the Blight-"

"Odd tactic, recruiting from the frontline" Kardol interjected, eyebrows raising along with an amused chuckle. "The darkspawn pitch camp in _our_ tunnels between your "Blights", you know. Give me a dwarven reason to look topside."

"We're here as a favor to Prince Bhelen. We need to find the Paragon Branka-."

"Who put this dull idea in your head? We've got enough problems in Orzammar, what with no king and the Assembly in deadlock-"and then something clicked in the dwarf's mind, as a slow, comprehending smile crossed his face. "Ah, now I see. The deep lords in the Assembly can't make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence. I get that right?"

"That's about it, yeah. Got anything to add?" Arthur nodded, raising an eyebrow. Arabella likewise placed her hands on her hips, as if challenging Kardol to make a comment about what they were doing.

"Only this: Wardens, you've got your work cut out for you. Paragon Branka is dead-anyone with half an ounce of sense in their heads knows it. Past our lines, the darkspawn kill _everything_"

"Why hold back, then?" Arthur questioned. "If you're so certain there's nothing but darkspawn beyond this point, why not press on, take the fight to them?"

"Heh, I'd gladly lead an assault through the Dead Trenches, but without an ass in the throne, we don't have order, and I won't take fool's gold from a pretender. But hey, if you want to go digging blind, go right ahead". Arthur nodded in understanding, but Arabella pressed on; considering how close she'd come to death trying to fight the darkspawn in their own territory, the rather blasé attitude of these dwarves towards the enemy massing on their doorstep was rather irksome.

"I must say, you don't show much concern for the Blight erupting around us"

The dwarven Legionnaires grumbled at this, glowering and fingering the hafts of their weapons and Kardol's eyes narrowed coldly as he replied "Why? With the exception of you Warden, the surface kingdoms only care when darkspawn march in the light, but they're always down here, always pushing. Your nightmare, girl, is my everyday; our resolve is the only thing giving you a respite between the Blights- a surge on the surface would give us a break. When the time comes, I'll care for a good dwarven reason, and sod the rest"

"Ever heard of the Anvil of the Void?" Arthur asked, clearly wanting to change the subject before his companion's comment caused any further. Clearly, the dwarves weren't too offended, as Kardol's response was a snort of amusement, one echoed by many of his men.

"Like dusters have heard of respect. Never seen it, and if it exists, it's not meant for me. But hey, if you're looking for Paragons, you might as well look for the Anvil, and why not endless lyrium too?"

"As you say" Arthur replied, attempting to be courteous, but sensing that the conversation was at its end: it was time for them to move on. "Now if it's alright with you, we'll be leaving now"

"Let us know if you find any Paragons; you're as likely to find one as a dozen!" Kardol joked, before his expression became serious. "And Warden, watch yourself. There are worse things than genlocks in these tunnels, and drunks make poor allies" with a subtle nod at the only example of such in the immediate vicinity, at present eagerly helping himself to some of the Legion's dwindling supplies of alcohol.

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Next time: She Who Hungers...well, I think you can guess who that is!

Three more chapters and we'll be done with the Deep Roads! (Thank the Maker!)


	43. Chapter 41: Broodmother

_Well, this is a quicker turnout than usual; let's hope real life keeps playing ball for the time being!_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes: special thanks to __**Theodur, MysticGohan88, KnightofHolyLight, Fictionshadow and spectre4hire-**__it's always good to know people want to read this, since it works wonders on writer's block!_

_Glad to see everyone's happy with my decision to let Arabella Amell live for the moment (I've got something else in mind for her) and that you enjoyed the Urthemiel POV. I'd just like to say that it was my intention to make him a hate-filled sociopath prone to lengthy monologues since I have a soft spot for the old "Grr, Argh, must destroy mankind" sort of villains (don't get me wrong, I love and endeavour to make the Machiavellian schemers of Dragon Age, i.e., Loghain, Howe, Anora, as real as possible, but there is something enjoyable and sometimes refreshing about an enemy whose sole goal is just rampant destruction). Plus, I imagine all the rage and anger the Archdemon possesses is quite rational as I imagine them to be side effects of the taint (since I don't imagine millennia of incarceration, accompanied by large doses of the taint work wonders for your state of mind) and since, according to the Codex, Urthemiel is a 'maddened husk of his former self, filled with nothing but a desire to destroy all life'__._ _Just wanted to explain my reasons for portraying the Old God as enjoying a good rant and having clear genocidal tendencies._

_As always, I hope I've done justice to this part of the tale and I hope you enjoy it...as much as one can enjoy the thought of the blood and guts and worse that's in this one. I hope I've managed to capture the truly repulsive aspects of the Dead Trenches and what makes its lair there..._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_**###################**_

_**There in the depths of the earth they dwelled,  
Spreading their taint as a plague, growing in number  
Until they were a multitude.**_

_Canticle of Threnodies, 8:27_

The smell of death and decay washed over them, the scent of rot all but overpowering the deeper they went. The fetid odour seemed to seep out of the very stone, turning all their stomachs; even the seemingly indomitable Oghren was beginning to look a little green. Arabella seemed to be in constant discomfort, one with which Arthur empathised: he'd at least had a few weeks to get used to the discomfort of being privy to the darkspawn hive mind, but Arabella was being thrown in at the deep end without preparation. Arthur felt deeply regretful-this was no way like how he'd imagined Arabella would be inducted into the Order- but there was nothing to do for the moment except help her grin and bear it, and begin to explain the same things that had been somewhat explained to him after his Joining...though nowhere near enough.

In spite of the thousands of darkspawn ascending to the surface with the archdemon, many still lurked in the tunnels, attacking in small numbers-predominantly genlocks fighting tooth and nail in the ever-narrowing corridors , hurlocks lying in wait where the tunnels became wide enough for them to use their weapons effectively, shrieks that could spring out of ambush from nowhere, their accursed armour and chameleon-like letting them shift in and out of the shadows with ease, their ear-splitting screams echoing long after their source had fled or been cut down. They weren't numerous enough to seriously threaten the group, and the beasts always retreated when the companions' resistance proved too stiff, but their ferocity was undimmed; they weren't shy of attacking, but they kept falling back rather than be drawn into protracted battle...almost as if they were trying to get their opponents to give chase.

In addition, they continued to exhibit the strange behaviour they'd shown back in Ortan Thaig. What made it more nerve-wracking, for Arthur at least, was that since they still showed no interest in Wynne and Arabella was now 'spoiled meat', the focus of their attacks was Leliana; the darkspawn were still desperately trying to split her off from the main group and- '_What? Take her captive_? _And if so, for what purpose? Torture? Rape?_'. No answer came to Arthur, only an urge to ensure that they didn't find out and as such, he'd become quite fierce in his defence of the bard, making sure to place himself in front of Leliana, intercepting and cutting down any darkspawn that went for her and constantly keeping one eye on her to make sure she hadn't broken off or been cut off from the rest of them. '_I've nearly lost one friend to the darkspawn; I won't let them take another instead!_' the Warden swore to himself.

But the wandering packs of darkspawn soldiers prowling the tunnels were not the only sign that the creatures had firmly laid claim to the Dead Trenches. The floors, the ceiling, the very walls of the labyrinthine passages were covered in thick fleshy red growths of the type seen wherever the darkspawn made their presence known, tendrils of the stuff inexorably spreading out from wherever their source lay, pulsing and throbbing as if to the beating of some monstrous heart, dripping foul-smelling ooze that was overflowing with the taint; the companions made sure to give the spreading puddles of the slime a wide berth, until Arabella set the damn substance alight, causing the growths to retreat...for the moment.

"These creatures and their corruption spread like disease" Wynne muttered darkly as they watched the fleshy coating retreat away from the light and warmth. "The darkspawn are truly a cancer upon the world, they poison and defile everything they touch...can nowhere be made sacred from their infection?"

"It can, the same way one deals with any sort of corruption...we purge it with fire and sword" Arthur replied immediately as he cleaned the darkspawn blood off Duncan's sword. _'This is my life, my duty now; to cut away the tumours festering away at the roots of our world. And after what I've seen of these monsters, along with the other form of corruption I will have to eradicate from the face of Ferelden when we return to the surface, I will gladly expunge such foulness from Thedas. After all, 'Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter'._

Worst were the strange fleshy sacs that seemed to have been placed at random points along the length of the tunnels, half buried in mounds of putrid, rotting flesh, leaking more of the same stinking, poisonous ooze and pulsating periodically to the same rhythm as the growths coating the surrounding walls. After passing two such piles, Arthur moved in to investigate, holding his breath against the smell. The fluid-filled membrane was translucent, and in the light of the torches, Arthur could see a dark shape within moving sluggishly. He reluctantly moved closer, inadvertently placing a hand to the pod's surface; it was sticky, gelatinous, similar to the frogspawn he remembered handling as a boy during one of Aldous's many lessons, and Arthur began to wonder.._._based on the similarities, could these fleshy sacs be what he was beginning to suspect they were?

The shape inside the membrane was smaller than the dwarf-like proportions it would have full grown; Oren would have been a giant compared to the misshapen thing writhing in its membranous cocoon, but though much smaller in proportion, the skull-like face, bat ears and mouth full of needle fangs were unmistakeable; the thing growing and writhing within the sac and the others beside it were clearly genlocks. And as he took that in, other things about the fleshy pods and the mounds of rotting meat began to make sense; the purpose of the dead flesh piled up around was two-fold, to both incubate the growing darkspawn within their membranous cocoons owing to the heat the process of decomposition would generate, and then, when the infant genlocks hatched, provide them with a ready and waiting supply of food.

These were not pile of random detritus deposited by the darkspawn. These were _nests._

"Burn them" Arthur commanded, pressing the torch to the membrane's surface, watching with satisfaction as the oily secretions oozing from it caught light with ease, watching as Arabella and Wynne conjured bursts of flame from their hands to set the remaining fleshy nests ablaze, adding the pungent aroma of cooking meat to the already 'fragrant' scents pervading through the caverns. Further in to the tunnels, the party discovered how the nests were being constructed; two hurlocks each carrying a single pod between them from a tunnel that led in deeper, setting it down in an already dug depression in the earth. Once enough pods had been gathered together, a number of waiting genlocks piled up the waiting flesh that would serve as incubation and food around the gestating darkspawn. The sight hadn't stopped them from slaughtering the creatures, ambushing them as they worked too quickly for the darkspawn to draw weapons to defend either themselves or their charges, but such sights only raised more questions to an already lengthy list, one most prominent above all others:

If these fleshy sacs were eggs, _what_ had laid them?

###############

They'd destroyed about six of the foul nests in the tunnels before they heard the voice in the distance.

"_First day, they come...and catch everyone. Second day, they beat us...and eat some for meat. Third day, the men are all gnawed on again_"

"What is it talking about?" Wynne muttered under her breath as they proceeded into the tunnel they'd heard the voice emanate from. "They say the darkspawn take prisoners so they can devour them later...is that what they've done? Did Branka and her house fall prey to their hunger?". But the voice continued to speak before Arthur could answer, and its next statement cast doubts on Wynne's pronouncement.

"_Fourth day we wait...and fear for our fate. Fifth day they return, and it's another girl's turn. Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth...they spew. Eighth day, we hated as she is violated_"

Arthur stopped as he heard Leliana cry out, a hand clapping to her mouth as she caught the implication of the dwarf's statement, mute horror written across her face. Arthur was beside her in an instant, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her chin, turning her face to look at him, his eyes as he muttered words of comfort and reassurance, his voice low and urgent, enough to get the bard moving again. No doubt, she'd known what it was to be violated in the Orlesian dungeon, but the dwarf's jumbled words seemed to suggest something far beyond rape. While he knew and empathised with his lover's pain, not to mention feared the implications of what the unknown individual was saying, there was no time at the present to linger._ 'I swear I'll do everything I can to comfort you, to heal the pain of past wounds, my love, but not here, not now, not when we run the risk of_ _finding out what our foes want firsthand'_

"_Ninth day, she grins...and devours her kin"_

Cannibalism, while distasteful, was a viable means of survival if worse came to worst, but what the voice seemed to imply sounded much worse...as if the choice had been forced upon them. _But why? What purpose could the darkspawn have for forcing cannibalism upon their captives?_

"_Now she does feast...as she's become the beast"_

It wasn't long before they came upon the source of the voice intoning the insane doggerel.

"What is this? A human? Bland and unlikely." A dwarven woman sat hunched over in the room's centre, curled into herself much as Ruck had been, periodically stuffing great chunks of raw meat from the great mounds of flesh piled up around her into her mouth carelessly, uncaring of the mess of clotted blood and meat gobbets around her mouth that she made no effort to clean away. The taint was much further advanced in her; dark splotches of blackness dotted her face and under her eyes, giving the pallid, near-scaly skin a mottled look. Pale, cracked lips encrusted with sores and other diseased cuts periodically muttered the deranged poem they'd heard echoing through the tunnels and her eyes... the woman's eyes were just like Ruck's, glassy and opaque, like the dead-white eyes of a darkspawn.

"I know this drooling moss-licker..." Oghren's voice was husky as he peered at the woman. "It's Hespith; she was captain of Branka's household guard."

"Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers' faces and open doors..." The woman muttered to herself more than anyone, pushing dirty hair that was once blonde but now looked more of a dirty white, falling out in clumps, leaving large bald patches all over her scalp, out of her face, revealing hollowed cheeks smeared with black ichor. Behind him, Arthur vaguely heard Arabella excuse herself and flee back into the tunnel from which they'd come, the sound of her retching carrying to them, not that Arthur blamed her: no doubt, the young mage was wondering if this was how she might have ended up...the same thought that was occurring to Arthur. Would he and Alistair one day look like this deformed, diseased creature when their time came and the taint ran its course, calling them to their final rest?

"I-is this darkspawn corruption? I've never seen anything like it before" Wynne's voice conveyed both fear and disgust at the unknown before her. '_Nor have I'_ Arthur thought; this woman was unlike any ghoul he'd seen before because from what he could feel, the taint within her didn't seem to simply be poisoning her; instead, it seemed to be..._mutating_, changing the flesh it infected, increasing growth and health, altering the body to better suit certain needs. Edward took one sniff of Hespith and then retreated with a whimper behind his master's legs, growling at the tainted woman plaintively, tail firmly between his legs.

"Corruption!" the dwarf hissed, her head pricking up at the voice, her mouth contorted into a snaggle-toothed grimace. "The men did that! Their wounds festered and their minds fled... They are like dogs... marched again, the first to die." The ghoulish woman looked up then, her eyes wide and staring in mortification at some sight only she could see. "Not _us_, not _me_. Not Laryn. We are not cut. We are _fed_. Friends and flesh and blood and bile and… and..."

Hespith collapsed in a heap, uncaring that she was wallowing in filth, her fingers running through the tainted mush coating the floor, the nails long and claw-like, blackened with filth, raking furrows across her mottled skin as she clutched herself, curling into a foetal ball. "All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared...but I had to watch," the dwarf continued to moan, her voice little more than a ragged whisper. "I had to _see_ the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?"

"What change? What did you endure? What... what are they doing?" Arthur asked, immediately regretting the question, certain he wasn't going to like the answer...

"What they are allowed to do. What they think they must. And Branka..." The woman licked her hands, hungrily licking the blackened blood off them and Leliana was gone, joining Arabella to vomit in disgust at the horrific sight of how low this dwarf had fallen in its madness.

Oghren stepped forward then, pressing his way past Arthur, seized Hespith roughly by the front of the tattered scraps of clothing that clung to her emaciated frame and roughly shook her. "Where is she, Hespith, you crazy old bronto? Where's Branka?"

It was the wrong thing to say: with an angry snarl, Hespith lashed out like a cat. Oghren staggered back, more from shock than anything else, and landed on his arse in the muck. Healing energy leapt from Wynne's fingers, cleansing the scratch marks of any possible infection, but Oghren didn't notice, staring up in mute shock at the fury blazing in Hespith's dead, mad eyes.

"DO NOT TALK OF BRANKA! What she did...Ancestors preserve us, I was her captain and...I did not stop her. Her lover... and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has _become_."

"What has she done? Tell us and we can help you end it!" Wynne pleaded, her voice calm and even though her fear was apparent, trying to appeal to whatever rationality was left in the dwarf's mind, but Hespith's only reply was a deranged laugh, a chilling sound that made it quite clear there was nothing left of the woman beyond the insanity that had consumed her.

"End it? I am full of them, just a step away from Laryn! Ending it means accepting and that, t-that I won't do! I will _not_ become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!" Hespith wailed as she fled, scrambling like a monkey on all fours over the piles of raw meat and mutilated bodies, out through a stone doorway and into the corridors beyond.

"Hespith said lover," Oghren muttered darkly. "Branka's _lover_."

"I... she was... she was out of her mind, Oghren," Wynne said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She was _raving_. That could have meant... anything."

"Nah, there's got to be more than that" Oghren growled. "Hespith! Hespith! Get back here now, you moss-licking old coot and start talking sense!" the dwarf bellowed as he hefted his maul and raced out of the room and through the door Hespith had fled out of.

"Oghren, wait!" Arthur yelled, racing after the fleeing form of the berserk dwarf, barely hearing the others bringing up the rear, his own mind trying to make sense of the rambling madness that had been just professed to him.

'_What had Hespith meant by 'the change'? If the darkspawn are behind this, what have they done to this Laryn? And what part did Branka have to play in this?'_

No answers came, only a parade of mad thoughts, each more worrying than the last.

####################

"_She became obsessed... That is the word, but it is not strong enough_..._Blessed Stone, there was __**nothing**__ left in her but the Anvil_"

Despite Hespith's disappearance, they could still hear her. Her voice travelled through the walls, echoing back to them wherever they went. Arthur wouldn't have been surprised to find the ghoul was following them, taunting them with her singsong warnings. Oghren eyed their surroundings verily, his thunderous expression clearly stating he'd like nothing more than to drag Hespith from her hiding place and wring her neck.

They entered another open chamber, and saw two great doors barring their way forward. "I'm guessing the one on the left is the one we want" Arthur muttered, basing his deduction on the pair of ogres standing guard outside. The blue-skinned goliaths roared angrily at the sight of the intruders, one breaking into a charge, the other sinking its fists into the ground, heaving a large section of the floor for a throw; before it could pull back its arms for the throw however, Shale tossed a broken piece of masonry, catching the ogre in its chest, sending the beast staggering back and simultaneously dropping the boulder it had hefted over its head, the heavy stone weight dropping onto its skull with a loud crack that snapped off a good portion of the bone crown of horns. Though this ogre's skull was too thick for the boulder to crack it, it was too dazed to defend itself immediately when Shale tackled it to the floor, heavy granite fists pummelling the darkspawn's head and torso. Arthur and company made to assist, but another problem arose.

The second ogre sprinted straight for them, and the remaining companions scattered before it. Realising its first charge hadn't been effective, the ogre whirled round, advancing towards the closest targets; Leliana and Wynne. The bard was still disorientated and a little uneven from the sight of Hespith, and the mage was doing her best to conjure spells to slow the beast down, but she was still winded and dazed, having hit her head leaping out of the way. The ogre extended a clawed hand towards them-

"OI! Over here, you ugly blue ape!" Arthur yelled at the top of his voice, beating his sword against his shield to draw its attention. The tactic worked; the ogre spun round, away from its initial prey and towards the Warden, beating its fists angrily against its chest, baring its yellowed fangs as it let loose a hungry roar...that became a shriek as Edward, charging from behind, sank his fangs into the back of the behemoth's left leg, fangs ripping at the hamstrings and tendons. Wailing angrily, the ogre's charge became a shambling mess as it desperately tried to shake the war dog off it, but the mabari was too fast a target. More focused on getting rid of the source of its pain than any other potential threat, the ogre failed to notice that it had stumbled straight into the path of Oghren's hammer until the stone head slammed into the right kneecap with a loud crack, crushing the bone into shards.

With one leg crippled and the other mauled, the ogre's balance was lost: unbalanced, it toppled, right in front of Arthur, who wasted no time in raising his sword over his head and bringing it stabbing down into the back of the ogre's skull, the enchanted dragonbone easily cutting through the thick bones of the skull to bury the blade deep into the brain. Spinning round, they saw the battle had turned against Shale; the first ogre had managed to throw the golem off it, pin the stone warrior to the floor and pulled its fists back to rain down a flurry of stone-shattering punches. Before the first blow could fall, however, Wynne shot a orb of grey light that struck the beast in the centre of its chest, and the ogre's angry roars turned into screams as its body began to _petrify_, the rippling musculature and leathery blue skin turning hard and pale, spreading down the arms and legs, up the neck and head until the magic had reduced the ogre to nothing more than a lifeless block of sandstone, one that a couple of well-placed blows from Shale reduced into dust.

"They only attacked when they saw us. Before we came, they were protecting that door..."

"Then shall we find out what they were guarding?" Shale asked even as the golem drove its fist into the lock of the door, shattering it into metal shards and sending the doors slamming open.

"_We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us..._"

Hespith's voice called out over them again, and Arthur growled angrily, heartily sick of the dwarf's gibbering lunacy and the unpleasant mental images it conjured up. "Oy, does she ever shut up?" Arabella muttered angrily, conjuring a magical wisp of light to illuminate the path ahead: the passage was jet black, no torches, no natural light, just the darkness and whatever had taken refuge within it.

"I never liked that sodding bitch," Oghren groused angrily. "She was an annoying cow even when she wasn't half-blind and crazy to boot-"

"_The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them..._"

Leliana was praying rapidly behind them, her voice barely a whisper compared to Hespith's diatribes. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker...The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword...

"_They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends, our family. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood._"

Now Leliana was praying faster than ever, clearly desperate to keep the almost-mocking voice at bay, to drown out the words. "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure..."

And then Wynne's voice joined hers, the two women desperate to draw some comfort to themselves, to gain some hope that their faith hadn't abandoned them in this dark, fetid, _evil _place: "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond, for there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost..."

More of the fleshy, glistening eggs littered the passage, the very stone of the walls and floor stained with the corruption oozing out of them, more numerous than those they'd seen before. And the smell...the stench coming out of the passage was a horrific combination of rotting meat, dried blood and other odours of decay, combined with the fetid stench of an open sewer in the middle of summer, creating an abhorrent melange of aromas that did nothing to ease the nausea they all felt.

Worst of all, he'd begun to feel it again; the familiar itching within the veins, as well as sensations gleaned from the minds of the horde...he could recognise the typical thoughts of darkspawn grunts lurking further in, but there was something else in the darkness, something greater, something _worse..._

"There's something ahead" he muttered in warning to the others. "Something angry...and ravenous"

_"And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them._ _They remade her in their image. Then she... made more of... them_."

Even as Hespith's latest delusion made itself heard, another set of sounds emitted from the end of the tunnel. The first noise they heard wasn't easy to define, but the word that came to mind was _wet_. A sloshing, squelching noise of something moving through...not water, but something..._thicker_.

And then came the screech, part howl of agony, part laugh of utter lunacy, filled with fear and pain, hate and fury as thick and overwhelming as the stench. No darkspawn that they had encountered before, not even the archdemon had ever made such a sound, and the Wardens felt the visceral anguish of it that evoked pity and revulsion in equal measure. Arthur felt a sense of fear, of reluctance to go on that he'd never felt before; _' I don't want to go any further, I don't want to know what lies ahead, I don't want to know what's done this, what's driven them all to madness'_

"Oh, sweet Maker. Tell me she's not... she's not..." Leliana covered her ears with her hands, her expression one of terror, desperately reciting every line of the Chant she could remember.

"What's down there?" Wynne demanded, the older woman's normally impassive countenance wary, almost as frightened as Leliana as she stared at the tunnel's exit "What is it?" Arthur had no answers for her, but another did...

"_Broodmother..._"

Then the tunnel opened up into a cavernous chamber, and they all saw the horror that lurked within.

The bloated, stinking behemoth at the far end of the chamber was taller, broader, and doubtless weighed several tonnes more than both of the ogres they'd just slain. The archdemon had been terrifying enough, but there had been a form of twisted beauty to Urthemiel, a sense of power and majesty about the creature that had been before the taint warped it into the monster it had become. There was nothing redeeming about the foul creature sat at the other side of the cavern whatsoever. A huge, ponderous belly, with twin rows of fleshy, sagging teats like those of a sow's rose and fell with every rasping breath it drew, though Arthur was amazed its weight hadn't already crushed its lungs. Its leathery and pale, almost albino skin, devoid of any form of light in its blood-soaked lair, was greasy, owing to the oily, foul-smelling secretions oozing from every pore. There were no legs visible, nor did he think there was any sort of limbs strong enough to support the beast's ponderous bulk, but from beneath the folds of fat at the body's base, multiple appendages protruded, squid-like tentacles emerging through the bloody sludge coating the chamber floor, reaching out to grasp at its next meal. At the very back of its swollen, insect-like abdomen, Arthur could see a bulging ovipositor, laying more of the fleshy, membranous eggs they'd seen littering the tunnels, the newborn darkspawn inside them already gestating, yet more soldiers for Urthemiel's horde.

Other tendrils slithered across the floor of the cavern, undulating sluggishly in the thick layer of sludge that was the source of the stomach-churning stench: the creature's bodily wastes, oozing from some unseen orifice and mixed with the rotting carcasses of whatever creatures had been dumped there for the beast to gorge itself upon, the unholy mixture of rotting flesh, blood, vomit, excrement and Maker knew what else, of which the creature's tentacles scooped up great gouts of the fleshy mire around it, lifting them up to the creature's gaping mouth, the only way it could feed itself, for while the body had swelled to monstrous proportions, but the arms were stunted and tiny in comparison; it could not hope to reach the floor of the cavern or fit into the largest of the tunnels exiting the cavern, could not move to hunt for prey, could not even reach its own mouth. It was trapped here by its size, wallowing in its own filth, able to do nothing but eat and reproduce, subsumed forever to the will and urges of the creatures that had mutated the individual it once was into the aberration it had become.

But the worst thing about it were its eyes; those small, piggy black orbs that had widened hungrily at the prospect of fresh meat. The creature let loose a ear-splitting scream, part cry of rage, part deranged laugh and, as its gaze bored into Arthur's, he had a terrible suspicion that somewhere, a small part of the woman this monstrosity had been was still in there, fully aware of what had been done to it and what it had become, driven to a point no sane individual should go. Little wonder those eyes were clearly brimming with madness; seeing such a creature in the flesh would be enough to destroy lesser minds, so who knew would actually being made to suffer the horrific, agonising attentions of the darkspawn would do to someone?

His mortification was such that Arthur only just managed to raise his shield in time to block the first tentacle that struck him full in his chest like a battering ram, sending him sprawling in the foul-smelling ooze. Arthur let out a yell as he felt the same tentacle coil like a python around his right shin, retracting towards its host body with incredible speed, the broodmother licking its lips hungrily at the prospect of fresh meat almost in reach...

And then the broodmother's hungry snuffling became a yowl of pain as an arrow struck it in the left eye; the creature fell back, its arms vainly trying to reach its face to pull the shaft out. Arthur chanced a look behind him, to see Leliana, another arrow in flight and the bard's hand notching another to the bowstring. Her expression was calm and resolute as the bard channelled her fear and horror into rage, an emotion far more useful in the battle to come. It was advice Arthur chose to take.

"KILL IT! KILL THIS BEAST!" Arthur roared at the top of his lungs, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword free. There could be no more room for pity or mercy, no sympathy for the person the monster had been. Laryn could not be saved, only put out of her misery.

The broodmother let out a furious shriek, directing the full brunt of its gaze at Arthur, its remaining eye brimming with undiluted hate. The Warden doubted the creature had understood what he'd said, but considering the half dozen armed figures closing around it, the giant darkspawn had to know it was threatened. Two more tentacles darted out like snakes, but Arthur was ready this time; leaping away from their strike, Arthur slashed out with Duncan's sword, severing both with ease, the stumps bleeding black ichor as the wailing monster drew them back to its body. Three more burst out of the ground; Arthur sliced one in half as it lunged, pinned the second under his foot and hacked it off, only to then be swept off his feet as the third tentacle curled around his ankles. But before it could take advantage, Edward leapt to the attack, seizing the tentacle and tearing it up out of the ground in a spray of dark blood like uprooting a weed. At the same time as getting back to his feet, Arthur heard a whoosh of flames roaring to life as Arabella let loose a fireball that slammed into the monster's right shoulder, setting the oily secretions coating it ablaze, while Wynne and Leliana threw glass bottles that smashed against the beast's chest, drenching its sagging teats in acid, and now an edge of fear crept into the broodmother's wails. It lashed out again, its tentacles cracking like whips, but the warriors hacked their way through the fleshy, suckered thicket with ease.

They had it now. With enough of its tentacles severed, there wouldn't be enough for the creature to defend itself against all of them and while some kept it distracted, the others could move in for the kill. Made immobile and helpless by its own mutations, it wouldn't stand a chance, Arthur thought as he advanced with the others, grinning savagely.

And then the broodmother threw back its head and let loose an ear-splitting scream that reverberated off the cavern walls, echoing long after the beast had stopped. And its cry was heard.

"It's calling for help!" Arthur roared, ripping Duncan's dagger from its sheath and hurling it, the blade spinning end over end and slamming into the neck of one of the two dozen darkspawn emerging from the other side passages into the cavern. Leliana spun round and shot an arrow point blank into the chest of a charging hurlock, dropping it and causing two more behind it to trip over its corpse. Arabella and Wynne likewise spun round, Wynne conjuring a jet of ice onto the floor that sent a trio of genlocks sprawling to the ground, magicial lightning from her counterpart's fingertips fatally electrocuting the downed creatures, while Oghren spun round like a dervish, snapping the legs of any darkspawn that got in the way of his hammer. Arthur made to fight at the dwarf's side as he smashed the chest of a hurlock even as the mabari tore out its throat, but Oghren waved him away.

"No, me, the hairball and the walking rockery will handle this bunch! You and the ladies concentrate on Fatso over there!"

Arthur nodded and returned to facing the broodmother, only to hear a scream of fright as Leliana was lifted by her leg by yet another tentacle that had burst up from the ground behind her, but before it could retract to deposit her in its waiting grasp, Wynne sent a boulder hurtling straight into the left side of the beast's skull, crushing the temple and the eye socket, driving bone shards into the remaining eye. The monster's already horrid screams only increased as its arms tried to clutch feebly at its blinded eyes, dropping Leliana in the bloody slime right in front of it in its agony. Arthur made to go to her side before pressing the advantage, but a trio of genlocks intercepted him, though Arthur could not tell whether they were still trying to seperate Leliana from the others or defend the broodmother. The closest lost its head to Arthur's sword but the two remaining leapt out of reach of the slash, trying to take advantage of the opening, but Arthur blocked the stab and slammed the shield into one's chest and the sword's pommel into the other's forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Leliana getting back to her feet...

##############

Leliana shook her head to clear it, getting groggily to her feet. The screams of the blinded broodmother were ear-splitting, only intensifying as Arabella bathed its face and chest in fire conjured from her hands.

"Die! Die, you wretched thing, just _DIE!_" the mage screamed at the top of her lungs. Leliana could well understand the panic-driven fury that the woman was feeling, because the same thoughts were going through her head; had things been more different, could the taint have forced the same horrific transformations on Arabella? Could she have become the next monster to rot in the darkness, birthing more and more of the foul monsters that had poisoned and mutated her until the mercy of death finally claimed her?

Leliana knew what it was like to be violated, to be used to satisfy men's cruel lusts and desires for their pleasures through her pain but _this..._this was beyond even that horrific sort of defilement. No matter what this beast was, once it had been a woman just like her, had likely had plans, dreams, loves and no one deserved to be left to linger like this for the rest of their life, denied passage to the Maker's or the Ancestors' side, kept as a deformed and deranged slave to satisfy the depraved lusts and urges of the darkspawn . _'I will free you, sister, I swear it_!'

The broodmother was blind in both eyes, unable to see how close she was, its sense of smell overwhelmed by the other fetid odours to catch her scent. It was their best opportunity, but the others were surrounded by tentacles and darkspawn desperately trying to defend their matriarch; it would have to be her.

Putting aside her bow and unsheathing one of her daggers and the brutal-looking axe she'd claimed from the spider nest, Leliana broke into a run, leaping onto the broodmother's insectile abdomen in a cat-like crouch, before leaping up, trying to gain a hand-hold on the greasy skin of the broodmother's back. Her left hand found purchase in the fatty folds, but her right lost its grip and she would have gone sliding off had she not swung out with her weapon at the last second, the dragonbone axe blade sinking into the meaty shoulder. The broodmother, alerted to her presence now, begin to buck and thrash, its blind head swinging wildly from side to side, as well as using several of its tentacles to try and prise her off, but she stabbed out with perfect precision as the tentacles lunged, fending them off until her torso was level with the beast's neck, wrapping an arm around its throat to keep herself in place, trying not to vomit in disgust at being in close proximity to such foulness.

The smell of the creature was even worse so close, but Leliana somehow suppressed her rising gorge as she left the axe embedded in the colossal darkspawn's shoulder and drew the Thorn of the Dead Gods in her right hand. The leathery skin and layers of blubbery fat at the back were too thick for the dagger to penetrate deep enough to do any serious injury, but she could see a far more effective point to strike...

Plunging the dagger in her left hand at the juncture between neck and shoulder, she managed to get the Thorn under the multiple chins as the broodmother pulled its head back to scream in pain, driving the dagger into the soft skin at the throat. The silverite's cold bite drew yet another howl from the beast as it realised it was in mortal danger, its desperate thrashings to try and shake her off only increasing, but Leliana evaded the grasping appendages trying to seize her and with a guttural snarl, the bard pushed the dagger in as deep as it would go, and then tore it across the throat. The tough skin, flesh and fat resisted for a moment, but couldn't stop the razor sharpness from cutting through with lethal effect. The broodmother's screams reached a horrific pitch as its lifeblood flooded down its bloated belly in a jet-black fountain, its strength swiftly ebbing away, the tentacles thrashing spasmodically in its death throes, its weakening gurgles intermingling with the bard's joyous cry of triumph...

Until she felt the tentacle coiling around her belt, dragging her off her perch...

Tossing her through the air with considerable force, sending her hurtling towards the cave wall with quite some speed...

"Oh _merde_" she muttered just before her head connected with the stone.

###############

"Leliana!" Arthur roared, desperately trying to fight down the panic that surged through him as he watched the mortally injured broodmother seize her in its tentacles and then toss her away with considerable force towards the cavern wall, the bard colliding headfirst with the unyielding stone with an audible crunch and slumping to the floor, unmoving. But his initial fear was nothing compared to the terror that shot through him, sinking icy claws into his heart as he watched three hurlocks break away from trying to overwhelm Oghren and race over to the downed woman. He initially feared that they intended to kill her in her helpless state, but when he saw the darkspawn lift her up, two holding her by her arms, the other clutching her legs, a more terrifying realisation took its place:

'_The broodmother is dying...and so now, a replacement is required'_

He could see her begin to struggle as she realised what was happening, came to the same conclusion and realised the danger she was in, hearing his name being screamed desperately at the top of her voice, begging him to save her again, but the enemy were working together to deny him. Two hurlocks threw themselves at him, uncaring as he ran them through, using their dying bodies to weigh him down. The other companions seemed to be doing the same, to reach the bard before it was too late, Wynne shooting arcane bolts towards the would-be abductors, but other darkspawn leapt in their way, taking the fatal blow, Oghren trying to hack his way through but more darkspawn threw themselves at him even as he cut down their predecessors; even Edward tried to break through to his master's lover, but a shriek that had emerged from one of the side passages tackled the dog, the two animals clawing and biting each other in a frenzy, all else forgotten.

Arthur had never felt such despair in his life: the darkspawn were too determined to keep their prize, genlocks and hurlocks sacrificing themselves without pause to let those holding Leliana get away, too many in his path to reach her. She would be taken-it would be too easy for the darkspawn to lose their pursuers in the labyrinth of tunnels and catacombs they made their lairs in- and there, they would feed her, change her, force her into a form of their choosing, until there was nothing left of the beautiful, compassionate, wonderful woman he'd fallen in love with; just a deranged, bestial husk condemned to end her days in some distant cavern, shut away from the sky and screaming her madness into the uncaring darkness as she brought more of the monsters that had befouled her Maker's world into existence...

And then he heard the sound of rushing wind, even though there was no way a breeze could be blowing through the tunnels and felt an acrid bitter taste in the back of his mouth; the sign of sorcery being summoned, the roaring winds called into being blowing darkspawn off their feet, clearing a path to the fleeing three. Looking round, Arthur saw Arabella rising up into the air, her arms outstretched as if she were about to take flight, chanting words rapidly in the language of Tevinter, the incantation audible even over the raging winds. In her right hand was her staff, its headpiece crackling with magical electricity; in her right was a short-bladed knife, its blade dripping with blood, the same blood that was dripping from a self-inflicted wound on her left shoulder, the blood hissing like meat on a skillet as the power within was drawn forth, coalescing into an orb of crackling energy level with her chest. Arabella cast aside her staff and the blade, her incantation reaching a crescendo as she seized the orb, continuing to grow as she bled into it, growing from the size of an apple, to that of a melon, to the size of a human head-

"Rise! Rise, you wretched dead! Rise up and avenge yourself on those who slew you!" Arabella roared at the top of her voice in Arcanum as she descended with alarming speed, slamming the globe of magical energy in her hands into the ground, the magic spreading across the floor to where the darkspawn holding Leliana were trying to flee...and the dozens of corpse and skeletons picked clean and left to rot on the cave floor began to rise up, the necromantic magic the young mage had summoned instilling them with a measure of life, orbs of eldritch blue light flickering in empty eye sockets, forming a barricade of flesh and bone between the darkspawn trying to carry off Leliana and the safety of the tunnels. Arthur pushed down the surge of horrified astonishment at being witness to the sort of magic he'd fought against not so long ago, because it might be his last chance to save her.

The undead Arabella had summoned were not strong or fast, and the darkspawn needed little more than a few blows to hack the walking skeletons into pieces, but there were dozens of them and the darkspawn were unwilling to relinquish their prize to devote their full attention to fighting their way through, so their progress at hacking through the blocking undead attackers was slow...just enough for him to catch up. As the darkspawn tried to cut their way through the walking dead to safety, Arthur fell upon them like a falcon among pigeons, and then there was no safety or mercy to be had.

The first hurlock he reached, the one holding the bard up by her legs, had its right arm hacked off at the shoulder before it realised it was in danger; Arthur plunged his sword into its back as it clutched screaming at the gaping wound. The second, holding the bard by her left arm with its back to him, turned round at the sound of its brood mate screaming, and Arthur opened its throat, the fiend dropping his lover as it vainly tried to staunch the dark blood flooding from its opened neck. The third had the sense to let go of its captive to draw its sword, but Arthur's frenzy would not be denied; his first blow the hurlock parried, but the force of it sent the warrior to its knees. The second blow snapped the sword halfway along its length, the crudely forged steel no match for the honed, enchanted dragonbone and the third buried the sword almost to the hilt in the hurlock's chest. Arthur let the sword stay there for a moment, then twisted the blade and tore it out in a downward slash that disembowelled the darkspawn, the hurlock collapsing to the slushy ground entangled in its own intestines. Arthur grabbed Leliana and all but dragged her out of the way, leaving the hurlock to die squirming in its own guts. When they were out of reach of any darkspawn, Arthur reclaimed his sword, preparing to return to the fray, to make the darkspawn pay for what they had dared to try and take from him in so much blood they would drown in it-

Only to find it was all but over; the handful of darkspawn that remained trying to retreat back into the pits from where they emerged, but the companions were merciless: Arthur stayed by Leliana's side, watching as Arabella's skeletal minions encircled the darkspawn and drove them back towards the waiting Shale, Oghren and Edward, who tore through the remaining creatures like hot knives through butter; Shale tore off limbs and crushed skulls, the mabari tore out throats and crippled legs and the dwarf finished off those Edward and Shale left behind or missed , staving in ribcages and smashing heads to mush. Arabella shot bolts of lightning and balls of fire at any darkspawn that escaped the others or her 'puppets', while Wynne raced over to the bard, running her hands over Leliana, glowing green energy coursing over her, searching for any sign of the taint or injury. After a few seconds, the flow of magical energy ceased and Wynne, giving the Orlesian woman a small smile and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder said "You're alright"

Leliana nodded mutely at this, before turning her attention fully to Arthur, her lip quivering, emerald eyes brimming with tears on the verge of spilling."You came for me"

"Always" Arthur swore fervently. "I swore that I would always fight to protect you, and I always keep my word"

Leliana nodded mechanically, and then the dam burst and Leliana collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably at what had almost come to pass, and Arthur just knelt there beside her, uncaring of the filthy muck around them as he pulled away her helm, stroking her hair and muttering simple comforts to calm her, to reassure her that she was safe, still uncorrupted, that the evil that had sought to claim her for itself had not found purchase on her.

"It's alright, it's alright, you're safe, I won't let them take you, I will never let anything harm you" he swore fervently with every motion of his fingers through her hair, her sobs slowing as she began to calm. the wracking tremors beginning to ease. Edward, Oghren and Shale were busy finishing off the wounded or dying darkspawn, but Wynne broke away from them for another target, reaching Arabella with a look of pugnacious fury on her face, sharply jabbing a finger into the younger woman's chest to get her attention.

"That was among the worst sort of magic one could use, worthy of the depravities of the magisters of old. Are you no better than that fiend at Ostagar?"

"A minor evil for a greater good!" Arabella retorted angrily. "The Grey Wardens make use of every weapon, every tool that comes to hand! Are you blind, you old fool? Did you not see what was happening? I _saved Leliana's life! _What would _you_ have me do, stand idly by and let those _aberrations_ drag her off to be their plaything?"

"How about saving her by not using magic as abhorrent as that? You're a mage and a Grey Warden; you're supposed to be an example of how mages should be, not a-"

"_That's where they come from_." Hespith's voice, no longer distorted by the tunnels, was startlingly close, and a moment's search revealed the dwarf standing on a ledge directly above the bloated carcass, staring down at them and pointing at the dead monster. The meagre light from the flames cast her deformed features into an eerie light, and the silvery sheen of her eyes was unnervingly prominent. Her gaze was fixed squarely on Leliana and Arabella, as if making a final reminder of how close they'd come to sharing the same fate as her, Laryn and Maker knew how many others, before it finally turned to the Warden.

_"That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was __**allowed**__. Branka... my love... The Stone has punished me, dream friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal."_

Arthur seized Leliana's discarded bow, notching the shaft and pulling back the string, uncertain whether he was about to shoot to put the dwarf woman out of her misery or to just shut her up, unwilling to listen to any more of the poisonous insanity she'd whispered in their ears, unable to give a precise name to the emotion that roiled through him as he drew back the bowstring- _Pity? Fear? Revulsion? Rage? Perhaps all four_?-, but it was a futile gesture: with a final soft gasp, Hespith stepped out into empty air, falling, crashing into the cave wall twice, landing headfirst with a wet snap on the broodmother's hulking corpse, before crash-landing in a broken heap, dead before she'd hit the ground. '_Better that than what was to come'_

"_Forgive her, but no, she can't be forgiven, not for what she did, not for what she has become"_ Hespith had said, and if there was any truth in her madness, then Branka had led all the people of her House, the men and women who'd trusted in her, believed she would lead them to both safety and glory, instead to their deaths or worse than death, and for what?

'_So much death, so much madness and misery caused for the sake of just one woman and her ambitions' _Arthur thought despairingly as they piled up Hespith's corpse, those of the darkspawn and as many of the repulsive eggs as they could find around the broodmother's carcass and then set the whole lot ablaze, hoping the pyre would distract any more darkspawn that came nosing around after them as they made their way deeper into the tunnels, but Arthur's mind was fixed on one morbid thought; that in this place of madness and horror, they had not seen the worst of it.

_For all that we've seen in this tunnels, I think we've yet to meet the worst monster down here'_


	44. Chapter 42: Light Up The Darkness

_Ok, sorry this has taken me so long, but best laid plans have gone awry with the onset of Christmas. To try and compensate, I give you not one but two chapters, the last chapters of 2011, and mercifully, the last chapters that need to deal with the Deep Roads (thank God!). First one touches on the aftermath of the broodmother battle, resolving some of the issues left over from that, while the second brings us to the Anvil of the Void and my resolution of 'A Paragon of Her Kind'._

_I'm taking a brief break over Christmas and New Year to pursue a couple of personal projects (among them, a short story, maybe four or five chapters long, set in the same universe detailing, as I've hinted before, what Fergus and his fellow rebels are up to while his little brother runs round trying to save Ferelden that should tie in to the upcoming Landsmeet) but come January, I'll be back to work on this; just a couple more chapters to tie up some loose ends and then it's on to Denerim and the Landsmeet! (I still can't quite believe how far we've come!)_

_As always thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work. Special thanks to __**Ygrain333, Theodur, spectre4hire, KnightofHolyLight**__, __**Aaron W**__ and __**MysticGohan88 **__for your great reviews, and to __**acer2388, rampagingcrabs, bryan Maxwell**__ and __**unbroken wing**__ for adding this to favourites; knowing so many are still reading this is a great incentive to keep going!_

_As always, __**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

_Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!_

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'_Light up the darkness'-Bob Marley_

_##################_

They kept moving through the tunnels, the sound of crackling flames and the scent of charring flesh lingering long after the broodmother's carcass was left in the distance. The darkspawn were still out there, he could feel them, but for the moment, they'd abandoned the hunt for the Wardens and company; Arthur suspected the broodmother's death having robbed those still lingering in the tunnels of the will to fight, which relieved him to no end. Since they knew now that the darkspawn were willing to take captives, not to mention their reasons, it was not impossible they'd come looking for revenge...or worse, come looking to reacquire their candidate to replace the slain monster.

Their traipsing continued until the passage they were following became so narrow that it was only possible for them to pass through one at a time; moving through the rock wall, they found themselves in a cave that was near as large as the cavern where Urthemiel had marshalled his troops, though mercifully devoid of rampaging darkspawn, the only thing of note a large underground lake that Wynne and Arabella had pronounced clean and safe to drink. With a safe place to recover themselves, the companions had set down their packs and began to set up camp. Leliana had all but been dead on her feet, having walked out of the broodmother's lair behind them in a near-catatonic daze; the moment they'd stopped, she'd collapsed to the ground, curled up and fallen asleep almost immediately. Arthur had made to go over to her, but a firm hand on his shoulder had stopped him in his tracks.

"Let her rest. She's been through quite a lot. Give her some time" Wynne had softly, but firmly insisted, and Arthur had been forced to agree, pausing only to throw a blanket over the bard and make sure she was alright, pressing a kiss against her brow before joining the others as they swiftly began to set up a makeshift camp for the evening (at least, Arthur assumed it was night above-time had long since ceased to have any meaning).

Oghren removed a few lumps of coal from his pack and Arabella ignited them with a spark from her fingertips, creating a swiftly blazing fire around which the companions deposited themselves, save for Shale. Arthur removed his armour as did Oghren, and Arabella and Wynne approached to check for any major injuries that needed tending, green healing energy soothing the bruises, abrasions and other blows the broodmother and its darkspawn defenders had dealt. Oghren, dealt with more quickly, and Shale returned to the cave entrance to keep watch for any signs of pursuit, while Arabella, announcing her intention to take a bath and get the fetid stink of darkspawn off her, moved further down the cave, looking for a place to get some privacy. The moment the younger woman was out of earshot, Arthur turned to Wynne, who was running a hand over his ribs and back, looking for fractures.

"You shouldn't have been so hard on her" Arthur replied firmly. Wynne looked a little surprised at his forthrightness, but rallied almost immediately.

"She is a Grey Warden,yes, but she is also a mage. She could be an example of how people do not need to fear magic, how it can be used to benefit all, but instead, she continues to dabble in the worst sorts, the kind of magic people fear the most-"

"Maybe so, but she is right about one thing. You saw that creature, Wynne; do you really think there's anything anyone wouldn't do to destroy aberrations like that? Because I can't; if I'd known before hand. Besides, I remember Alistair telling me something Duncan once said, that he wondered if the Chantry's many laws regarding magic were even necessary. Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages, even abominations. I agree with Arabella; the darkspawn have, and always will be the priority of the Grey Wardens, and we must use any weapon at our disposal to push them back. Tell me, if your only recourse was blood magic, if you knew a single blood spell that could end the Blight and save thousands of lives, would you not do it? As Arabella said, it would be a minor evil for a greater good"

Wynne seemed a little discomforted that the Grey Wardens would be proponents of a belief that went against her own philosophy, but she continued to argue, pointedly ignoring Arthur's questions, the Warden noted: "Even so, the fact remains that she knows that blood magic is dangerous and unstable; I, Irving and Maker knows how many other tutors that girl has had over the years tried to drill that into her head, but still-" Wynne groused, stopping only when she saw Arthur was chuckling slightly, frowning as she waited to hear what was so amusing.

"You're strong-willed and you have faith in your beliefs, and that's good-it gives you strength and purpose when it's needed, I can understand that, but sometimes such blind faith can be as much a hindrance as a help. Have you thought that perhaps you're a bit too set in your ways? I personally, have always thought that magic is not at fault; only the people who wield it. I mean, I know all about the stigma that is attached to blood magic, how it helped unleash in the ancient past of Thedas, but who was using it? Corrupt and power-hungry men desperate to ascend to yet further heights. Tell me something, and answer me truthfully this time: does Arabella Amell strike you as power-hungry and ambitious? The sort who would use such power to pave her own ascent to power?"

Wynne was silent for so long, Arthur almost thought she wouldn't answer. When she finally spoke, it was in a soft, almost sullen voice that said quite clearly he'd won the argument. "No. Irving always said she was among the most level-headed of his students, that she seemed to have the best grasp of what she was capable of..."

"Precisely. In all the time I've known her, I've only ever seen her use blood magic twice, and both times, it has been to save lives. Not to harm or control people, but to save them" Arthur replied fairly. "Does that strike you as the actions of an out-of-control, dangerous maleficar seeking to ape the debaucheries of ancient Tevinter?"

"Her choice of a path was still foolish" Wynne continued to protest with adamant determination; it was enough to both impress and annoy Arthur. "I admit freely the Circle is not perfect, but she helped Uldred nearly undo all the good we have done in Ferelden for countless generations. Not to mention to gain the knowledge of how to wield blood magic, one has to make who knows what manner of unholy pact with a demon-"

"She made a mistake, as do we all, and she has done her utmost to rectify it. Besides, consider the fact you're not the shining example of a mage on the straight and narrow yourself. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the Circle view those sharing their bodies with a spirit in the same negative light as maleficarum?" Arthur replied archly, raising an eyebrow at Wynne, whose expression seemed defeated, knowing that her own arguments were exhausted and that the Warden made a fair point; her actions had been hypocritical and reactionary. Arthur regretted being so forceful, but he could not allow such divisions to fester.

"I don't say these things to make you feel bad; I say them because we cannot afford to be at each other's throats. When we are done with this unholy, festering pit, we will be returning to the surface where an enemy of us all awaits, eager to kill us all should the opportunity present itself. If we are at each other's throats, fighting amongst ourselves while the Landsmeet and the other battles yet to come unfold around us, it will only be to the advantage of Loghain and the darkspawn"

"Then what would you have me do?" Wynne replied, and Arthur couldn't help but feel amused and a little surprised at the reversal of their roles: how he was the one now dispensing advice on the best cause of action. _'What strange circumstances fate makes for us'_

"For all our sakes, make your peace with Arabella. Admit that you were too forceful with her, that you accept that, despite your reservations, you understand and acknowledge that she acted with the best of intentions and as she said, more good came of it than evil. After all, had it not been for her quick thinking" Arthur trailed off with a look at the sleeping form of Leliana "I'm not sure we wouldn't be mourning the loss of one of our number"

"You are right. While I will never be entirely comfortable with the notion of openly practicing blood magic, her actions were for a good cause, and...considering what those creatures intended with Leliana, I can understand why she reacted as she did; no one deserves such a fate" Wynne admitted, getting to her feet and waiting for Arabella to return from her attempts at cleanliness in the waters of the underground lake. As she made to depart, Wynne turned back to regard her younger companion, her expression the sort one sees on a teacher whose student has just raised an intriguing point they themselves hadn't considered.

"You've grown wise before your time. At the very least, you've certainly learned how to negotiate a compromise in your travels"

"What can I say?" Arthur replied, managing to raise a soft smile despite their surroundings and the severity of their discussion. "I learned from the master". Wynne returned the smile faintly, clasping a hand to Arthur's shoulder and nodded in approval.

"He'd be proud of you, Arthur. Bryce Cousland would be proud of the man his son has become, I'm certain of it".

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Oghren took another copious swig of whisky from one of the several hipflasks concealed about his person, the familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach, the taste on his tongue a welcome sensation, certainly more welcome than the bitter memories that were swirling around in his already befuddled mind, the thought of what Branka had done, and the notion that the woman they were likely to find waiting for them was not the one he'd been married to.

He'd always known Branka had tended towards eccentricity, and their marriage had been anything but peaceful, considering his liking for liquor and his roving eye even then, not to mention Branka's devotion to her work that always bordered on obsession and her perpetually short temper, but there had always been a limit...at least up until now. But now, if there was any truth to what Hespith had said, then Branka's ambition, which had always been strong, had pushed her to a place from perhaps which there was no return...

"Sovereign for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking about Branka" Oghren bitterly muttered, not sure if he wanted to discuss the matter with the Warden. Sure, the fellow seemed half-way decent; considering most of Orzammar had looked down on him in the same manner as they did nug shit, the human lad had given him a purpose again, allowed him to be something useful, instead of the somnambulant wretched lump who'd spent every hour of every day before trying to drink himself to death in Tapsters, had allowed him to take up the blade once more and get back to fighting, something he enjoyed almost as much as drinking, but he couldn't entirely be certain what would happen when they found his wife...just as he couldn't say what he wanted to happen.

"Surely, she wasn't as mad as all the evidence seems to suggest?" the Warden put forward diplomatically, though Oghren could see the glimmer of the bloodlust for killing, much like Oghren himself felt in battle, and the dwarf had little doubt as to who the Warden's fury was directed at.

"Oh, you don't know her, Warden" Oghren chuckled darkly, though he felt no humour. "She was cracked worse than a glass floor, and that was _before_ she became a Paragon. After that, she really fell apart..." his voice trailed off before he spoke again. "Tell me something, boy; you married? You and the redhead ever do that whole joining of hands lark?

"Thank the hardest stone you can find. Marriage is for suckers. Take me for example; all I ever got out of that moss-licker was a headache, a deaf ear, a scratched-up back and that rash it took three different ointments to get rid of. And then she leaves me and flits about with that watered-down tart, Hespith? Urgh, just the thought of them rolling about on the floor of the Deep Roads, licking, biting, intertwined...er, excuse me" Oghren quickly broke away, leaving the Warden staring incredulously at his retreating back. '_Good, let him think I'm still the lecherous, drunken sod the whole world believes I am. It's better that way. Better that no one see how deep that wound cuts..._'. Oghren had long learned to hide weakness and emotion from others, since he knew it would only likely be rewarded with scorn. '_Perhaps in time...no, some things are better never said'._

Branka was going to have a great deal of explaining to do when they finally reached her. He'd seen the look in the Grey Warden's eyes when Hespith had made that last rant, accusing Branka of being responsible for the deaths and corruption of the House. He didn't know what Branka had done exactly, and Hespith hadn't exactly been lucid, leading Oghren to if there were another explanation, some reason behind what had happened, preferably better than the insane ramblings of a dwarf riddled with the darkspawn taint.

'_Branka, I just hope you've got some good answers, because I get the feeling that if your answers aren't to his liking, this boy's gonna cut through you faster than a duster with a plate of nug ribs!_' Oghren thought to himself, trying to consider a list of extenuating circumstances for Branka, anything that might make the Warden stay his sword long enough to hear her out. '_Perhaps she got separated, perhaps the rest of the House stayed behind to buy her time to get past the 'spawn, perhaps-'_

'_You don't honestly believe that, after what you've just seen?'_ the brutally honest part of his mind, still alive despite his best efforts to poison it down the years, asked, the same part that had tried to stop him from going alone after, the same part of his mind that had tried to stop him from fighting that first-blood Proving that had ended with a young noble son dead and Oghren left a broken husk of a dwarf, one that the constant intakes of alcohol-fuelled irrationality couldn't prevail over.

'_I believe I want another drink'_ Oghren thought as he helped himself to another generous measure, the conflicting thoughts washed away by a tide of amber-hued liquor. As he swallowed, the peace that always washed over came blissfully. As the drunken haze clouded his mind, Oghren vaguely remembered he was supposed to be on watch with the golem, and found he did not care, about that or much else.

'_Why worry? It's better this way'_.

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_Rainwater from the storm outside blew in through the barred window above her, the only source of light in her cell, but even the ferocity of the storm couldn't diminish the strength of the iron bars and the stones of the window, rendering escape still impossible. The moisture had seeped into everything: the dirty straw that served as bedding; the thin woollen rag, frayed and full of holes, the meagre blanket she'd been permitted; the stale bread and filthy water that was never enough to satisfy her hunger and thirst; the tattered rags that barely merited the term 'clothing', thrust upon her each time her captors were finished with her, just so they could tear them off again the next time._

_She had forgotten what it was to be warm, dry, safe. She couldn't remember how long had it been since they'd dragged her from her bed in the dead of night, brandished the altered documents in her face even as the guards shouted things like 'Traitor' and 'Treasonous, back-stabbing whore' to her, even as they forced her hands behind her back and bound them, thrown a sack over her head and dragged her here to this dank, horrid place. Marjolaine's opulent manor and her warm, soft bed there felt more like a dream now. Reality was this cage of granite and iron, the cold that had sunken into her bones, the relentless gnawing of starvation in the pit of her stomach, the equally relentless thrum of fear that filled her, running through her veins in the place of blood and always, the anguishing ache of betrayal that cut deeper than all the rest. Real was the certainty of the next round of torture: rough hands and sweaty, unwashed bodies pinning her down, even though she was too weak to fight back, coarse laughter and voices thick with cruel lust, feeling the meagre rags being torn off her to leave her exposed and helpless, vainly trying to hide her nudity even as she was forced to submit to the brutal, savage lusts of her torturers. Only after they had used her as they saw fit and their base desires demanded, were the more conventional instruments of torture brought out. Not that it mattered to her; she screamed whether the guards were forcing themselves on her, at the feel of the red-hot knifes and brands cutting into and searing her skin, or the biting lash of the whip against her back, her thighs, wherever her captors could reach. _

_Once they were done, the guards dragged her back to her cell, naked, bleeding and weary, threw her back inside and she would be left with her agony for a few hours, then healed so that the old pain would not dull her reactions to the next round. She had long ago screamed out all that she knew, desperately pleading her innocence and denying the charges they shouted at her, but her captors had not wanted to hear it, no matter how many times she'd shrieked it at them that day and yesterday, and before that, however long it been, time having long lost meaning in this place where darkness ruled and light was a harbinger of pain. Beaten and bloody, limbs stretched to the point of breaking on the rack, she'd finally cracked and given them what they wanted, sobbing the words of the confession as they gave them to her, swearing to the Maker that it was true and affixing her wavering signature to the piece of parchment that detailed her 'crimes'. She had not expected them to heal her after, but they had, not that it was any comfort: the respite from the pain was another torment, a promise of further, even worse pain to come. _

_She could hear them coming now. Her ears were attuned to the sounds of the dungeons: the screams and pleas of the tortured, the gibbering of the insane, the drip of water and, above all, the creak of the gate at the entrance to her cell block and the scuff of booted feet on stone. She heard the scraping and clicking of a key turning in the lock, and the cell door swung open. This could only be it._

_"No!"she whimpered as she tried to crawl into the corner of her cell, almost as if she were trying to press herself into the stone itself and away from the half dozen shadowy figures stood at the entrance to her cell. A flash of lightning from outside illuminated the cell with ghoulish light, and she saw the intruders were not her captors, but hurlocks, dead-white eyes fixed on her and their mouths drawn up in those death's-head grins that sent a shiver of terror deep into her soul._

_The first creature stormed over to her, seizing her by the throat and forcing her to look into that merciless, hungry gaze, ignoring her desperate pleading for mercy. The needle-fanged maw opened with a hiss, and her screams were muffled as the darkspawn forcibly pressed its mouth to hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss, gagging as the hurlock vomited _something _into her mouth, an oily, gristly fluid that she could feel writhing and twisting as it forced its way down-_

_The hurlock tossed her aside for another to take its turn spewing filth in her mouth and as she looked down, she was horrified to see her belly had swollen to gargantuan proportions, her skin taking on a greyish hue and worst, she could feel _them, _movement within her bloated womb, as if dozens of newborn darkspawn were trying to claw their way out of her. She'd no notion of how this monstrous perversion of pregnancy quickened so fast but the pain from her loins was unmistakeable; she was birthing._

_Desperate, she looked for any way out of this horror, to escape the nightmare she was trapped in, and to her horror, saw Marjolaine's face staring into the cell, watching the depraved spectacle with a detached satisfaction. And why wouldn't she? Her protégé had served her purpose, taken the fall for Marjolaine's crimes without raising suspicion on herself, why wouldn't the deceitful, treacherous bitch not look pleased with herself?_

_And then the woman, her mentor, her lover, her _betrayer, _spoke words that rang in her ears even as another wave of contractions tore through her_.

_**The true abomination is not that it occurred...but that it was allowed.**_

_"No! No! No, please, NO!"_

Leliana bolted awake with a strangled yowl of fright. The blanket draped over her seemed to be constricting her, trapping her as surely as the embrace of an iron maiden, there seemed to be no escape-

"Leli, _please!_ Calm down, it's alright, it's alright". A firm, calm voice spoke in her ear, its tone gentle and reassuring even as a strong hand pulled the blanket away, freeing her from the confines her thrashing had created. "It was just a nightmare. You're safe"

The second her arms were free, Leliana threw them around Arthur, her Warden crouched on his haunches behind her. He almost lost his balance for a second, but regained himself, showing no sign of discomfort or shock, just being the solid presence of comfort and strength he seemed to realise she needed, armoured arms slipping round her, drawing her close, feeling the cold sensation of gauntleted fingers running through her hair, and she hung on desperately, burying her face in the Warden's shoulder, listening to the sweet nothings and words of reassurance he murmured in her ear, trying to banish the darkness and the cold of her nightmares. _This is real. This is now -_

"What's going on?" Arabella's voice sounded groggy, as if she'd just woken and Leliana felt a conflicting well of emotions regarding the younger woman; regret that her fears had woken her companion, wariness, born of her time in the Chantry, of the sort of magic she'd invoked in that battle and most of all, a deep upwelling of gratitude, grateful for the woman's quick thinking and reaction, without which Leliana could well have been taken for-

'_No, I will not think more on that'._

"Just a nightmare." Arthur's voice was calm, soothing, addressing his fellow Warden but speaking to Leliana, one hand still running through her hair soothingly. "Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep" Leliana heard the mage grunt an acknowledgment, saw her turn over and become motionless once more. Looking round, Leliana saw the others were fast asleep too; Wynne, curled up in her bedroll, Oghren snoring loudly on the other side of the dwindling embers, his head propped up by the sleeping Edward, the mabari growling and twitching periodically in his sleep. The only one besides her and Arthur awake was Shale, the golem keeping watch on the narrow entrance to the cave, showing no interest at all in the activities of its fleshy companions.

Leliana continued to nuzzle closer, desperate to draw strength from the contact, to banish any last lingering vestiges of her nightmare, slipping her hands between the gaps of her Warden's armour, seeking the warmth beneath. "Maker's breath, you're like a block of ice!" Arthur winced as he felt how chilly her skin was against his.

"It was cold in the dream," Leliana murmured. "So cold."

Arthur sank down to the floor, moving to try and stoke the dwindling fire, but Leliana shook her head, grabbing his right hand and pulling away the silverite glove, pressing his warm hand against her heart, luxuriating in the feel of his rough, calloused fingers against the bare skin around her upper chest and throat.

"It's a different sort of warmth I want" she said. The Warden caught her meaning in an instant, metal-clad fingers moving towards the buckles of the leather straps that fastened the silverite breastplate. Urgency lent his fingers speed and before long the breastplate, fauld, greaves and gauntlets were removed, placed in a crumpled heap of discarded metal at his feet. The gambeson followed, leaving Arthur in. His hands quickly went to work on her own armour, unfastening and pulling away the studded leather pauldrons, bracers and cuirass and discarding them next to his, until they were clad only in the shirts and trousers they wore underneath their armour, Arthur wrapping one arm around Leliana's waist and the other pulled the blanket up over them. In response, the bard nuzzled closer, wrapping her arms around Arthur's neck and pulling close to his chest, one hand opening the buttons, exposing his bare chest and the glorious heat radiating from his heart_._ Arthur winced a little at the contact of cold against warm skin, but did not move away, instead stroking Leliana's back, arms, shoulders, the friction sparking the first hint of warmth over her skin. Her body finally seemed to recognize that it was cold and reacted, violent shivers wracking her. For several minutes, neither of them spoke until she was warm again and the shivering abated.

A keening howl echoed in the distance: the unmistakeable hunting cry of a sharlock and Leliana felt herself shivering again, from fright this time. She chanced a look up at Arthur, but he shook his head before she could even ask the question.

"It's nowhere near here. We're safe, for the moment"

"Will they seek us out?"

The Warden hesitated before answering. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "I think the broodmother's death has frightened them deeply. With any luck, they won't bother us for some time to come"

"There is so much that we don't know about them." Before they had entered the Deep Roads, she'd never known, nor even considered that the darkspawn might take captives, never mind _why_. Now, _anything_ seemed possible, and after the terror of her sleep, she kept half-expecting to see hurlocks swarm the cave entrance looking for revenge...or worse, reacquire their candidate to replace the broodmother.

She heard Arthur snort even as he pulled her close, his chin resting against her hair. "All I need to know about them is that they die when you hit them with a sword enough times. They cannot hide from me, or take us by surprise, and I will _never _let them have you."

His words bred comfort but also fear as well, but not for herself. "You must live, Arthur. You and Alistair and Arabella". Wynne was right. The last Grey Wardens of Ferelden could not indulge in romantic fancies; Grey Warden or no, the idea of the darkspawn slaying Arthur as he fought tooth and nail to protect her was unbearable.

"I intend to" was the adamant reply. "And I intend that you and all the others will, as well. I am not Marjolaine...or Branka."

"No. You are not." Leliana lifted a hand to her Warden's cheek...

_"But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed."_

"She betrayed them all," the bard murmured softly. Horrific as the thoughts were, the fact she was free and safe in Arthur's arms to muse on them was welcome, since it meant she was not a captive, subject to the cruel, lascivious desires of the darkspawn. Still she knew that Arthur was neither Branka nor Marjolaine-she'd seen the ferocity with which he'd fallen upon the darkspawn trying to abduct her, the brutal and merciless way in which he'd cut down the fiends, such had been his fury- and she knew that while Arthur Cousland was alive and fighting, the darkspawn would never have any of their number-he'd proved that with Arabella, with Leliana; even Morrigan, she didn't doubt, was safe from such a fate.

"Branka led them to their deaths, let the darkspawn have them. She must have thought it would gain her the Anvil, but how?"

"It doesn't matter. No explanation could justify what that dwarf did. I'd give my own life to end the Blight, as I don't doubt Alistair and Arabella would, but I've no right to make that decision for another, or to force it upon them."

"Generals order men to their deaths all the time," Leliana reminded him, fighting against the shiver that ran down her spine at how easily her lover spoke of willingly sacrificing his life.

"That's different," Arthur countered stubbornly. "A soldier knows that it's their duty to fight, and to die in battle, if that is the way of things. What Branka did...that is not what they followed her for."

"Do you think that she knew what would happen to the women?" Easier to think that the Paragon had believed that she was abandoning Hespith, Laryn and all the others of her House merely to their deaths, abhorrent as that was, perhaps using them all to distract the darkspawn while she made her way past unnoticed. Easier that than imagining Hespith's thoughts as she watched her lover vanish into the dark, realising she'd been abandoned as the darkspawn drew near, clawed hands reaching out, dead-white eyes burning lustfully...

"She had to have known; down here for two years, how could she not? Maybe she knew no more than we did, but enough to know that they wouldn't just be killed...no doubt she counted on the 'distraction' to buy her time enough to reach her goal"

Leliana shuddered again, trying to push away the dark thoughts that her imagination, that had served her so well as a bard and storyteller, quickly conjured up to fill in the blank spots. "How could one woman knowingly leave another to such a fate? They did not just use Laryn. They..._impregnated_ her somehow." The unthinkable possibility suggested by that single word pressed upon her, and she shook again, the dark memories that had given form to her nightmares coming back to haunt her.

"Your nightmare?" Arthur's question was careful, and a gentle kiss to the bard's brow pushed the memories back further, to a safer distance.

"Yes." Leliana nodded, knowing that the Warden would not press her, but wanting to tell. She tried to distance herself as she spoke, telling the dream as she would one of her tales, but she was still trembling by the time she had finished, her heart hammering in her chest. "After I escaped Orlais, the first things I obtained were tansy and pennyroyal," she whispered. "I could not bear the notion of a child...by one of _them_. That would be bad enough, but this...what the darkspawn intended...I would go mad. I would rather die than suffer through that, bringing more of those monsters into existence -"

"Shhh." Arthur kissed her, and the brush of his mouth against hers washed away the fear and the pain and the darkness roiling around in her mind.

"They will _never_ have you" he swore, though whether Arthur was talking about her tormenters back in Orlais or the darkspawn, Leliana couldn't tell. Nor did it matter, for she got the feeling her lover would protect her against all threats from all directions. "We'll find Branka and be done with this place...one way or another"

"You can't kill her, Arthur." The anger was still there, beneath the reassurance: the implacable rage that had been reserved for Loghain and Howe to this point.

"We'll see about that" Arthur snorted, his tone jocular even though she could see the iron resolve within his eyes, as hard and cold as flecks of ice, the determination that never failed the Warden once he set his mind to something. The humour in his voice quickly died away, however. "I'm starting to think Morrigan was right: all dwarves are crazy. I mean, is _that_ what dwarves consider a Paragon, the brightest and best of their number?" Arthur finished disgustedly. "Even if she agrees to help us, which judging from what we've seen so far isn't likely, if I accept her help against the Blight, if I ignore what she did because of that, am I any better than she is?"

"Yes." The reply came without hesitation. "Because none of those who follow you need fear betrayal. Not now, not ever"

"Well, it's good to know some people have faith in me" Arthur chuckled even as the pair drew closer, Leliana taking a deep breath of her lover's scent, wanting to fill her nostrils with _him_ to keep her anchored in the now, but instead breathing of a acrid, sickening stench that only reminded her they were both filthy and stained.

"Where are you going?"

"I want to get that fetid stink of theirs off me" she murmured, recognising the smell of the fleshy mire in which the broodmother wallowed, feeling it in her hair and on her skin and wanting more than anything to scrub it off, to erase all trace of the darkspawn's touch from her. She made to stand up but Arthur was already moving, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her a short distance away from the camp, remaining close enough that they could see and be seen by the others, but far enough away for what they intended not to disturb their sleeping companions. When they were a short distance away, he lowered her to the ground, his shirt slipping off in the process, one foot slipping into the water and Arthur yelped at the touch of cold water.

"The fearless Grey Warden plunges heedless into countless legions of darkspawn, but hangs back at the thought of cold water. Oh, what will the world think when the bards say what softies the Wardens truly are!"

"Oh hush up, you!" Arthur scowled as he threw a handful of water into her face. Leliana let out a yelp and, discarding her clothes, slid into the water with seal-like elegance, relishing how the filth and muck seemed to slough away, as if she were being baptised, barely recognising the sound of Arthur sliding into the underground lake, idly moving through the water, using it as much to playfully splash and drench her as to scour the dirt from her skin. This was what she needed to banish the last vestiges of her night terrors; a balm for the soul, the laughter banishing away the darkness that had been encroaching on her spirit, a reminder that there was still light to be found even in this dank pit deep below the world, and the man who had reminded her of it, who she did not doubt would make sure she and all the others returned to the light of the world above.

The pair trod water, allowing the cool water to wash away the blood and filth that had clung to their skin, playfully swimming in circles around each other until Leliana swam close, wrapping her arms around her lover's waist, feeling his own hands slide up her back, moving over the scars that criss-crossed her spine, the gentle touch welcome in comparison to what had caused them, as words of the Maker that had always meant much to her came unbidden to her mind, that banished the memory of Hespith's last statement:

'_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity'._

She didn't know if eternity could be found in Arthur's arms, but there was certainly protection and comfort to be found in that embrace, and that, in the dark beneath the world, she welcomed. With her forehead resting against his, the fire of his heart against her chest burned her fear away to a safe distance. For a time, the terror that had held her in its grip was forgotten, her only thought of the man who she held and who held her, and the certainty of the safety he would provide.


	45. Chapter 43: The Anvil of the Void

_For those of you who haven't played it, 'Stone Prisoner' spoilers follow._

_All content except my embellishments belongs to Bioware._

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"If Branka's anywhere, this has to be it. She will not be unprepared"

Even as Oghren spoke as they stepped forth into the wide open cavern, unremarkable save for a great raised platform of rock in the centre of the chamber, there was a loud grating crack and to their astonishment, behind them a great wall of stone rose up from the ground behind them to block the way like a portcullis, only more impenetrable.

They were trapped.

'_How did this happen?_' Arthur cursed, looking around for a switch in the floor, or a tripwire one of them might have set off as they entered, but finding nothing, he could come to only one conclusion: someone else had sealed the way.

Ahead, the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard and Arthur saw a figure moving on the rock platform above them. It was a dwarf, a woman, clad from head to foot in armour of the finest make, though clearly scratched and dented by darkspawn blades and claws after so long in the Deep Roads. Short brown hair was tied back, framing a narrow, sallow-skinned face, set in a petulant, irritable expression, dark eyes narrowed angrily as if they'd interrupted her in the middle of something important.

"Let me be blunt with you. After all this time, my tolerance for social graces if fairly limited." She sneered haughtily, glaring down at the companions as if daring them to interrupt. "That doesn't _bother_ you, I hope."

"Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka?" Oghren roared delightedly, his face split by a wide smile of triumph at having reached his goal. "By the Stone, I barely recognized you!"

Unfortunately, whatever reaction the dwarf had been hoping to get from his wife, judging by how Oghren's face fell as Branka's lip curled at the sight of him, that wasn't it. "Oghren. It figures you'd eventually find your way here."Branka spat in a voice colder than a glacier. "Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily."

"That might be a tad difficult with the way out blocked, thanks to you" Arthur muttered, finding himself taking an immediate dislike to the woman.

"And how shall I address _you_?" Branka continued, turning the brunt of her gaze to Arthur now, the look of contempt in her eyes only intensifying. "Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who could withstand Oghren's ale-breath?"

"Be respectful, woman!" Oghren growled; evidently, even his patience had limits. "You're talking to a Grey Warden!"

"Ah, so an _important_ errand boy, then," the dwarven woman mocked in such an insulting tone that Arthur idly fingered the hilt of his sword, imagining how it would look plunging into her side. "I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He _was_ on the old and wheezy side."

The manner in which she spoke, as if the dying of countless dwarves for the sake of an empty throne were just a minor inconvenience to her, was really starting to annoy Arthur. She was rude and churlish, and Arthur found himself wondering if he or Leliana could hit the dwarf with an arrow from their position. He reluctantly reined in his anger; such thoughts would not help. "The King of Orzammar is dead and the Assembly deadlocked. A Paragon's vote is needed if Orzammar is to have a king placed on the throne in time to have a chance at defeating the Blight that now rages, ravaging the surface even as we speak"

Arthur had hoped that a diplomatic pronouncement would gain a fruitful response, but Branka merely snorted disdainfully. "A king won't defeat a Blight," Branka groused, shaking her head. "We've had forty generations of kings and lost _everything_. I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne!"

'_She turned her back on her responsibilities'_ Bhelen had said and Arthur was starting to agree with that assessment. The woman was obsessed, by all accounts, with recovering items of importance from the dwarven people's past, yet cared nothing for the lives lost in the present for the power struggle raging in Orzammar. _'Though I think her obsession has cost near as many lives as the bloodshed in Orzammar'_ his mind added darkly.

"For you see, our protector, our greatest invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void," Branka proclaimed. "The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems, and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It's _here_. So close I can taste it."

"One can already hear the 'but' coming" Wynne muttered though Branka continued to talk over her.

"The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself," Branka sighed, clearly disappointed she hadn't managed to overcome them. "My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. _This_ is what's important. _This_ has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics... all that is transitory." Her eyes burned with the driven fire of a zealot as she continued to proclaim "I've given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void."

"Does that include Hespith, Laryn and all the others of your House you led to their deaths?" Leliana demanded. "And you expect us to risk our lives for you, after all we've been through because of you, after all you've done?"

It was the wrong thing to say; Branka's pale face went beetroot red with fury, baring her teeth in a menacing fashion. "Enough questions and inane prattle! If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil." She gestured to the end of the cavern, where another tunnel led to the chambers beyond. "There is only one way out, Warden. _Forward_. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil waits."

"What has this place done to you?" Oghren burst out suddenly, aghast. "I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one _minute_ and see her brilliance... have you lost your sodding mind?"

"She's insane, it's plain for all to see" Arthur spat venomously. Shale, who'd been silent most of their journey so far, nodded its granite head in agreement. "Hmpf...the mad wife is madder than we were led to believe. Though we shouldn't be surprised...if it weren't insane, it would have never married the stinking drunkard in the first place."

Branka cackled gleefully at this. "Mad? Only if I _fail_. If I succeed, I will be a genius, and I intend to make sure that for my accomplishments here, the name of Branka is remembered in the annals of history until the end of days! Make no mistake, Warden, the Anvil _will_ be mine...and you will be the ones who secure it for me!"

"Help you?" Arthur roared, her sheer arrogance and mania only stoking his own fury. "You'll be lucky if I help you to find a merciful death! We came here to find a Paragon, a voice of reason to settle the fight for the throne...not...you-...youare more of a monster than the darkspawn_!_"

Branka smiled then, and there was no word to describe it other than _evil. _

"I _am_ your Paragon" the dwarf spat as she turned away. Arthur pulled his bow off his back and strung it, hastily trying to line up a shot with the back of the mad woman's head-

"We've got company!" Arabella yelled, letting loose a fireball at the genlocks that were emerging from the passage ahead, the darkspawn screaming as it exploded within their ranks and they burned. Arthur fired the arrow notched to his bow, the arrow hitting a genlock alpha in its lower ribcage, then cast the bow aside and drew his sword as Leliana loosed arrow after arrow of her own at the charging darkspawn, channelling her fury at the monsters that had tried to take her into lethally precise shots that dropped one darkspawn after another, taking her revenge in blood.

And all the while, they could hear Branka's voice from among the outcroppings of rock above their heads from where she looked down on them battling for her benefit. Her diatribes were more lucid than Hespith's but no less chilling.

"_I needed people to test Caridin's traps. There is no way to break through except by trial and error. I sent them in...They were all mine, pledged to be my house, and they didn't want to help._"

Arthur's sword slashed into the alpha's neck, the genlock's truncated corpse collapsing, but Arthur was already battling another foe, Duncan's sword cutting another darkspawn into pieces. Beside him, Oghren's maul swept two genlocks off their feet, the weapon's heavy head shattering their kneecaps. The dwarf smashed in one's chest, while Edward tore out the other's throat. From behind, bolts of lightning, fire and ice flew overhead from the two mages, as well as boulders hurled by Shale that brought down dozens of darkspawn even as more surged out into the cavern.

"She honestly thought people would just lay down their lives for the sake of her ambition? I'm surprised they didn't rebel" Leliana muttered disgustedly.

"_They tried to leave me, even my Hespith... But even she couldn't understand that when you reach for greatness, there are sacrifices. As many sacrifices as are needed._"

Getting closer to the cave entrance, they began to see dwarven bodies intermingled with darkspawn corpses; those of Branka's House who'd refused to enter the booby-trapped maze, and in response had been left to the darkspawn's savage attentions; dismembered, decapitated, disembowelled...and those were the men, the _lucky_ ones.

Arabella and Wynne had positioned themselves by a crack in the cave floor, through which could be seen a luminescent blue light. Even as the two mages conjured up spells that wrought havoc on the attacking darkspawn, periodically, they would dip their hands into the crevasse, emerging clutching fistfuls of glittering blue rock, wolfing it down and, judging by how the power and frequency of their spells increased, gaining a great boost to their magic.

"Raw lyrium" Arabella cried out as she let loose a torrent of flame that cooked another genlock alpha in its armour. "There's so much of it down here...enough to feed an army of mages, and there is more beyond this place, I can feel it!"

Wynne nodded in agreement. "There is so much raw power gathered down here...is it something to do with the Anvil?"

"Crack heads now, debate later ladies!" Oghren roared as his maul split an emissary's skull, his wife forgotten for the moment as the battle lust overtook him, smashing limbs and splitting skulls with abandon. Out of arrows, Leliana drew free her daggers, slashing across the chest of the first genlock stupid enough to cross her path. The creature fell to its knees, trying to staunch the bleeding, and Leliana seized its neck and twisted savagely for good measure. A second was trying to sneak up behind her but she needed no warning; a roundhouse kick sent the genlock staggering back, broken teeth cascading from its jaw. Before it could recover, Edward was on the creature like a thunderbolt, his claws and fangs raking at its throat.

"_She shouldn't have gone. She was pledged to me. She swore she'd do whatever it took to find the Anvil_." Branka was speaking again, perched atop a ledge where the darkspawn couldn't reach her were they to overwhelm Arthur and his companions. "_There was no other choice. Most of them were dying of the taint already, but some of the women were..._transforming."

Another pack of darkspawn emerged from the tunnel, mostly genlocks, but with several hurlocks and an ogre to boot this time. Drawing on the lyrium veins all around her, Wynne shot another spell of petrifaction at the horned behemoth, transforming the ogre into another lifeless statue. Arabella let loose a bolt of chain lightning that fried two genlocks, then leapt on to electrocute three more hurlocks behind them. And all the while Branka kept talking, laying out the terrible things she had left her followers to in the name of laying claim to the Anvil. It sounded as if she were trying to justify her actions..._'But to us'_ Arthur thought '_or to herself, I wonder?'_

"_I knew what they would become. There would be an endless supply, fresh darkspawn to test the traps. They could still serve me, let me find the Anvil. It was the only way..._"

Arthur hacked down a hurlock, its head hanging on by only a few scraps of muscle. The others continued to likewise lay waste to the now-dwindling darkspawn; unable to get at the true target for their fury, they took out their rage on the darkspawn. '_Hespith was right; she cannot be forgiven for the atrocities she committed any more than Loghain'_

"_You have no idea how they carried on, holding my hand and begging to die. They had pledged me their loyalty. They had no right to fight me!'_

The last hurlock died with one of Leliana's daggers buried in its left eye, pitching forward, and then there was nothing between them and the passage leading to Caridin's sanctum. As Leliana retrieved her arrows, Arabella and Wynne helped themselves to more of the abundant lyrium veins, and Shale and Edward finished off the wounded and dying, Branka spoke up again, her final pronouncement even more chilling than those before.

_They say your Order is renowned for its wits as well as its brawn. Perhaps you'll do better than my poor clansmen_..._There is something about this place...It makes people...__**despair**_**.**"

"I wonder why...!" Arthur muttered sarcastically as they took their first step into the passage. Branka had, at long last, fallen silent, no doubt watching and waiting to see how well they fared against the traps and thus advanced her progress to the Anvil. Oghren stared up at her perch on the rock formation, his expression inscrutable.

"Heh. Good ol' Branka. She's a bit, uh, abrasive, isn't she? Guess I forgot that part about her screeching in my ear every sodding day." The dwarf took another deep draught from his hip flask, frowning slightly before breaking into an optimistic smile. "Ah, well. We'll help her get the Anvil, and then she'll come home and everything will be better."

As they headed for the tunnel, Arthur saw Leliana shoot him a look over Oghren's head that said quite clearly this was not going to have a happy ending. Arthur felt much the same, and catching a glimpse of the look in the dwarf's eyes, Arthur suspected even Oghren didn't believe his own words.

##############

'_I feel like...like I've been here before'_

It seemed impossible; this part of the Deep Roads was nowhere near where Wilhelm had found it all those years, and yet this place seemed familiar to Shale. The golem's past had for decades been an impenetrable wall, as solid and unbreakable as the stone from which Shale had been carved. The golem had seen little use in trying to break through it, though memories might have made the decades in Honnleath less tedious.

Then the Warden had come, breaking the stasis that had imprisoned the golem with a few dwarven words, and almost immediately, the wall had begun to crumble. Just cracks at first: memories of being found by the mage in the Deep Roads; snippets of battles long past, obeying the mage's commands and crushing men in fancy armour fighting on foot and horseback in snow-covered fields and burning cities; life in the village, with the mage strutting about like a rooster, bragging to all and sundry that he had been the King's own mage and having to endure the persistent complaints of that shrivelled hag Wilhelm had married. Irritatingly, the day of the mage's death remained obscured; Shale honestly did not know how the mage had wound up crushed into a pulp, and that was a memory that the golem actually would have welcomed. If ever a living organism that wasn't a bird had deserved squishing, it had been that one, and Shale would have been quite pleased to discover that its stone fists had indeed been the cause of his demise.

Of near equal significance, however, if Shale had overcome the power of the control rod and killed the mage, the memory of those moments might include how the feat had been done. The control rod Wilhelm had used to ensure Shale's obedience was broken, but perhaps another could be made. It was not something that the Warden or any of its companions had been foolish enough to try, but Shale had seen the greed in the eyes of more than one dwarf in Orzammar, and knew that they would do it, if only they knew how.

And beyond that, there were other memories, even more disjointed and nonsensical...a dwarf woman clad in armour, a sword in her hand and a shield on her arm...an army of darkspawn marching forth beneath the shadow of a gigantic dragon, its scales as black as jet...a trio of genlocks feeding on the corpse of a dwarven man in the ruins of a burning house...a overturned, blood-stained cradle...a bearded old male dwarf in the garb of a blacksmith...and ringing out above it all, the sound of a hammer beating on a anvil...

It was fortunate that the numerous traps that had been laid by the maze's creator kept the stone warrior from dwelling on these confusing, conflicting thoughts. First there was the chamber full of gas-harmless to a superior being like the golem, but toxic to its fleshy companions- that Shale had to enter alone, dodging the fists of four larger golems while trying to seal the valves emitting the poisonous smog into the chamber. Once the valves were shut and enough of the gas dissipated, the elder and Warden mages had frozen the golems in ice and shattered them into pieces that crumbled into dust.

'_Not as superior as I thought'_ Shale mused, before pushing the notion aside: after all, those golems were just mindless drones subservient to the will of the control rods, not possessing the free will it had somehow obtained.

Then there was the room full of blade traps that triggered when a foot was put wrong. Fortunately, Shale hadn't been required to deal with those, the sister's dextrous fingers finding and disabling the intricate cogs and mechanisms that propelled the blades. And then there was the third room with that mysterious contraption of lyrium, stone and magic, conjuring up spectral figures of energy in the shape of dwarven warriors that attacked even as the device in the centre of the chamber let loose pulses of energy. Only by destroying the shades and using the anvil-shaped devices around the chamber's circumference to blast the energy summoning into the contraption until it overloaded in a spectacular explosion of blue energy that also blasted the stone door barring the way forward off its hinges. The Warden and company continued forward, but Shale could not help but spare a thought to the genius of the mind that had created such devious traps, the same mind that had created the golem's superior form and who knew what else...

Finally, the tunnel opened up into a wide chamber. A phalanx of eight stone golems, each near nine feet tall, stood before them, motionless and unmoving. The second that the Warden put his foot across the chamber's threshold, however, the formation split apart, the golems leaving a wide gap in their ranks for the party to walk through. Behind the phalanx stood another golem, much taller than the others, ten feet at least, and forged not from stone but steel fashioned to resemble a suit of dwarven armour, the edges of the metal plates around the shoulders, arms, chest and hip adorned in gold filigree cut in the traditional geometric decorative designs of dwarven culture. And the skull-shaped head, almost helmet-like in appearance seemed to glow with an inner light, the pale blue glow of fresh lyrium-

"My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar." A deep male voice resonated from within the metal skull.

The Warden and his companions all jumped, as surprised as they were when they had discovered Shale itself possessed the ability of speech, but the golem itself was lost in thought, the memory of the elderly dwarven blacksmith prominent in its mind, only now the name Caridin was resonating over it.

"Caridin? The Paragon smith? Alive?" Shale addressed the larger golem, its normally indifferent voice redolent with utter surprise.

"Ah, now there is a voice I recognise. Shayle of the House of Cadash, step forward" the voice emitting from the steel golem sounded surprised and yet also jubilant.

Shale was baffled. "You... know my name? Is it you that created me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?"

"Have you forgotten, then?" The steel golem sounded surprised, and then sighed understandingly. "It has been so long. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf... just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer."

"The only... woman? A dwarf?" Shale couldn't believe what it-No! What _she _was hearing. The Wardens, the sister, the elder mage, the drunkard, even the domesticated wolf seemed to be raptly following the conversation, seemingly just as gobsmacked as Shale herself was. The memory of the dwarven woman clad in armour returned to the front of her mind, but the details were clearer now; the golem could make out long braided brown hair and bright blue eyes, the sword's pommel and the shield the woman carried stamped with the crest of House Cadash...

_Is that Shayle? Is that who I was?_

"I laid you here in this room on the Anvil of the Void," Caridin's hollow voice recaptured her attention "... and placed you into the form you now possess."

" I...see, " Shale uttered, feeling extremely confused. "The Anvil of the Void... that is what we seek." Her eyes and those of the fleshy companions stared into the distance, where, set atop an outcrop of rock, stood an anvil fashioned of gold-leafed steel, veins of lyrium running through it.

All of a sudden, the Paragon turned his full attention to the male Warden. "If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it". The golem could see the Warden's impatient posture, born no doubt of the constant battles with the darkspawn and the encounter with the mad dwarf and persisted "Please hear my story, stranger. Don't repeat my past mistakes, for I assure you, it will be to your great regret"

"So you are the Anvil's creator?" the male Warden asked brusquely.

The metal, helmet-like skull nodded. "Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible...but I told no one the cost"

"The cost?" Shayle asked, intrigued and yet worried.

"No mere smith, no matter how skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from somewhere else" Caridin paused, shortly lost in thoughts. Shayle likewise found her mind swimming in disjointed memories again:

'_Cadash Thaig burning as the darkspawn overran its defences, a cacophony of sounds-the clash of swords, the horrid insectile chittering the darkspawn made in triumph, screams and cries for help, the crackle of flames and above it all, the beating of leathery wings- ringing out all around her as she and the other warriors charged with the thaig's defences waged war with the endless tide of monsters in the streets...'_

'_Racing to her home to find she was too late; the door torn off its hinges, her husband lying on his back in the entrance hall, three genlocks stabbing his chest in a frenzy though he was already dead. She hacked down one, beheaded the second and ran the third through, leaving her sword in its gut, racing upstairs to the nursery, only to find she was again too late, the cradle overturned and smeared with blood, her horrified screams as she saw the mangled little heap in the corner of the room..._

'_Her comrades finding her as they began the retreat back to Orzammar, catatonic and unresponsive, letting them drag her to safety even as she brooded on her failure..._

'_Hearing the news that the Legion of Steel were looking for volunteers, for brave souls willing to give all and everything to fight back against the darkspawn...her decision to atone for her failure, to fight the darkspawn without end to ensure no fellow dwarf had to endure the pain she had of losing their loved ones to those fiends...making the arduous journey to Ortan Thaig...'_

'_Meeting Caridin, the elderly blacksmith asking her if she was certain of the choice she was making, she answering that she was. The fateful day, when Caridin led her into the very room in which they stood now, leading her to the great stone form laid out for her beside the Anvil. Making some meaningless jest of bravdo__ as she climbed inside and the upper half was brought down, closing her in..._

_Looking up, seeing light through the holes at the eyes and mouth, and then the light vanishing as white-hot lyrium poured through them and onto her body, hearing her own screams filling the tiny space as the lyrium seared her body, filling the stone sarcophagus and keeping her alive and in agony. And just audible above her own cries of pain, the sound of Caridin's hammer as he worked the final shaping, each blow driving stone against Anvil, the power of the Anvil giving direction to the raw magic of the lyrium around her. And then the pain stopped as the final blow was struck and she was __**reborn**__…_

"A dire shortcut" the elder mage intoned, breaking Shayle's musing. "And dangerous, as well. Was it worth it?"

"So said my king. The darkspawn were pressing in" Caridin argued. "You cannot know what it was like in those times, elder human, during the darkest days of the First Blight. The darkspawn closed in on our empire from all directions of the Deep Roads, destroying everything in their path like locusts, overrunning every defence we raised to stop them. The monster you surfacers call Dumat drove them on relentlessly against us, and the 'spawn feared the wrath of the black dragon far more than they did our blades. Originally I had only taken volunteers, like Shayle, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend our homeland...but King Valtor became _greedy._ He started to force men-casteless, criminals, his political enemies-all were given to the Anvil"

"WAIT!"the sister interrupted, " Did I hear that right? You imprisoned-no, _enslaved_ the souls of _living_ dwarves to forge golems?"

"Yes," The tone of its voice was somewhat sad, regretful. "Initally, I allowed myself to go along with it out of belief that it was for the greater good, not to mention fear of what Valtor would do if I refused, but finally, it became too much. I refused to be party to Valtor's greed any longer, and so out of spite, Valtor had me placed on the Anvil next. It took feeling the hammer's blow myself to realise the height of my crimes, to realise that a river of blood had flowed out of this place, its source at the Anvil...and _all_ of it on my hands"

"That is how you became a golem?" Shale queried.

"Yes, like you, Shayle and all the others. My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod, allowing me to retain my mind and my free will".

"So what now?" the male Warden demanded. "Are you seeking revenge for what was done to you and so many others? Is that why you do not wish the Anvil to be used again?"

"No, not revenge" Caridin replied. "As I have said, the hammer's blow opened my eyes. We have been entrapped here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle: you remained at my side throughout, and in the end, I sent you away as an act of mercy". Shayle's eyes widened in surprise at this, but Caridin continued to speak.

"Alas, neither I or my guards can destroy it. No golem can do the Anvil harm"

"So you want us to destroy it for you?" the Warden mage demanded. "Why should we let your guilt inconvenience us? An army of golems against the darkspawn horde and Loghain to boot sounds good to me."

"Please human, your people believe some magics are _never_ worth the price of their use. Can't you see _this_ is one of them?"

"Arthur, tell me you're not seriously considering this!" the sister raised her voice in vehement protest before turning her attention to the younger mage. "Did you hear _nothing_ of what he was saying? The Anvil uses _living_ souls –

"NOOO! THE ANVIL IS _MINE, _AND _NO ONE_ WILL TAKE IT FROM ME!" Branka roared at the top of her lungs as she charged into the chamber as fast as her legs could carry her.

Shayle was rather less impressed with her sudden appearance."So the mad wife has found its way through the traps after all. Good, this makes it easier to squish it."

"Perfect, this'll spare us having to lug this soddin' thing all the way back to Orzammar" Oghren commented on Branka's arrival.

"Shayle, _please. _You fought to destroy the Anvil once. Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!" Caridin pleaded. At this, Shayle whirled round angrily, glaring at her creator's demand.

"You speak of things I do not remember! You say we fought...did you use our control rods to compel us to do so?

"I DESTROYED THE RODS!" Caridin yelled in answer. "Maybe my apprentices learnt enough to replace the rods-I don't know- but if so, then all they would need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they require!

"Why are you even listening? We had an agreement, Warden! I'm the _one_ you have tried to find, after all...not _him_!" Branka screamed. "Don't listen to that old fool. He's been trapped down here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness!"

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" the elder mage muttered dryly, ignoring the withering look of hateful fury the dwarf woman threw at her.

"Help me to claim the Anvil and you'll have an army like none ever seen before!" Her eyes gleamed with obsession, as she looked at the human male, waiting for her decision.

"Funny, I don't recall making any such agreement with you" the male Warden replied with a wolfish grin, though his eyes were as hard and unyielding as stone as he glowered at the mad woman and his hand was pulling his sword free of its scabbard.

"So it fights along with Caridin?" Shayle said, pleased with the outcome. "Good, this seems right."

"Thank you, human. Your compassion shames me."

"Branka, you mad bleeding nugtail!" the drunkard husband interjected. "Does this thing mean so much to you, you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"

"Look around you, Oghren!" Branka demanded, gesturing at their surroundings. "Is _this_ what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel, overflowing with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory, and you will not take it from me" Branka snarled, drawing a brutal-looking mace from her belt and levelling it at the male Warden's chest. "Not while I still live"

"Branka, don't throw your life away for this!" the drunkard pleaded desperately, but the elder mage shook her head sadly.

"Oghren, she's obsessed beyond reason. I fear there is only one way this can end..."

"Just give her the blasted thing! She's confused; maybe once she calms down, we can talk some sense into her..."

The Warden's face seemed genuinely regretful even as he levelled his sword at the mad dwarf. "I'm truly sorry, Oghren...but that is a risk I am not willing to take".

"Bah, you are not the only master-smith here, Caridin" the Paragon spat hatefully, drawing a thin iron rod from her belt and pressing a finger to a miniscule switch at its base. "Golems, OBEY ME! ATTACK!" Almost instantly, the formation of golems around them sprung to life, opening and closing their fists and advancing. At the same time, Caridin seemed to freeze up, unable to move.

"A control rod! My friends, you must help me! I cannot stop her alone!"

Shale shouted."We should crush the mad wife quickly."

"Sounds good to me," Arthur retorted glibly, his mouth quirking into a grin of bravado even as his eyes warily looked for a way to defeat the enclosing circle of stone behemoths. The rest of the party looked similarly apprehensive, and all the while, the mad dwarf ranted and raved at the top of her voice, a mixture of threats, curses and profanities.

"Kill them all, you stone buffoons! No, perhaps I will take you meddling fools alive and place you on the Anvil, make you slave for me for all eternity, punish you for trying to deny me my right! And as for you, Caridin, your apprentices might have been too dull-witted to fashion a proper control rod, but I am most assuredly not so stupid-!"

Branka's ranting threats turned into a pain-stricken wail as an arrow from the sister's bow slammed into her wrist, the shaft piercing through, the arrowhead protruding out of the other side of her arm, dripping blood. The control rod fell from limp fingers and the golems became inert once more. Shayle raced across the room to the stricken dwarf as the mad woman scrabbled on all fours, trying to recover the control rod. Branka's left hand closed around the control rod, the dwarf letting out a noise of triumph, getting to her feet and about to press the switch, only to notice the shadow that had fallen over her, looking up to see Shayle looming over her.

Quick as an adder, the golem's right fist seized Branka by the throat, lifting her clean off the ground, while Shayle's left hand seized Branka's and squeezed, crushing armour, flesh and bone mercilessly, the dwarf screaming all the while as the control rod again clattered to the floor, first from pain, and then from rage.

"Put me down! Put me down at once, I command it! You golems are servants to the dwarven people, you were made to serve us and YOU _WILL_ OBEY ME! RELEASE ME THIS INSTANT!" the mad dwarf screamed at the top of her voice.

"As you wish" Shayle replied, and pulling her arm back, hurled the dwarf with incredible force. Branka's screams continued as the Paragon flew across the room until her head connected with the stone wall at phenomenal speed, before sliding down the wall and crumpling in a broken heap at its base. The drunkard gave a yell of shock and raced across to check his mad wife's vitals, stopping when he saw that the upper right portion of her skull had been crushed into a gaping red crater that showed the dwarf's brain and realised that no one could survive such an impact.

"How could you, how could you do-look at the sodding state of her!" The drunken dwarf raged, his eyes bulging, his face was nearly as red as his hair. "She was a sodding _Paragon_!"

"And she would have done her best to kill us all in the name of getting her. I did not mean to be so forceful, but her arrogance enraged me, and judging from what the others have been saying about the mad woman, what she did, I was under the impression that her deeds had earned her death".

None of the others could think of anything to say in response to that, though the drunkard opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing came out, merely contenting himself with a sullen mutter of "Keep that walking statue away from me for now". Shayle however felt justified. The mad dwarf had been just as annoying, and as equally deserving of being squished as Wilhelm.

Caridin, who had stood rigid as the battle had raged before him, finally found his voice again as the Paragon looked at Branka's corpse and sighed.

"Another life lost due to my invention. I wish no mention of that accursed thing had ever made it into history."

"Yeah, you ain't kiddin'" Oghren muttered darkly, glowering at his wife's broken body. "Stupid woman...always knew the Anvil would be the death of her"

"How is it the mad woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?" Shayle interjected.

"I do not know" Caridin admitting, cocking his head curiously at her. "Have you been altered, Shayle?"

The golem nodded. "I once had a little pathetic mage of a master. He did something to me, experimented on me. Then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed."

"Hmm, " Caridin paused, thinking; Shayle could almost imagine him stroking his beard. "Perhaps the mage was bringing forth old memories, and caused you to remember the time you fought at my side. The paralysis always occured when the master perished. As for your free will...well, you were always a strong woman, Shayle. I am pleased to see you have remained as such." His tone of voice sounded respectful, nearly admiring.

Shayle was caught between being bewildered and relieved to finally know her origin, in addition to gratitude for Caridin's praise. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for telling me all this, Caridin."

The Paragon shook his head, a deep rumbling sigh emanating from its metal skull, bitter and regretful. "_Do not_ thank me, Shayle. All of this" Caridin muttered, gesturing at the chamber and beyond, where the broken bodies of dwarf, darkspawn and golem lay intermingled "This is my doing, my..._legacy_" the Paragon spat bitterly. "But at least it ends here." Turning to the Warden, he said "The Anvil waits there for you to destroy it."

"Why? With that insane bitch now dead for her crimes, why can't we now keep the Anvil?" the Warden mage interjected, an avaricious look in her blue eyes that did not sit well with Shayle.

The sister made a noise of outrage at this, thoroughly annoyed at such a notion. "You are _impossible_, you know that? We promised Caridin to destroy it."

"Yes, _excellent_ idea" the Warden mage retorted sarcastically." Let us just destroy this tool of unimaginable power, after all we've been through to get it. It's not as though it could help us to fight the Blight. You saw what a few of those things could do; with a few more made, our victory would be assured"

"_They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something __glorious...Your strength and raw potential, with the power of a demon behind it would be unstoppable_" the elder mage quoted. The words meant nothing to Shayle, but judging by how the younger woman reacted, it had meaning to her.

Her eyes narrowed. "How dare you. _How dare you_ compare me to that monster–!"

"What you're suggesting is no different than what Uldred plotted-!"

"I was not suggesting we force undesirables into this process. What about volunteers again? You see how highly the dwarves value honour, surely they would queue up in droves as they did before? Or those whose quality of life is pitiable; the elderly, the sick, the crippled, those who would welcome a second chance at life in a superior form..."

"You have no right to play Maker with the lives of others, to decide who should be chosen for such-!"

"Enough!" the male Warden roared in interjection, his anger palpable, and Shayle was relieved to see the two mages cease their bickering, before she gave into the urge to silence them by crushing their skulls. "We haven't even claimed this thing yet and already it has you fighting like two dogs over a bone! And if it can set you two to fighting just hours after I told you to set aside your differences, then Maker alone knows what it will do should Bhelen and others like him get their hands on it; it will be inevitable that greed will rear its ugly head again and the power of the Anvil abused once more. No, no, some things...some things in this world are better left forgotten"

The younger mage looked like she were about to protest further, but a raised hand from the drunkard surprisingly made her fall silent."No" Oghren spoke up now, his voice quiet and subdued. "Your friend's got a point, missy. Besides, sometimes... people need to be kept from doing stupid things, even for good reasons"

"Then at long last, it ends here" Caridin intoned, his relief and jubilation evident. "I thank you, stranger. Is there any boon I can grant you? A final favour before I am freed from my task?"

The Warden shook his head and replied "I can think of nothing I want from you, Paragon. Out of all of us, Oghren has lost the most; if anyone has a right to ask for a boon of you, it is he". Oghren looked surprised at being granted such a favour, but then turned to Caridin.

"I don't suppose you could maybe...bring Branka back? Make her a golem like you?" the dwarf asked hopefully, but Caridin shook his head sadly.

"I would not do such a thing to her, even if I could"

"Somehow I didn't think so. Then I don't want anything that could remind me of this; best it's just done. There is, however, the matter of the election; I mean, we need a Paragon's support to deal with the Assembly"

Anticipating what was expected from him now, Caridin nodded. "For the aid you have given me, I will place hammer to steel one last time, to forge you a crown for the king of your choice. Wait here, stranger, it won't take long." With those words, the huge golem moved toward the Anvil, picking up a hammer from beside it and set to work.

Shayle watched as Caridin set to work on a piece of white-hot steel, barely paying attention to the others- the male Warden, the sister and the elder mage talking quietly about the chamber, the drunkard piling stones over his wife's body to make a cairn, then muttered something unintelligible about needing to be alone, the hound trying to get attention from his master and adopted mistress, and the redhead Warden ferreting around in the dirt where the mad Paragon had perished, pulling up something...and making a triumphant exclamation as the formation of motionless golems stood to attention.

"If you even think about keeping that control rod, I will crush your skull right now!" Shayle warned ominously.

"They were created to fight darkspawn, Shayle" the Warden mage countered. "It seems pointless to leave them down here to gather dust when they could be put to the purpose for which they were created, a purpose that would be a great help to our cause. Even if we don't have an army, the damage these few could wreak..."

"The girl speaks truly, Shayle" Caridin called out, the Warden jumping in shock, clearly surprised Caridin had heard their argument from his position."It seems pointless to leave them here when the mission of your companions requires all the assistance it can obtain. This last vestige of the Legion of Steel are yours, girl, on one condition"

"Name it"

"That when the Blight is done, you will shatter the control rod, should any of them remain, and return them to the Stone, so that they may rest as the heroes of the dwarven people they are"

"I agree" the Warden mage replied, earning approving nods from the sister and elder mage and even Shayle had to admit it was a fair compromise. Indeed, she would relish the company of other such superior beings as herself. '_And who knows, perhaps there will be a way to free these fellows from the thrall of the control rod, to restore to them their free will and minds, as mine has. It is something to be investigated at least...'_

The discovery of her past had been appreciated, as surprising as it was, but the promise of a future and a new purpose...that was even more welcome.

###############

Gradually, the companions filed out, not wanting to stay too long in this place until only Arthur, Shayle and Caridin were present. Branka had said there was something about the place that made people despair, and while none of his companions had given in to that emotion, the anger they had displayed, such as Wynne and Arabella's argument and his own fury, indicated that this wretched place was capable of inducing other effects. Arthur did not doubt that when they were long away from this place, their moods would return to normal.

Arthur still couldn't quite believe what had happened. Though the outcome had transpired in no way like he'd imagined, one could not argue with the result. They had done the impossible, survived the Deep Roads and obtained the support of a Paragon necessary to end the stalemate in the Assembly and acquire the support of the dwarves. Even more welcome was the realisation that they had accomplished the seemingly impossible task that had been dumped in their lap at Ostagar all those months ago; they had obtained the support of all the factions written down in the treaties.

'_Granted, there's still Loghain and the Blight to deal with, but now we have our army, at least. Now we just need to put it to use'_.

Finally, Caridin looked up from his work and rejoined them, holding in his enormous hands a golden crown, perfectly cut ruby and diamond cabochons set around its circumference, dwarven runes engraved around the edges, its look overall quite majestic. Caridin gently lowered the crown into a wrought iron box which he then sealed and held out, Shayle gingerly taking it.

"There, it is done. Give it to whom you will. I do not care to know their names or anything else of them. I have already lived far beyond my time: I have no place here. Now it is time to fulfil your end of the bargain, human."

Nodding, Arthur made his way out to where the Anvil stood, picking up the hammer that lay beside it, fashioned from the same lyrium-infused steel. In Caridin's hands, it had seemed like a child's toy, but in Arthur's, it was the size of a warhammer and a great deal heavier. Arthur pulled back for a swing, aiming not for the Anvil-for the thing looked too large and solid for the hammer to do any damage- but the pedestal on which the Anvil rested. The force of the blow shattered it into shards; with its weight no longer supported, the Anvil toppled off the ruined pedestal to the floor, its weight smashing through the rock and sending the accursed thing plummeting into the river of lava below. It sank slowly, almost as if it were trying to escape its fate, but the lava hungrily dragged it down and soon enough, the Anvil sank beneath the molten rock, never to be seen again.

"It is finished" Caridin said solemnly as he watched his creation and his shame's destruction.

"But, where will you go?" Shayle asked, her gaze following Caridin's, to the lava that had hungrily claimed the Anvil...and realisation struck the golem. "Surely you don't mean to-?"

"_I do_" Caridin replied resolutely. "I lived to ensure the Anvil of the Void would never be used again. And now, it never shall. We all must have an end, Shayle. If the Ancestors will it, let yours be of your own choosing" the metallic golem intoned, placing a comradely hand on Shayle's stony shoulder. Shayle looked as if she might protest for a moment, but ultimately stayed quiet, simply grateful for the respect of her creator, mentor and deliverer. After a few moments, Caridin lowered his arm and turned his attention to Arthur.

"As for you, human...you have my eternal thanks. _Atrast nal tunsha._...may you always find your way in the dark." With that, the Paragon leant forward, the weight of his steel form dragging him over the edge of the outcropping, falling into the river of magma below, the lava enveloping Caridin's metallic form swiftly until there was nothing visible of him above the surface of the glowing red river below.

They caught up with the rest of their companions and their stony escort at the entrance, Branka's death having deactivated the barrier blocking their way out. Oghren looked up as he saw Arthur approach and called out "Well, that pretty much beat the sod out of how I imagined it. Shall we start heading back? If we're lucky, hopefully it won't take us more than a week"

"Yes, let's go while a king is still of use to me" Arthur agreed swiftly.

"Bah" Oghren snorted with a dismissive wave of the hand "Those deshyrs have been trying to destroy Orzammar for years. They haven't managed it yet"

"Yes, back to Orzammar!" Leliana agreed. "I want to see Alistair and Sten and Zevran again...Andraste's blood, it's been so long, I'll be happy to see even _Morrigan_ again!"

Their relief at being finished in the Deep Roads lent their feet speed, but Arthur suspected the events of their time in the depths, of all they had witnessed and experienced would mark those members of their party for many years to come, if not until the end of their days.


	46. Chapter 44: Unexpected Guests

_Well, here it is, a great deal longer than I expected, but as promised, the continuation of 'From the Ashes'. I apologise for how long this has taken; a combination of writer's block, devoting a great deal of time to my pet project ( a side story running parallel to this) and the fact I have a great deal less free time to write this year than I did last. Still, I will keep at this whenever I can, and hopefully, the next few chapters should go easier, since the Landsmeet is one of my favourite parts and I've been making plans to write that since I started this story!_

_This chapter ties up the last bit of Orzammar, in addition to expanding on that scene when you get back to Redcliffe and then depart for Denerim, as I believe Eamon, supposed master politician that he is, wouldn't leave all the work of trying to secure support from the nobility until they got to Denerim and would try to court the support of some of the Bannorn before heading to the capital. I've also tried to put a name to the face of that Bann who supports you at the Landsmeet if you save his son with the Crows (which will turn up in a few chapters) and deal with a pet peeve of mine; that despite claiming to want you dead, Loghain's only real attempt to assassinate the Warden before the Landsmeet is with Zevran, so I've tried to suggest Loghain making another attempt to get rid of the Wardens._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this: special thanks to __**Theodur, KnightofHolyLight, Mystic Gohan 88, spectre4hire**__ for your great reviews, and to __**Delais Starlight, Kimberly Ann Oliver, Valendil Palentir, phaseroller, Kabutokun, striader5**__ and __**James317**__ for adding this to favourites; believe me, when the going has been tough, knowing so many people want to read the next part of this is a great incentive to overcome writer's block!_

_Hopefully, I'll have more for you soon!_

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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_**Spring, 9:31 Dragon Age**_

They'd lingered in Orzammar a little longer than planned, almost a month, but with Gherlen Pass blocked by the winter snows, they'd been forced to wait until the beginning of the spring thaw. Not that Arthur minded; their stay had not been unpleasant, or unprofitable.

Bhelen's ascension to the throne had gone without a hitch, the presenting of the Paragon-forged crown to the Assembly smashing aside the protests of the few remaining dissenters with ease and smoothing the way for Bhelen to take his father's throne as the latest in the long line of Aeducan kings. The newly crowned king had been more than generous to the allies who'd helped secure his throne, lavishing the Wardens and their companions with a wide range of tokens to show his gratitude- precious stones, gold coins and ingots, weapons and armour of finest dwarven make, in addition to holding a lavish feast with the Grey Wardens as guests of honour almost every week. Bhelen had even, soon after his coronation, spoke of providing the Grey Wardens a permanent base in Orzammar, and two weeks after making that promise, the king made good on his word, transferring control of the estate formerly owned by the Harrowmont family to the Grey Wardens as the Order's new outpost and base of operations in Orzammar.

While Arthur was grateful for the king's generosity, there were some aspects of Bhelen's new rule that were somewhat disconcerting. At the same time Bhelen had been showing abundant generosity to his allies, he was also demonstrating how ruthless he could be to his enemies. House Harrowmont and the other noble houses that had failed to forswear their allegiance to Lord Pyral before the coronation had suffered the brunt of Bhelen's wrath. Most had managed to get away with just being stripped of titles and considerable portions of their wealth or being exiled, but Bhelen hadn't stinted on executions, sending some of his enemies to the headsman's block, others herded into the Deep Roads to either escape to the surface or meet death at the hands of the darkspawn, whichever the Ancestors decided.

Others, however, had become part of Bhelen's other extent of gratitude to the Grey Wardens; with civil war averted, Bhelen had diverted the vast majority of Orzammar's military strength into making preparations to march for the surface and assist their new allies, leaving a sufficient number to combat the darkspawn were disaster to strike and the archdemon proved victorious over the Wardens in the coming conflict. Already five thousand stood ready and waiting to march as soon, and Bhelen had promised the Wardens that more would follow, talking about augmenting the strength of the Warrior Caste regiments being assembled by allowing the casteless to take up arms, a notion that both intrigued and pleased Arthur at how Bhelen was committed to contributing all the resources he could against the Blight and his promises to end the restrictions on the casteless, even with the disapproval the new king would likely earn from the Warrior and Noble Castes with such proposals.

But the strangest turn in their fortunes, and a great stroke of luck, came about two weeks before they left Orzammar, when a handful of the companions- Arthur sparring with Zevran, Alistair sat in a chair in the corner, reading one of the books Eamon had stuffed in his pack with the intention of having him familiarise himself with the noble houses of Ferelden and how best to deal with those who would be potential allies or foes come the Landsmeet, while Leliana was sat in a corner at the foot of Wynne's chair, a quill and a scroll of parchment in her hands, the bard clearly serious in her endeavour to write an epic poem of their deeds, occasionally speaking a stanza out loud and listening to the elder woman's advice and constructive criticism.- were in the quarters the Prince had given them while the last remnants of House Harrowmont were cleared out from their estate, whiling away an empty hour at the palace.

A dwarven servant ushered into their quarters a familiar figure clad in black armour; Legionary Captain Kardol. The dwarf looked much the same as he had the last time they'd seen him, but before Arthur could ask what the dwarf was doing there- considering it was his understanding that once the Legion of the Dead left Orzammar, they didn't come back- Kardol began to speak.

"Warden, if I'd heard it second-hand, I'd have called it a sodding lie. We've got a king again thanks to you. The rest is impressive, I grant you, but the Legion's most grateful for restored leadership; it means we can take the fight to the darkspawn properly!"

"Can we count on you to fight the Blight at our side?"

"Nay, our place is down here. When you break the Blight-and from the looks of things, I'd say you have the skill- we'll make sure the 'spawn have nowhere to run. You'll have us indirectly; that's more than most surfacers can say" Kardol tried to protest, but at that moment, Alistair got to his feet and spoke in an earnest, yet persuasive tone of voice:

"Please, Captain Kardol. The Legion of the Dead are renowned as some of the finest warriors the dwarven realm has to offer; they say there are none braver, more skilled and more experienced at fighting darkspawn amongst the dwarven people than your Legionnaires. And were such valour and skill-at-arms to contribute to our victory against the Blight, I would endeavour to ensure it were rewarded amply. After all, those legionnaires under the command of Captain Nalthur who fought as allies to my father are all remembered with honour and respect in the Memories thanks to their contributions to his cause. And there is precedent; the dwarves who fought at the siege of Marnas Pell and the Battle of Ayesleigh during the Fourth Blight were accorded great honours when the King of Antiva spoke on their behalf to the Shaperate; one was made a Paragon if I recall correctly..."

'_Someone's been reading his history' _Arthur thought approvingly. The dwarf's gruff expression didn't change, but the look that had entered his dark eyes, similar to the avaricious gleam they'd seen in Bhelen's gaze more than once, told Arthur that Alistair's proposal had found purchase in Kardol's mind.

"You alone have the skill to back up your words, Wardens. Each of the Legion owes our homeland a death, but if our lives are better shed on the surface, so be it! Back to Orzammar if we win, though!" the dwarf added as an afterthought. "I'm not staying topside to lose my stone sense! Very well, if you'll excuse me Wardens, I must be about my business; I came back here hoping to find more recruits for the Legion; I'll have to work fast if I'm to get them ready to march for the surface when King Bhelen wants..."

The dwarf servant showed the Legionnaire out, but Arthur, Alistair and the others barely paid it any heed, their thoughts all on the same thing; the shared sense that they were seeing history repeat itself once again. After all, King Maric had convinced members of the Legion of the Dead to join his struggle against the Orlesian occupiers and that handful had proven to be a greater asset than any could have imagined, their skill at arms and suicidal courage turning the tide on more than one occasion.

'_I can only hope that the same luck will occur for the son as it did for the father'_ Arthur mused. The looks the others around the room had on their faces said much the same thing; considering what was yet to come, they'd need all the luck they could get.

######################

Two weeks later, they departed Orzammar, and their relief at being back on the surface was palpable. Even though the weather was still foul, rain and sleet striking down at them from the heights of the Frostbacks, being back up in the fresh air with nothing over their heads was a most welcome experience after weeks of having the cavernous ceilings over their head. The dwarven soldiers marching with them to Redcliffe as a vanguard were particularly intrigued at the notion of water falling from the sky, even if it was merely a distraction from the fear that they were going to fall up into the sky at any second.

Shayle and the golems that had accompanied them back from the Anvil of the Void led the way, ploughing through the snow to clear the roads through Gherlen Pass, but although the golem had retained her sarcastic manner and dry wit, Shayle was much more vocal and made a greater deal to ingratiate herself with the companions and engage in their conversations. Arthur suspected that this stemmed largely from their discovery of the cenotaph in memory of those who had become golems within the ruins of Cadash Thaig that corroborated Caridin's words, that having discovered that she had in fact once been a fleshy being, she wished to engage in similar behaviour as she might have done once. Arthur had even heard the golem questioning Wynne about the manner in which demonic possessions were undone and musing on whether similar principles could be considered regarding golems. It was certainly food for thought and a notion that had sparked many intriguing debates to while away the hours during their evenings in camp.

The going had been slow at first, traipsing at times through snow that, despite the spring thaw, was still knee deep in places, Shayle and her fellow golems having to clear the path of the snow drifts and the remains of avalanches that occurred, and the occasional blizzard that blew down from the heights of the mountains had forced them to be encamped for days on end as the wind whipped snow and ice around their tents. Once they left the Frostback Mountains and Gherlen Pass behind, however, and reached roads more well travelled, the speed of their progress back to Redcliffe had increased significantly.

The journey had been remarkable in its lack of combat; save a pack of ravenous wolves who they had quickly convinced to seek easier prey-though the pelts of three that didn't learn that swift enough proved welcome warmth on the cold spring nights in the mountains- and a slavering bereskarn that had found its way out of the depths, they had encountered nothing to fight. The absence of darkspawn, in particular, was a welcome respite after facing them daily for so long. Nowhere was the relief more evident than on the faces of Arthur, Alistair and Arabella, the latter having dispensed with her tattered robes in favour of a strange suit of armour, a blue and white tabard over a chainmail shirt and long gloves and boots of studded brown leather, completed by a breastplate and mail fauld stamped with the Wardens' griffon sigil, a gift intended for a high-ranking mage Warden who had sadly been slain at Ostagar before receiving the armour they'd comissioned-, their expressions more relaxed than they'd been in weeks without the constant whispers and the siren song of the darkspawn taint echoing in their minds.

Even so, they drew little comfort from the absence, not now they knew the reason for it. The memory of that fell army gathering in the Deep Roads - countless darkspawn massing in the darkness beneath their world, their muster overseen by the Archdemon as they began to march - were etched now into their minds. The Blight was real, and all the battles that they had fought to this point had been only preludes to what was yet to come.

That knowledge lay heavy on them all, adding a grim purpose and speed to their steps, and the first sight of the bluffs of Redcliffe at the lake's edge was a welcome one. Arthur's pace quickened, then slowed at the sight of a figure silhouetted atop a ridge ahead: a soldier on horseback who vanished as they drew close. The dwarven commander shouted instructions to his men, advising them to have their weapons ready should he give the word.

"Trouble?" Alistair queried, drawing up on his companion's right, squinting at the empty ridge.

Arthur frowned. "It just occurred to me that we know nothing about what's been going on in Ferelden while we've been in Orzammar. For all we know, Loghain's forces will be waiting for us in Redcliffe" feeling both excited at the possibility of confronting their enemy, and both wary and fearful at the knowledge their strongest ally in the forthcoming political maelstrom might well be imprisoned or dead.

"Perhaps Zevran and I should scout ahead to investigate?" Leliana suggested. Arthur's frown deepened, but he could not deny that the bard's suggestion was a valid strategy.

"Let's get a little closer," he said at last. "I want to be close enough that we can help if you run into trouble."

Leliana and Zevran rolled their eyes, their confidence regarding their skills at subterfuge plain to see, but the look in Arthur's eye made it clear that arguing would be a waste of breath. "As you wish, love," the bard simply said, giving the elf a minute nod, the pair breaking off and racing ahead as the others readied their weapons and followed at a marching pace.

They had gone perhaps a mile when the pair returned, relaying what they'd seen within the village. "There are many men and horses within the town," Zevran replied, his expression quizzical. "An odd company, however. Some of them wear the heraldry of Redcliffe, but there are other sigils I don't recognise; a stag, a rearing horse, a fortress gate, a yellow dog, a laurel wreath-"

"The sigils of noble houses: Bronach, Voldric, Bryland, Loren..._Cousland_" Arthur recited, before falling silent as he realised what he'd just said. _'Could it be...?' _he thought, hoping against hope that perhaps maybe_ he _was there...

But his musing was interrupted by the sound of horse's hooves approaching fast; a dozen knights of Redcliffe racing up the hill out of the village on horseback, lowering their lances as they drew closer, and the dwarven commander shouted an order for his men to form into a phalanx. "About time we had some action!" Oghren growled as he barged to the front of the line, his maul already drawn and raised. Having felt he had no more place in Orzammar with Branka dead and her House extinct, the dwarf had requested to be allowed to accompany the Grey Wardens in their quest to defeat the Blight. Not one to turn down help when it was offered, and having seen enough of the gruff berserker to recognise a skilled fighter, Arthur had accepted the dwarf's offer.

Oghren had spent his first several days on the surface, much like the rest of his fellow dwarves, with his eyes locked resolutely on the ground beneath his feet, stealing occasional, nervous glances at the sky above. He'd been the only one in the group to welcome the time spent in cave and tents, but as he gradually accepted the fact that he was not going to fall off the face of the world into the vast emptiness above, his more - colourful - personality traits had returned with renewed vigour; the heavy drinking, the numerous foul odours emitted from various orifices on the dwarf's body and the lecherous, risqué comments he continually made about the party's female members, leading Morrigan to set fire to the dwarf's beard after she caught him trying to pinch her arse. Though no permanent harm had been done, Oghren had learned to exercise restraint towards the women in his company...most of the time, at least.

Arthur got on reasonably well with him, and Alistair seemed to have gained a respect for the dwarf, even if he had to deal with the periodic lewd comments directed at him regarding his sexual inexperience, not to mention striking up an unusual friendship with Zevran based on their shared appreciation of alcohol and lechery. He _was_ helping Arthur to learn to channel and control his rage, to use it in battle more effectively, so Arthur forgave his occasional slips towards Leliana, as long as they were of the tongue, and not the hands. Besides, considering how well the dwarf wielded that maul of his, Arthur wasn't about to offend another ally when they had few to hand.

"In the name of Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe and lord of these lands, I demand you identify yourselves!" a familiar voice shouted at the front rank of the dwarven army as the approaching knights pulled their mounts to a stop a metre from the dwarven shield wall, their weapons held close in case this parley ended in violence. _'I suppose we shouldn't be surprised by their reaction' _Arthur mused '_a force of this size is bound to attract attention, not to mention the Redcliffe men-at-arms probably fear these are allies of Loghain come to cause trouble!'_

"Stand down, Ser Perth!" Alistair called out, as the Wardens and their companions pushed their way to the front of the dwarven ranks. The knight at the head of the group scrutinised them for a second, then removed his helm, revealing a familiar face grinning with surprise.

"By the Maker, I am glad to see you back with us" Ser Perth declared in a relieved voice, lowering his lance and motioning his fellow knights to stand down. "I take it from your companions that the alliance with Orzammar has been secured?"

"What gave it away?" Alistair's joke was all the confirmation the knight needed.

"Remarkable!" Perth exclaimed. "That's all of the treaties accomplished, then! I can scarcely believe that you managed it, but it will only strengthen the Arl's position at the Landsmeet."

"Their aid in defeating the Blight being a secondary concern?" Alistair inquired dryly, though a flicker of unease in his eyes betrayed that he knew full well what Eamon's 'position' was: that Alistair was the legitimate and rightful heir to the Fereldan throne. He would make a good king in Arthur's opinion, and there had been some signs that Alistair was coming to accept the part Eamon had in mind for him, though Arthur also knew that in some, though the bard knew that he did not believe it, and knew as well that he was still looking for any loophole, any flaw in the Arl's plans, the merest chance that would get him out of having to bear his father's crown.

"Well, no. That would of course be a paramount concern," Perth fumbled awkwardly, "but, to tell you the truth, the darkspawn seem to be fewer and fewer. It's been over a month since we've had word of any major attacks, and much as the Arl's loath to admit it, we were beginning to hope that the whispers from court that this isn't a Blight after all were true."

"It's a Blight." Arthur's voice startled them all, his gaze fixed on Ser Perth, the steely look in his eyes brooking no disagreement. "They can say what they like from the safety of Denerim, but we know better. We've seen the archdemon. The reason you've been seeing fewer darkspawn is because it's been calling as many of them to its side as possible"

The Redcliffe knight paled with shock and fear. "The archdemon? You're sure?"

"Not unless it was a _very_ big lizard," Arthur replied. "It gathered the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, thousands of them, and led them south. By now, they've likely emerged back in the Korcari Wilds or somewhere in the Bannorn, ready to link up and wreak havoc with those already on the surface"

"It was worth hoping for, anyway," Perth replied sadly. "The Maker knows that Loghain and his allies have all but done those monsters' work for them as it is. Still, it corroborates what Arl Bryland's been saying about events in the south. Arl Eamon will want to hear this."

"Has he called the Landsmeet, then?" Arthur asked, both hopeful and yet also nervous at the thought that their best and last opportunity to confront and defeat Loghain was almost upon them.

"Not yet," the knight replied. "He was waiting for your return before he did so, and it will still be a couple of weeks before some of the nobility are able to reach Denerim; the last of the winter snows, not to mention the civil war and the darkspawn are making travel from some parts of the kingdom difficult, and the Arl wants as many of the nobility as possible present at court when the Landsmeet convenes"

"Of course, he does" Alistair muttered, looking slightly ill.

"That, I assume, is why a large number of the noble Houses and their retainers are gathered here?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the gathered forces of armed men and horses mustered in the village, and Ser Perth nodded.

"That is true. The Arl did not wish to wait until his arrival in Denerim to gauge the lay of the land, so he has invited as many of the nobility of the surrounding Bannorn, in addition to those who are most vociferous in their opposition of Loghain. You'll recall Arlessa Isolde had been planning a celebration to honour her husband's safe recovery? The Arl decided to combine the two, and in addition, has invited the nobles present to accompany him and his household to Denerim when the Arl departs for his estate in the capital a few days hence. Now, follow me; the Arlessa and Arl will no doubt wish to know their honoured guests have returned"

Alistair's already pale face took on a worrying green hue at the thought of being paraded on display before the gathered nobility for them to assess what they stood to gain or lose in supporting his claim to the throne, but to Arthur's mind, the day's delay at this soiree Isolde intended could prove beneficial, if it would allow them to acquire the support of a number of the Banns prior to arriving in Denerim and save them having to do all the work there. If enduring a night similar to the sort of galas his mother had organised for the nobility back in Highever was a price to be paid for the support of a dozen or so of the Bannorn's rulers, then he would go through with it. After all, now more than ever, they needed all the help they could get.

############

That the Arl of Redcliffe doted upon his wife was quite plain from the heavily Orlesian flavour of the gala that was held the day after their return. Everything, from the elaborate tapestries and banners that decorated the castle's great hall where the festivities were being conducted, to the subtleties that graced the dinner table to the talented musicians and the formal clothing that the Arlessa had provided for her guests, had an unmistakeable Orlesian feel.

Arthur took a sip from the glass of white wine, imported from Montsimmard, taken from a tray borne around by one of the many elven maids wandering the castle's great hall, casting a wary eye over the guests Eamon had invited to hear his proposal regarding the Landsmeet, and hopefully, offer their support to Alistair and the Grey Wardens. The would-be King was stood at the front of the hall beside Eamon and Teagan, as the arl's guests filed into the hall and swore to obey the laws of hospitality and obey the requests of their lord.

'_How many of them mean what they say?'_ Arthur wondered. '_And how many think those words just a formality?'_

He very much doubted that the Arl's guests realised they were being watched as they enjoyed themselves: after all, who would suspect that the red-haired beauty in the dress of emerald silk, singing that heart-breakingly beautiful aria for their pleasure, or the immaculately dressed elven serving man in the corner carrying a tray of vol-au-vents were in truth assassins of considerable skill? Or that the two pretty young women accompanying the would-be prince were in truth apostates possessed of prodigious magical skill and little conscience? Or that the intriguing and impressively decorated centrepiece, a masterwork of sculpture brought by the arlessa from Jader at great expense, was in truth an ancient and powerful warrior from the first ages of Thedas? With so many of their enemies gathered in one place, it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility Loghain and Howe might try to end the threat Eamon and Alistair posed to their plans by assassinating the pair of them, and Arthur wasn't taking any chance that the regent would try to kill one of his friends in the name of winning the Landsmeet before it had begun and to that end, he and his companions were strategically placed around the great hall, observing the Arl's guests for any sign of trouble.

The others were about somewhere; Sten was stood over by the door, glowering over the proceedings as if it were a complete waste of time, occasionally helping himself to some of the food or drink on offer, but otherwise remaining as motionless as Shayle. Oghren, by contrast, was helping himself to the buffet, having discovered the pleasures of human-brewed spirits and taking a great liking to them, and regaling several of the assembled nobles with tales of his 'prowess'-judging by the groans of disgust and disbelief, Oghren was relating their encounter with the broodmother- Edward was gnawing on a leg bone in the arl's kennels and Wynne was not within the hall; '_likely still upstairs with Connor'_ Arthur mused. He'd discovered that during their time searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, in between keeping Eamon alive, Wynne had been doing her best to succeed where Jowan had failed, teaching the boy the dangers of the Fade and how to control his magic, while trying to counsel his mother's fear and wariness, born out of her great piety and assure her that there was nothing to fear, that with careful training and guidance, Connor's abilities would not be harmful but beneficial.

Arthur had seen very little of Connor since their return to Redcliffe; he'd gotten the impression that even before what had happened, the boy had been quiet and preferred to keep to himself, but after what had happened, he couldn't begin to imagine what thoughts were in the lad's head. Arthur also hoped that Wynne, in addition to laying the groundwork for Connor to control his magic, could keep the poor boy from doing something foolish out of a misplaced sense of guilt over what had happened. As far as Arthur was concerned, Connor didn't deserve any blame for what the demon had done, simply for wanting to save his father, something any child would have done; that could be laid squarely on the hands of his mother, for being foolish enough to believe her son's magic could be swept out of sight, and Loghain, who'd had his minion exploit a vulnerable and frightened child to further his own ambitions. '_Just one of many crimes he will answer for soon enough, once this is done'._

The Arl had been surprised to discover his son's abilities and to that end, Eamon had made plans with Isolde that showed, despite his anger at her for trying to hide their son's abilities, he wanted them both kept safe. When the Arl and his entourage departed for Denerim, Isolde and Connor would also leave, protected by a compliment of Eamon's household guard, for an extended stay with relations of the Arlessa's living in Jader, Eamon wishing his wife and child as far away from the threat of Loghain using them against him, not to mention the Blight, as possible. In addition, Eamon had given stipulations that if he didn't survive the coming conflict, then Connor and his mother were not to return to Ferelden, but to remain in Orlais, with Connor to be sent for training at one of the Orlesian Circles, Val Royeaux or Montsimmard seeming to be the preference. The companions had heard bitter arguments between the Arl and his wife over the matter, but judging by Eamon's parting words, he was not going to tolerate his wife trying to evade doing the right thing a second time and have a repeat of the severe consequences.

For the moment, however, there were no signs of trouble; most of the nobles in attendance were conversing amongst themselves, no doubt curious as to what Eamon or the would-be prince would have to say, enjoying the buffet and entertainment provided for them, along with some of the residents of the town- the Mayor Murdock was in attendance, along with Revered Mother Hannah offering benedictions and blessings to the assembled nobles and other prominent members of the village, particularly those who'd won honours fighting against the undead months before, relating their (somewhat embellished) deeds of courage.

Some of the nobles, however, were from further afield- at the start of the celebration, Arthur had found him pulled into a crushing bear hug by Leonas Bryland, Arl of South Reach and old friend to his father, both men two of the fifty survivors of the Battle of White River. The Arl had proclaimed himself overjoyed to see the lad alive, that Rendon Howe had failed to do the job properly as he always did, in addition to offering condolences for what happened, promising to assist in putting Rendon Howe's head on a spike any way he could in honour of Bryce and Eleanor's memory, before proceeding to introduce Arthur to two other Banns who'd arrived with him; a dour, well built young man clad in chainmail marked on the breast with the stag sigil of House Bronach who Leonas had introduced as Bann Cedric, son of the Bann Bronach slain at Winter's Breath by Loghain , the other a thin, moustached man with the look of someone who'd spent much of his life in the saddle whose sigil, funnily enough, was the rearing horse. The man had introduced himself as Bann Voldric, a name Arthur recognised as one of the most prominent Banns opposing Loghain, following the incident in which the Bann's finest archers had been hunted down and executed by Loghain in a brutal and humiliating fashion that the regent had taken to bragging about with a disgusting pride, claiming his enemies would share the same. Arl Bryland had then gone on to explain how the rebels who had been fighting against Loghain's tyranny had taken advantages of the riots occurring in every major city to lay assault to Highever, and after a tenacious and vicious battle, the rebels had reclaimed the city from the Howe loyalists garrisoning it, and promptly put the vast majority to the sword, including Howe's younger son, Thomas, news that was music to Arthur's ears, since it would certainly be a stinging blow to Rendon's pride. Eamon had called Arthur away a moment later, but Arthur had promised to speak to the Arl later, Bryland having intimated that he had news of great importance that he knew Arthur would want to hear, a pronouncement that intrigued the youth to no end.

Many of the other nobles in attendance had also been quick to offer their condolences for what had happened to his family, promising to support any measures made against the Howe family and his claim to the terynir of Highever, though he could not help how many meant what they said and others were simply performing lip service in the hope of accruing him as an ally. Soon the conversation had turned to more banal matters; requests to hear him regale them with tales of battles with darkspawn and dragons, to know whether the stories of his recovery of Andraste's Ashes were true, suggestions of a marriage between a daughter of various noble houses and the rightful heir to the Terynir of Highever...

"Having fun? I know I am" a voice muttered sarcastically behind him.

Arthur spun round to find Alistair behind him, immaculately dressed. Whatever Isolde's feelings might be toward him, she had not stinted on his clothing: the white satin tunic and scarlet doublet were exquisitely tailored and adorned with a gold-threaded trim, while the hose were a tastefully patterned particular red and white, with polished boots of black leather, much akin to the attire Arthur had been given, though his was green and black in colour and much less adorned. Maric's sword hung from a belt of finest drake skin, completing the ensemble and making him look every inch the warrior noble, despite the discomfort Alistair clearly felt similar to Arthur about being out of armour for the first time in a long while.

"This reminds me of the soirees my mother forced my brother and I to attend when we were youths, though back then, all I had to worry about was some grizzled Bannorn matriarch foisting her unwed daughter into my company in the hope we'd hit it off and she could start planning the wedding. Now I have to endure the same people and the same platitudinous conversation, only now I have to wonder if the person I'm talking to is going to drive a dagger in my back the second I turn away..." Arthur muttered.

Alistair gave a snort "I'll take the assassins any day. You wouldn't believe some of the women Eamon's been introducing me to. Some of the suggestions they've made don't seem very ladylike. Some of them are _married_!"

"You can't be surprised" Arthur thought, though he was uncertain whether to be impressed or mortified at the alacrity with which Eamon was trying to begin match-making, trying to find his intended future king a prospective bride. '_After all, we could all be dead within a month, and all his hard work will be undone'. _

"Considering your heritage, I'm surprised some pretty, wealthy bann's daughter hasn't tried to lure you into a corner and entice you with some of her...'feminine charms'"

"You can talk" Alistair replied with an impish grin and a nod towards Leliana. "We've all heard stories about the Orlesian bards. Particularly those about how a bard got close enough to assassinate her target. How they were..._lulled_ into complacency." Alistair took another sip of his own drink as he observed Leliana, her singing seeming to reach its crescendo "Still, there is a certain allure to danger, wouldn't you agree? I mean I've heard the stories about what you got up to as a youth in Highever. Considering some of the girls Eamon's been trying to pair me up with, I'd rather have someone chasing after me with an axe for trying to have a fling with his pretty daughter than some of these banns tripping over themselves to fob off an unmarried girl on me" he shuddered as Habren, Arl Bryland's daughter, walked past fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I will agree with you now" Alistair added in an aside to Arthur, looking more serious "it feels like we're wasting time here. We should have left for Denerim by now"

"There was more to this than the Arl pandering to his wife's desire to throw a party," Arthur replied fairly. "By having the Grey Wardens here, he makes it clear who was responsible for his recovery...and allows people to make their own conclusions about who was behind the poisoning by who _isn't_ here. It's quite a clever tactic, actually, and will likely work in our favour at the Landsmeet. And it's given the two of you time to get reacquainted, hasn't it?"

"It has," he admitted, his face suddenly taking on a look that said clearly he was surprised by that fact "and it's been good. Did you know that he gave me back my mother's necklace? The one I told you, that I broke in a fit of anger after I learnt I was being sent to the Chantry? He gathered up all the pieces and glued them back together, and he's kept it all these years."

"Maybe he always meant to give it back to you" Arthur suggested honestly. It was all too clear at times that Alistair had grown up believing that he wasn't worth being cared about; given how he'd been brought up, it wasn't entirely surprising. Even the simplest kindnesses seemed to take him by surprise, and deeper gestures often rendered him speechless.

"Maybe he did. He might even have brought it with him one of those times he came by the monastery...not that I would have given him a chance, as belligerent as I was to him back then" Alistair said sadly, nodding in agreement. "I'm glad he doesn't hold any anger over those harsh words I-that we both said to each other back then. I just wish he'd give up on the idea of - you know" he added with a grimace, casting a wary glance around them that clearly said that he was quite aware of the reactions of the women to whom Eamon was introducing him were because many sensed a chance to be Queen if he was successful in claiming the throne.

"It's a legitimate tactic, too, I'm afraid, and his concerns regarding the alternatives are legitimate. Besides, tell me who _you'd_ rather see on the throne: yourself or Loghain". The grim manner in which Alistair clenched his jaw was all the answer Arthur needed regarding what Alistair thought of that.

Leliana's song trailed off, and polite applause echoed around the hall, Alistair and Arthur most enthusiastic in their praise, as the bard bowed deeply and exited her stage, making her way towards her Warden through the crowd, all of who were offering praise and compliments for her singing, while Alistair, about to open his mouth to join the praise, fell silent as he saw something else.

"More king stuff" Alistair groaned as he saw Eamon beckoning him to the front of the hall. "It can never wait" he groused as he made his way towards the front of the hall, where the Arl and his brother waited, both men standing prominently at the front of the dais, as if about to make a speech. Leliana wended her way through the crowd to Arthur's side, allowing him to peck her on the cheek and compliment her fine signing as always while she helped herself to a glass of the Orlesian vintage and some of the fine food provided. They'd been prepared to stay where they were, but Eamon beckoned to them as well: the identity of the Grey Wardens and their companions were well known in Redcliffe, and Eamon clearly intended to make a statement about Loghain's claims regarding the Grey Wardens by comparing Arthur and Alistair's actions to those of the regent's.

Once the pair had wended their way through the crowd to reach the front of the hall, the tinny sound of Eamon rapping a spoon against a wine glass to get the attention of all present filled the hall, silencing the soft murmurs of conversation and bringing a hush. Once silence had fallen, Eamon began to speak, loud and clear.

"I thank you all for coming to this tonight. I know many of you risked a great deal to come here, both in regards to the darkspawn that despoil our land and the tyrant sitting on the throne in Denerim, who I do not doubt even now is plotting how best to punish us for having the temerity to talk against him, but that is the reason why I have called you here. For nigh on half a year now, Loghain Mac Tir has gorged himself like a wolf on the bounty of Ferelden. He murders and deposes our rightful rulers, usurps a crown he has no claim to and fills the court with murderers, traitors and lickspittles who are either in league with him or too cowardly to oppose him. In the name of Ferelden's security, he forces us to surrender huge portions of the freedoms we fought all those decades against the Orlesians to retain, he dictates to us commands that we should swear fealty to him and place our soldiers at his command, but gives no proof or evidence that he is worthy of our allegiance and labels as traitors any who question his actions in the slightest! In his blind fear of Orlais, he overlooks the real danger to Ferelden's safety to obsess over one that exists only in his mind!"

There was a smattering of polite applause at the speech and Eamon pressed his advantage, cleaving to the heart of matters.

"He claims his actions are intended to preserve what he and King Maric fought against the Orlesians for- the freedom and independence of Ferelden, but he behaves in a manner that many of you, I think will agree, is far too reminiscent of Meghren for my liking! He frames for treason and tries to assassinate any who would stand in his way and seizes their power for his own and his allies; the evidence is plain to see! Bryce Cousland, murdered in his own home with most of his family on charges of treason, the only evidence for such coming from the mouth of his murderer, a man who, instead of being punished for the deaths of so many innocents, is against all reason and logic rewarded with the lands and titles of the man he murdered! Urien Kendalls, slain en route to Ostagar. Myself, near murdered by a maleficar who has confessed to acting on the regent's orders. Three powerful men, none of whom were friends of Loghain, dead or nearly so in suspicious circumstances that have benefitted the Regent. Do these actions sound like those of a man acting in the best interests of his nation, or one acting only in _his_ interests?"

More applause and clamours of approval followed Eamon's words, but at this point, another speaker interjected.

"I grant you, Loghain has gone too far, but surely what you're suggesting is a little drastic?" a dark haired Bann at the back of the hall called out. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the speaker; a thin, sallow-faced man of middle years, wearing a crimson doublet and black hose marked on the breast with the sigil of a yellow dog, the same sigil emblazoned on the armour of the five men-at-arms accompanying him; Bann Loren. "Anora might still serve this nation better-"

"Anora?" Teagan interjected coldly. "Anora has stood idly by while her father has torn this nation to shreds to satisfy his ravenous ambition! She has not condemned his tyranny, has not acted to punish him and his allies for the murders and treasonous acts they have committed to solidify their hold on power, and has stood by while Loghain has thrown away the little of Ferelden's standing military strength he managed to preserve at Ostagar in subjugating the Bannorn, to the advantage of none but the darkspawn. In my opinion, and that of many of my peers, Anora has proven herself as unfit to rule this nation as her father!" Teagan raged, drawing a number of uncertain and angry mutterings from the crowd-many no doubt viewed Anora as a competent and successful administrator during Cailan's rule and Eamon decided to temper his brother's argument and build upon it.

"Even if we overlook my brother's concerns, which I must concede are valid, no one has seen or heard of Anora in months. Who is to say her father has not done away with her to remove the last restraint on his power, while maintaining she is alive and in seclusion to use the Queen's position to authenticate his claim to the regency?"

"But what is the alternative?" Bann Loren pressed again. "Why should we support this untried, untested youth who, for all we know, is one you have found of an age with and bearing a slight resemblance to Cailan, and seek to raise him to the throne with yourself as his chief advisor and thus restore the flagging fortunes of House Guerrin? This nation suffered for years to the ineptitude and failures of one puppet king; I would not see Ferelden's recovery from this Blight hindered by the weak rule of a monarch unsuited for the role". Eamon's face reddened at the accusation of this being merely a grab for power on his part, but he managed to keep the anger from his voice as he defended his proposal.

"Alistair is the rightful claimant to the throne" Eamon retorted. "I have documentation, preserved in my library, written by Maric's own hand confirming Alistair as his son and myself as his guardian. For that same half-year Loghain has tightened his stranglehold on Ferelden, Alistair and his companions have risked their lives to forge an army of allies to replace the force squandered at Ostagar and they had made more efforts to defend this land and its people from the darkspawn than Loghain, for all his talk of how he is protecting Ferelden, has. Nor is he anything like Meghren; Alistair is even and fair, he knows how to lead men into battle, knows how to judge fairly and how to inspire those who follow him. He is his father's son in more ways than one, and I have every confidence that, with direction and guidance, he has the potential to be as great a king as Maric"

Some of the nobles had begun to nod approvingly, some no doubt out of belief in the benefit of a ruler from the Theirin bloodline, others seeing the benefits of a new ruler as a chance to enrich their own fortunes by offering their support to this claimant to the throne, while yet others were eager to remove Loghain and his daughter and thus end Maric's folly of raising a commoner far above his station, but Bann Loren continued to voice criticisms and derision, viewing the whole notion as foolish and a thinly-veiled excuse for a power play by the Guerrin brothers, both of whom were becoming more irritated at his jibes, but Arthur had rapidly come to a conclusion that the Bann's objections to the scheme were not his own, along with a deep regret that he was not wearing armour to confront this wittering twerp, but now the serpent had exposed itself, it was time to pull it out by the tail. "Let me ask you a question, Bann Loren" the youth called out from his position at the front of the great hall. The Bann's face reddened as Arthur advanced on him, looking to the five retainers wearing his sigil flanking him, one of whom nodded in a reassuring manner. An uneasy silence fell upon the hall as Arthur strode up to the Bann and when there were only a few metres between them, barked:

"How long ago did Loghain buy your loyalty? How much gold was enough to forget your wife and son were murdered by his lackeys?"

Bann Loren's face went white with shock and outrage at the accusation, and he looked to his men for support, even as the Banns and Arls gathered swiftly began backing away from him, sensing the storm about to break. Teagan motioned the guards lining the walls to move from their posts, to encircle the Bann and his men.

"Go for the blades at your hip and you'll be dead before it's half-drawn" Ser Perth warned the thug who'd given the Bann a reassuring nod, hand slipping towards the hilt of his sword, and the man's expression became rather ugly at the threat.

"Is this true?" Eamon snarled in a deadly voice, waving Ser Perth and his knights forward, closing in a circle around the exposed traitors in their midst-

"I'm sorry, Eamon, but I have no choice!" the Bann replied "For Fereld-!"

The Bann's shout suddenly began a strangled scream, his hand moving from his belt, where they'd been trying to draw the dagger hidden at his waist, to his shoulder, where the handle of a small knife designed to be concealed easily on one's person protruded, Leliana lowering her arm from the throw. With a howl of outrage, Loren's retainers drew their weapons and made for the dais where Alistair and the Arl stood, but with a roar, Shayle burst to life, shrugged off the decorations with which she had been adorned for the ruse and seized two of the men by the throat, the golem clenching its fists until armour, flesh and bone had been crushed into a formless pulp. Three more men still remained, racing forward but Arthur had Duncan's sword free of its scabbard in a heartbeat, blocking the stab for his gut, leaping away from a second and stepping aside from the killer's thrust, swinging his blade down with an overhand chop on the thug's wrist. The man's war cry became a scream, as he staggered back clutching the stump of his sword arm, the hand cleanly severed by the razor-edged dragonbone. A clinical sword thrust through the heart ended the man's suffering along with his life, the enchantments woven into the blade allowing Arthur to plunge it through the thug's armour as if it were made of cloth.

Ser Perth and two of his fellow knights brought down another of the attackers, one knight smashing the soldier from his feet with a shield bash to the gut, and the blades of Perth and the other opened his throat. The last man had almost reached the foot of the dais where Alistair stood when Leliana interposed herself between Alistair and the assassin. The soldier sneered at the notion of a woman trying to stop him and slashed out with a high blow intended to decapitate, but Leliana ducked under the swing of the blade and as Bann Loren's man tried to bring his sword round for another attack, backhanded him in the face. The warrior spun round, staggered by the blow, and the bard didn't give him a chance to recover, her left arm snaking around the man's neck, before her right hand seized the soldier's head and twisted. There was a loud crack, and the corpse of the would-be assassin slumped to the floor, neck at an impossible angle. There were a number of shocked gasps and screams as the attack began and ended, but by the time many of the gathered onlookers had recovered themselves, it was all over.

"Amateurs" Zevran sneered coldly, nudging the Bann, cradling his injured arm and whimpering in pain, with his foot. "I'm surprised by your Loghain; he still has Taliesin's services to call upon. Had this fool turned up in the company of a few Crows, that might have had a chance of success, but no, he prefers to remain racist and persist with his beliefs only patriots should do the work of saving this nation from itself, rather than dirty his hands using professionals"

The assassination attempt was over in less time than it had likely taken to prepare. Eamon stormed over to where his knights held the prostrate Bann Loren, seized the blade in the Bann's shoulder and twisted, ignoring the scream it elicited from the stricken man, a look of fury in his eyes.

"You dare to come into my house, accept my hospitality, eat my food and drink, and then you try to kill me and my ward? What did Loghain offer to reward you for your loyalty, to betray your land and spit on the graves of your wife and son?"

"Loyalty?" the Bann laughed but there was no humour to it. "Fear, you mean! They have my son!" Bann Loren raged; there was a collective gasp of shock and outrage from the gathered onlookers and Eamon's expression became one of incredulity. "What would you not do, Eamon, to save those you love? He is my only son, my heir, and Loghain threatens his life to ensure my loyalty!"

"Dairren?" Arthur asked incredulously. "Dairren was at Highever when Howe attacked it; surely he was slain..."

The Bann gave a humourless laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, no. My poor wife was butchered like a rabid dog when that bastard attacked your family's castle, but not my son; Howe took him prisoner, and now he rots in a cell beneath Denerim, a hostage to my loyalty. Forgive me, I wish nothing more than to fight against these petty tyrants strangling our nation, but if I dared move openly against Loghain and Howe, my son's head would adorn a spike outside Fort Drakon before sunrise! I do not doubt that when word of this reaches them, my son will be made to suffer for my failures!"

Arthur felt stunned; he'd never seen Dairren's corpse at Highever, but he'd assumed that the lad had been murdered along with his mother Landra; as nobles, they would have been witnesses to the massacre whose testimony would have been believed by the Landsmeet. The thought that Howe had taken the lad prisoner to ensure his father stayed loyal was, although remarkable , plausible, considering what he'd come to learn of what Rendon Howe was capable of. He could not begin to imagine what that young man, who'd seemed so earnest and bright, had suffered during his incarceration, and his contempt and hatred for Rendon Howe only grew stronger, such that it almost made Arthur miss the rest of the Bann's declaration.

"I had intended to repay Howe for the care he has given my son...with the blades of Antivan Crows. Loghain has ordered Howe to release my son back to me; in exchange, he expects me to proclaim my support for him at the Landsmeet in 'gratitude'" Bann Loren spat. "The exchange is to be presided over by one of Howe's thugs, some captain by the name of Chase, who expects me to offer him a hefty bribe in exchange for my son. I intend to pay him well...with a Crow's dagger in the back"

"When is the exchange?" Eamon pressed, no doubt thinking the same as Arthur, the benefits of freeing the boy and having the evidence of his abduction and captivity to use again Loghain at the Landsmeet...

"In just over a week's time, in one of Denerim's back alleys. The Crows were handling the affair, but if you can provide aid to them, then my gratitude to you will be beyond measure" Bann Loren promised. "My son's freedom is the price of my support. Free my boy from those traitorous bastards who hold him and my support at the Landsmeet is yours, prince" he finished, staring directly at Alistair. Eamon's reaction was instantaneous.

"Tell Ser Perth I wish to depart for Denerim by tomorrow evening" Eamon instructed his brother before he motioned for the gathered nobility to heed what he had to say. "This madness cannot go on any longer. You have heard and now you have seen for yourself what Loghain Mac Tir is willing to do to keep his hands on his misbegotten power. So I ask you all now; when the moment comes, will you stand by the tyrant who expects you to surrender your freedom, yet will do nothing but obsess over his own fears while the darkspawn devour our nation around us, or will you, as we did with his father all those years ago and our ancestors did with Calenhad, take this chance to see our land restored to greatness, as Maric did before him and his son has the potential to do again?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then Arl Bryland drew his sword and pledged his support to the cause. Banns Cedric and Voldric were swift to follow and following their lead, the other nobles gathered around the hall swore their loyalty and pledged their support in the battles yet to come against both the usurper and the darkspawn.


	47. Chapter 45: Friends and Enemies

_Well, a little later than expected, but here's the newest part. This chapter really just eases the transition from Redcliffe to Denerim, so it might be a bit slower and not quite as good as the last few, but it needs to be done, and I'll try to pick up with the action in the next few._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes: special thanks to __**Theodur, MysticGohan88, spectre4hire **__and __**KnightofHolyLigh**__t for your fantastic reviews as ever and to __**dnrcpc1, 4master, Darthjontan**__ for subscribing to this; it's always good to know people still want to read this!_

_I will try to have the next instalment done as soon as possible, since now we're getting into my favourite part of Origins, what with the build up to and the Landsmeet itself._

_Some spoilers from my short story 'The Only One Left' are in this, since events from that tie into this a little._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**__._

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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**Chapter 45: Meeting Old Friends, Confronting Old Enemies**

Arthur drew his sword from the chest of the qunari mercenary, even though he suspected the arrows jutting from the corpse's side had proved fatal. Meanwhile, the other companions prowled amongst the bodies, Leliana stooping to recover her arrows, Sten finishing off a wounded Tal-Vashoth with a swift thrust and a look of hate on his normally impassive features, Alistair and Oghren cleaning off their weapons and the others attending to other post-combat routine in the wake of having bested the mercenaries.

Redcliffe was three days behind them, the party accompanied by Eamon, Teagan, Leonas Bryland, a number of other Banns and Arls, in addition to their combined retinues, now less than a day's ride from Denerim. The Arl had given the command to make camp for the night and to continue the march on to the capital in the morning.

The two dozen strong mercenary band, the 'Word of Kadan-Fe' had been blocking the south road at the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest, no doubt on Loghain's orders, based on the fact they bore shields with the wyvern sigil of Gwaren and that someone had had taken out a contract with the Antivan Crows to have them killed, likely one of the regent's enemies. The thought of the Crows caused Arthur to cast a thought back to Bann Loren, somewhere at the back of the procession. Eamon had insisted the Bann accompany them, making it quite clear the matter wasn't open to discussion, intending to keep the man close as an 'honoured guest'-though the Bann was quick to realise he was a hostage- until they recovered his son and acquired his loyalty in the Landsmeet. Eamon had made it perfectly clear that was the only reason he hadn't had the Bann's head cut off and mounted on a spike above Redcliffe Castle's gates for his assassination attempt, a fate that the men who'd accompanied him-not his own retainers, it turned out, but mercenary thugs the Regent had dispatched with him to ensure the Bann did as required-had suffered and Arthur was in agreement. While he could empathise with the man being forced into the act, and hoped they would be able to free Dairren from the clutches of the regent and his cronies, they were not going to let him out of their sight for fear he would return to his master, or that the whole thing was nothing but an elaborately staged farce. Arthur wanted to believe the Bann's claims that his son's life was in danger, but after all he'd seen and learned about treachery, he wasn't one to take chances on carelessly trusting claims.

The Tal-Vashoth mercenaries had tried to spring an ambush from within the Brecilian Forest, bursting out from the cover of the trees and bushes lining the south road, but as they emerged, weapons drawn, shouting war cries and racing towards the lines as Eamon, Leonas Bryland and other nobles shouted for their men to close into formation, volleys of arrows erupted from high in the canopy, raining down of the 'Word of Kadan-Fe' with lethal accuracy; the ambushers found themselves ambushed. Five of the charging warriors pitched forward into the mud, backs riddled with arrows. Stymied, the Tal-Vashoth began to panic, breaking off their charge and forming into a circle, shields raised to try and ward off the arrows raining down.

The companions had charged into the fray, but the unseen archers had done most of the work for them, most of the mercenaries dead or dying, arrows loosed with deadly precision finding gaps in armour, eye holes and visors, any opening that could be exploited. Arthur knocked aside the desperate swing of a mercenary with two arrows in his back and drove Duncan's sword through the red steel breastplate, the dragonbone splitting the metal open with a loud crack. Alistair severed a hand with a hacking blow of Maric's blade, and then drove the blade through the warrior's gorget. A third was locked in combat with Ser Perth, but as the mercenary tried to overcome the knight, three Redcliffe guardsmen drove their spears through the Tal-Vashoth's chest, and as the warrior staggered, an arrow from Leliana flew into the mercenary's right eye. Sten battled two of the warriors he despised, splitting one from chin to crotch as the Tal-Vashoth fought to free his sword from the body of one of the arl's war hounds that had its jaws around his thigh, blocking a blow from the mace of the second. Sten was sent staggering back as the Tal-Vashoth slammed its shield boss into his chest, but before it could take advantage, Zevran leapt onto the warrior's back, stabbing the Tal-Vashoth in the side repeatedly, jumping off as Asala swept out and cleaved off the foe's head. All the while, bolts of fire, ice and lightning from Wynne, Arabella and Morrigan peppered the mercenaries, hampering their defence.

The few remaining Kadan-Fe mercenaries were herded back towards the tree line from where they'd emerged, dying either to the arrows of the unseen archers as they fought against the Warden's and Eamon's men, or being slain by swords and spears as they defended themselves from the missiles raining down. As the last Tal-Vashoth fell dying, spine riddled with arrows, shadowy forms emerged from behind the trees, faces hidden behind hooded cloaks, bows raised, arrows nocked and drawn, clearly not expecting the enemy of their enemy to be friendly. The Arl's men-at-arms kept their weapons raised but Arthur motioned for them not to do anything rash. "Do not attack" Arthur cried out, raising a hand in warning to the surrounding men-at-arms, not wanting to trigger a fight with their allies because the men's blood was up or they were frightened by the archers.

"Andaran atish'an, Elvhen. Your aid was most welcome" Arthur said to the figures watching him from the cover of the trees, hoping none possessed itchy bow fingers. "May we share with you our meat and bread and the warmth of our fire?". One of the elves at the front of the group stepped forward and pulled back the hood of their cloak; it was the blonde scout Mithra, the elven woman looking much friendlier than she had upon their first meeting.

"Andaran atish'an, Grey Warden" Mithra replied fairly. "We would gladly take your offer of your aid, ma serennas" motioning her warriors to come closer, many pulling away the hoods of their cloaks to reveal male and female elves, clad in the armour and bearing the intricate facial tattoos of the Dalish.

"What brings you here?" Arthur asked; he'd seen several hundred Dalish warriors gathering at Redcliffe to assist with the war effort against the Blight but in recent weeks, the numbers of Dalish fighters reaching the arling had begun to diminish.

"No, Keeper Lanaya has taken most of our clan deeper into the forest to protect those who cannot fight and to try and raise more aid for your cause. Our charge has been to keep watch on the roads leading to your city of Gwaren and to assail your enemy's movements there, though these qunari were the first we've encountered heading that way in weeks; we've mostly been encountering darkspawn moving north from the Wilds, into the southern regions of the Brecilian forest. Their numbers grow with every skirmish, too many for us to slip past now; I fear we will no longer be able to reach Redcliffe or send more troops and supplies there, but we will do our utmost to delay and harry the horde as it moves north out of the Wilds"

"That is troubling" Arthur muttered, disheartened by the fact there'd be little more the Dalish could do though the news was not entirely unexpected; it was unsurprising Urthemiel had started increasing his onslaught against the undefended south, seeking to push on into northern Ferelden while he still had the element of surprise and the chaos engulfing the country still worked to his advantage. Arthur also felt gratitude for the Dalish; their efforts at delaying the darkspawn advance could well be the only thing buying them enough time to deal with Loghain at the Landsmeet, and he allowed himself a silent prayer to the Maker and the Creators the clans fighting the monsters to the south could hold on a little longer. '_When this Blight is done, I will make sure their courage and valour is amply rewarded, I swear it'_ he thought to himself.

"The Arl will wish to hear this immediately. Come on" Arthur replied as he brought Mithra to the attention of Arl Eamon, still giving out commands to bring food, water and medical supplies for the Dalish and his men to treat their injuries, introduced the elf and provided the opening for her to report her information regarding the darkspawn's movements, then departed to help toss the bodies of their dead foes into the forest for the scavengers, but as Arthur helped Alistair, Sten, Oghren drag the corpses of the Tal-Vashoth mercenaries into the forest, he saw Wynne staring intently at the Dalish wandering about the camp.

"Silver for your thoughts?" he asked as he sidled up to the elder mage.

"Seeing these elves just made me think..." Wynne remarked, stopping herself for a moment, looking uncertain whether to continue, before seeming to decide for it. "I try not to think on the mistakes of my past, of which there are many; I would go quite mad if I did. But of late, I've been doing it more often-most like due to my age- and I do have one regret, the greatest misstep of my life, made all the more troubling because it had dire consequences for someone else..."

"And here I thought you were perfect" Arabella cut in sarcastically as she and Leliana joined the conversation. Wynne managed a soft chuckle at that.

"Perfect? Hardly, my dear. I aspire to it, but I've fallen quite short...quite short indeed" she finished sadly, the humour in her voice dying away. "Years ago, I was assigned as mentor to a young lad by the name of Aneirin. Aneirin was an elf, and as a result of his upbringing in an Alienage before the templars found him, he was very mistrustful of humans, particularly those in authority"

"But doesn't the Circle treat humans and elves equally?" Leliana put forward.

"Of course, but all Aneirin knew of humans was what he'd seen in the Alienage; he was most wary of us. What Aneirin needed was time: time to get used to his new home, time to emerge from his shell so we could build a rapport" Wynne said, before sighing deeply. "I gave him no such time. I was young and arrogant. 'He is a mage' I thought 'he needs to grow up and act like one'. I expected too much from him; I gave no consideration to his origins or his personal feelings. All I succeeded in doing was cause him to retreat even more into himself, even further from me" Wynne sighed deeply, the regret clear in her eyes, at her harsh treatment of this former pupil.

"As Irving once told me 'Just as you can't plant crops in the cold, wintery ground, no more can you teach a student who is closed off and unresponsive. Patience is what was needed, and I learned that too late to help him". Wynne paused for a moment from some long held emotion, shame, grief, regret-one of those, or perhaps all three, Arthur mused- before she was able to continue in a soft voice "Aneirin ran away from the Circle one night. I'd berated him over some trivial matter I do not even remember; I drove him away because of something utterly unimportant"

'_What could she have done to him that he considered the dangers of being an apostate better than another moment in her charge?'_

"He was a child, fourteen at the time he fled. They had his phylactery and they hunted him down..."

"But...why didn't the templars just bring him back to the Circle?" Leliana asked, aghast at this turn of events.

"They called him maleficar, a mage that practices forbidden magic, deserving of death. He was a _child_, misunderstood and lost!"

"Bastard templars" Arabella muttered under her breath, her disgust palpable. "_That_" she spat as the girl took her leave "is why I have no time or sympathy for the Circle and the Chantry! Bloody templars...power-mad thugs who enjoy beating and maiming helpless charges without the recourse to fight back" Arabella angrily ranted as she moved away, but Wynne didn't seem to hear her, too concerned with her own guilt to voice her criticism of Arabella's views.

" I failed Aneirin; all I had to do was listen to him! I had the best mentors; they were kind, patient, supportive, understanding- why didn't I learn from them? The lad would try to talk with me, to make conversation, and I'd just snap at him to get on with his spells" she sighed, the shame clear to see, tears appearing in her eyes as she gave vent to the grief and shame that had been bottled up within her for so long.

"You couldn't have known what would happen" Leliana put forward gently, placing a sympathetic arm around Wynne's shoulders, pulling a scrap of cloth from a pouch at her belt for the older woman to dry her eyes with. It was a few moments before Wynne had regained her composure enough to continue.

"He talked about the Alienage sometimes, and the Dalish. He was always talking about looking for the Dalish elves..."

"Perhaps he did find them" Leliana put forward optimistically, a hopeful smile on her face, but Wynne shook her head morosely.

"The templars are well-trained and thorough; that he lives...it would be a vain hope" she protested, but by that point, Arthur had gotten to his feet, motioning for the two women to follow as he approached a group of the Dalish hunters gathered around a fire, eating quickly before they had to return to their scouting.

"Andaran atish'an, Grey Warden" the elves greeted Arthur as he drew near, eyes wide with intrigue and surprise, a welcome contrast to the usual distaste most elves held for humans. "We've been hearing many stories about the things you've done since saving our clan from the lycanthropes, but surely they can't all be true? Is it true that the ghost of Shartan led you to Andraste's tomb? That you slew an entire nest of dragons? That you fought an army of golems in the Deep Roads?" the questions came quick and persistent, forcing Arthur to raise his hands to silence the elven enquiries.

"I will happily answer your questions, my friends, but first I must ask one of you" Arthur cut in apologetically. "Have any of you heard of an elf by the name of Aneirin in your travels?"

"I appreciate you trying to find him" Wynne interjected, though her expression said clearly she thought it a fool's errand "but what are the chances-?"

"Aneirin the healer?" A female elven scout interrupted, her eyes wide with surprise. "You know Aneirin?"

"He...he lives?" Wynne asked, her expression incredulous, before it became more sceptical. "No, it can't be him...it must just be a common elven name..."

But the elven huntress who'd spoken shook her head and insisted "No, I know of only one Aneirin"

"It makes sense" a male Dalish nodded. "Aneirin said he came from the human cities. I take it you two are old friends?" the elf asked of Wynne.

"If it is him..." Wynne seemed awestruck. "Is he here?"

"Yes. Normally, you would have to seek him in the forest, for he prefers to be amidst the trees and the animals, but the darkspawn have driven him from his home for now, and so he has taken up refuge with our clan, offering his skills as a healer. I can bring him here if you like; he accompanied our hunting party" the elven woman replied, darting off into the camp where the rest of her kin were gathered and returning a few moments later with a thin, pale male elf in his thirties, his hair a mane of copper tied back behind his head, clad in Dalish leather armour and carrying a mage's staff of whitewood which he seemed to use also as a walking stick, given the pronounced limp he walked with as he approached.

"What's going on, Caoimhe? What's this about an old friend wanting to see me...I doubt any of the children I knew growing up in the Circle still live, and the ones that do probably wouldn't have the courage to run..." but then the elf's eyes fell upon Wynne and he was struck dumb with surprise.

"I remember your face, but younger, more impulsive, stern..._Wynne_?" the elf asked incredulously, a second before Wynne sprinted forward with surprising speed for a woman of her age and pulled him into a fierce hug.

"I thought they had killed you!" she managed to say through her tears of joy.

"They very nearly did. The templars caught me on the edges of the forest while I was searching for signs of a Dalish clan and tried to slay me. They dragged it out as if I was a rabid dog" he spat, gesturing at his bad leg. "It was only by the grace of the Creators' the clan were drawn to the noise and found me in the nick of time; they drove off the templars, took me in and nursed me back to health".

Wynne's regretful sobs only continued at this knowledge. "I brought what happened on you. I was a terrible mentor, harsh and impatient. Oh, I-I am so sorry for the way I treated you"

But Aneirin's response was merely to shrug his shoulders and smile magnanimously, easing Wynne's tight grip around him. "I have put it behind me, and so should you. I didn't fit in with the Circle and the Chantry; my path lay elsewhere, and in a way, you were the one who showed me that. I don't bear you any ill will for what happened back then, Wynne; you tried so hard back then, I see that now with hindsight. Unfortunately, back then, I refused to listen..."

"And all I knew how to do was yell louder" Wynne finished with a soft smile, a touch of humour mixed in with her self-deprecation. "What happened to you after-?"

"I stayed with the clan for a time; I was always made to feel welcome amongst them and I try to look out for them, in gratitude for their generosity. Zathrian, Lanaya and the others treated me kindly, and he even taught me Dalish magicks. But I did not feel a part of the clan anymore than I did the Circle, so I left. I felt most at home among the trees and the animals, so I stayed in the forest, though for the moment, I have taken the clan up on the offer of shelter they make every time I come to their camp; the darkspawn presence in the forest now is too large and too dangerous for me to contemplate remaining there on my own. Now I assist the parties roaming through the forest, tending to their wounded as best I can".

"I'm glad to see I managed to give you something besides countless scoldings" Wynne replied with a soft smile as she and Aneirin moved to a more secluded part of the camp to speak at greater length, leaving Arthur and Leliana exchanging a look of satisfaction at having done some good for the older woman.

'_It always feels good to get closure, to have the burden of guilt and regret lifted from your shoulders'_ Arthur mused; it was knowledge he himself had experienced not so long ago, thinking of the short letter hidden at the bottom of his pack. Leonas Bryland had pressed it into his hand before they had left Redcliffe for the capital and instructed him not to open it until he was in a place that wouldn't be eavesdropped. That night, when the Arl's party had made camp, Arthur had retired to his tent with Leliana and Alistair, quietly opened the letter and read its content silently at first. He had to re-read it once to make sure he hadn't misread it, and then proceeded to explode with joy, whooping with delight, kissing Leliana full on the mouth, pulling her to her feet, wringing Alistair's hands over and over again, pulling both into deep hugs, such was his exhilaration.

He was not alone.

The burden of being the last Cousland, of having to carry on by himself, the belief that he had failed all of his family had been eased by this single sheet of parchment and the momentous news it carried.

Fergus was alive.

'_My dearest brother,_

_There are no words that I can put to paper that describe my joy at learning that you were still alive, as I imagine you will feel when you read this. I entrust this letter to Leonas, as he is an old friend of our father and one of the few reasons I am still alive after this long, and I trust he will give it to you along with his support, but I will not say where I am, lest this letter falls into the wrong hands; we still have enemies abroad in this nation who seek my death, and I would have them not know I am still alive until I am about to plunge a sword into their back, as they did our father._

_I survived Ostagar by sheer luck; the path Loghain sent me and my men to scout sent us straight into the horde's path. The darkspawn ambushed us; most of my men were killed and I too would have been slain had not a party of wandering Chasind hunters been drawn to the conflict- they drove off the darkspawn and took me and the few survivors in, nursed us back to health. We fled the Wilds, just managing to stay one step ahead of the horde, where we got caught up in the fighting between the thugs Loghain's been sending to crush the Bannorn into submission, and those who've been fighting to resist his tyranny. We've been able to do some good on that front, I'm sure you and your companions will be pleased to hear._

_I know what happened at Highever, and think not for a moment that you are to blame. Mother and Father would have wanted you to live, and Duncan gave you the chance to seek justice for our family, though I know that did not turn out as you intended. There are only one or two men in this world that I hold responsible for what was done; they condemned themselves with their own pathetic lies, and they will be held accountable, as I intend to and you are working towards. I've heard quite a few stories about what you've been up to, brother; if even half of them are true, I will be impressed!_

_I had hoped to find you in Redcliffe, but Bryland feared that Maric's son and both Cousland boys would be too tempting a target for Loghain and that weasel Howe to pass up, so I heeded his sage counsel and I have remained away. But with the Landsmeet coming, I do not intend to stay away. As our father counselled, we always do our duty and as heir to Highever, my duty is to support the rightful claimant to the throne and to ensure the traitors who have all but brought this nation to its knees in this time of crisis are punished for their crimes. You will see me in Denerim soon enough, be assured of that._

_Hang on in there, brother. We will be reunited soon, and together, we will have justice for our loved ones, and vengeance upon our enemies._

_Fergus_

Arthur felt relief, determination and worry in equal measure, knowing his brother was alive and fighting, but not knowing where he was or what he was doing; surely, it was a reversal of what his own brother had felt upon learning of Arthur's survival. Part of him began to fear just how long ago the letter had been written, whether it was genuine, whether circumstances for his brother had changed, but he knew that to discard his present duty to try and seek out his elder sibling by himself. Fergus would have to be alone for just a bit longer.

'_I'm as stubborn as our parents, Fergus; you know that. I'm not going anywhere. Just hurry up and find me; I want to see you again, to let you meet our new family, and to repay our enemies together in the same manner they did us'_

##############

"Thank you" Wynne proclaimed, pulling Arthur into a deep hug as he approached her side of the camp.

"I assume this has to do with Aneirin?" Arthur asked as he eased his way out of her embrace. The elf was gone, retreated back into the forest to assist the elven war bands deeper in the forest, either blockading Gwaren or harrying the darkspawn's advance out of the Wilds into the southern reaches of the Brecilian Forest, but before his departure, he and Wynne had spent a great deal of time talking, the old woman relieved beyond measure to learn that her old student didn't bear a grudge over what had happened between them in the past, that all he had to say to her was forgiveness and regret she'd borne the burden of what happened for so long.

"You persisted. You led me to Aneirin, even though I was certain you were going to find nothing but a dead end. I will never be able to thank you for what you've done for me" the old woman proclaimed earnestly, but Arthur waved aside her flustering, replying with simple mutterings about the benefits of getting closure, but Wynne wasn't done.

"Still, I owe you my thanks; finding Aneirin has allowed me to bring that chapter of my life to a close. I will never be able to repay you for what you've done for me, but I intend to try. For a start, I think I owe you an apology..."

"An apology?" Arthur replied, now genuinely curious. "For what?". By way of an answer, Wynne's gaze turned to Leliana, who was stood before a camp fire, regaling several of the Redcliffe men-at-arms with tales of what they'd encountered and battled on their travels across Ferelden; judging from the awestruck looks of wonder and amazement on their faces, she'd gotten to the part where they'd reached the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

"There seems to be something genuinely special between you; I think that she feels she's found her place with you, that after all her wanderings, she's finally home". Arthur had to nod; it was an assessment he had to agree with. Looking at Leliana when she slept, he could see it; a sense of peace, a relaxation of the tension that had been about her when they first met, as if what they shared wrought a calming influence on her. And the look in her eyes when they were turned on him, the wariness with which she'd looked at him those first times they'd spoken was gone now, replaced by what Arthur could only describe as a peaceful, relaxed sense, as if he'd allowed her to shake off the darker memories of her past and start afresh, in a new, better, more meaningful course of life.

"What you have may not last forever- death and duty may yet part you" Wynne pronounced with a grim bluntness that made Arthur expect another lecture, but then her tone brightened "but love's worthiness is not diminished because of that; I should have seen that sooner. Instead, you learn to cherish every precious moment, knowing it may well be your last. And for those of us watching, well..." she paused, then finished with a soft smile "It brings warmth to these old bones to know something so beautiful can be found in the midst of such chaos and strife" Wynne smiled softly as she took her leave of Arthur, leaving him smiling at how the mage's perception of their relationship, so dour and foreboding at first, had changed, like so many things in the course of the last few months.

####################

"T'is a curious thing; I don't know quite how to describe it"

Morrigan's pronouncement caught Arthur offguard, as most of the witch's declarations had a tendency to do these days. He took a seat beside Morrigan on the log by the campfire, a rare first for the witch, who had always preferred to keep to herself at the edge of the camp.

"Is something...wrong?" Arthur asked, curious now; it was decidedly difficult to predict Morrigan nowadays, considering that she was starting to show signs of changing some of her long held views regarding friendship, morality and other such notions Flemeth had taught her to view as weaknesses, ingrained into her by her mother for Flemeth's own ends and as such, Morrigan was starting to discard Flemeth's teachings.

"No, nothing is wrong" Morrigan chuckled. "It's a tad embarrassing to admit, in fact. I am reminded of our first meeting, back in the Korcari Wilds. I'd been in animal form for quite some time, watching your progress. I could tell instantly that you were far more formidable than the other men you travelled with" Arthur raised an eyebrow at this compliment: he still remembered the predatory looks in the eyes of Morrigan and her mother upon their first meeting, and wondered if her assessment of him as 'formidable' was more to do with the two witches considering him as a suitable mate to breed more of their kind; the Witches of the Wilds were renowned for such behaviour in the old tales.

"Yet I resented it when Flemeth assigned me to travel with you. At best, I'd assumed you would drive me from your company as soon as we left the Wilds. Yet when I discovered Flemeth's plans, you did not abandon me. Whatever your reasons, you fought what must have been an arduous battle for no real hope of reward"

"I did it because I value you as a friend, Morrigan" Arthur replied earnestly. "You may be as subtle as a sledgehammer, and as easy to approach as a thicket of stinging nettles, but you've done much to help us and our cause, not to mention saved our lives more than once, and for that reason, I was more than willing to look out for a friend in turn"

"And that is what I do not understand. I have been with men physically, those who lusted after me and were even foolish enough to profess love, but... _friendship_ with a man?" Morrigan tittered, as if the notion was so unexpected to her she found it amusing. "I did not think it possible"

"Is it possible we could be..._more_...than just friends?" Morrigan put forward at that point, placing a hand on Arthur's knee and leaning forward, her pale gold eyes hungrily gleaming in the light of the fire, looking at him as if she wanted something from him.

'_You will see what she wants with you soon enough, boy. You are just a pawn in a game you don't even know is being played...'_

"Perhaps...had things been different" Arthur stammered, feeling a little discomforted by the intensity of Morrigan's stare and Flemeth's last words ringing in his ears because of it.

"Except...there is another" Morrigan muttered, turning away from him to stare at Leliana, stood by the camp fire, regaling her captive audience with what sounded like the story of how they'd bested the genlock necromancer in the ruins of Ostagar. There was a look in her eye that sat ill with Arthur, a sullen glare that made Arthur wonder if the witch was jealous of the bard. '_Does she regret that my eye fell on another and not her?' _he wondered. Morrigan was certainly beautiful and he wasn't lying; if circumstances had been different, he might have fallen for her charms, but it was pointless musing on what might have been. The same notion seemed to occur to Morrigan, because within an instant, that look in her eye was gone, and her normal indifferent expression was back on her face.

"Still, t'is good to think we are friends. Of all the things I expected to find when Flemeth sent me with you, this would be the very last". At that, Morrigan got to her feet, making to move away, but she turned back at the last second, an afterthought clearly occurring to her.

"I want you to know that, while I may not always prove worthy of your friendship...I will _always_ value it" Morrigan finished sadly, the look on her face pensive as she made her way to her usual place at the edge of the camp, leaving a very confused Warden behind her.

'_She won't prove worthy? What does she intend to do that would make me doubt her?'_ Arthur wondered.

######################

"I've been wondering about our companions, and I wanted to gauge your thoughts" Alistair put forward, catching Arthur offguard; this sort of discussion was a departure from Alistair's usual enquiries.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I've got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them, and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said. That way they'll mutiny, and I shall become the group leader!" Alistair joked with a mock evil laugh.

"I wouldn't trust _you_ to lead us to lunch!" Arthur snorted jokingly. _'But you trust him to be King?_' his mind asked, and Arthur was momentarily stymied at the thought. In his own opinion, Alistair would make a fair and decent King, but he feared they'd have a great deal of work to convince the Landsmeet of the same, thanks to Loghain's propaganda and slander, and though Eamon's gala had accrued some support for them, there was still much to be done before the conclave itself was called.

"Good plan, when is lunch exactly?" Alistair replied in a jocular manner as he looked up at the full moon high above them, indicating he had a long time to wait, not noticing his companion's distraction. His tone become more sombre as he continued "Seriously though, I've had some time to think and I just wanted to know what your thoughts are"

"About who?" Arthur asked, curious now despite himself.

"What about Oghren? You must have an opinion on the smell at least!" Alistair joked, gesturing to the far side of the camp where the dwarf seemed to be having a raging debate with Edward.

"He seems a skilful warrior, based on what I've seen" Arthur replied diplomatically. To his mind, the dwarf, for all his failures in regards to limiting his drinking and keeping his hands to himself when in close proximity to parts of the female anatomy, he knew which way to hold a weapon and how to use it, if the swathes of pulped and mangled darkspawn corpses Oghren had left behind him during their sojourn through the Deep Roads was anything to go on.

"Yeah, I thought you'd say something like that" Alistair nodded in agreement. "Still, he's got gusto, I'll give him that. And provided you point him in the right direction, he swings that hammer of his with some skill" Alistair conceded, watching Oghren pour whiskey from a hip flask into a bowl for the mabari to sample, before turning his attention elsewhere.

"Zevran" Alistair's brusque tone as he mentioned Zevran, looking at where the elf sat laughing and joking with Arabella, no doubt waiting for the next opportunity to try out the 'fabled Grey Warden endurance' once their watch was over, made it clear that after all this time, Alistair still didn't trust the assassin.

"You can't trust him, can you?"

"Maybe. We'll see" Arthur replied-his views on Zevran were a little more ambivalent, for the elf had proved himself and his skills useful on more than one occasion, and Zev showed no signs of being about to sell them out -but Alistair wouldn't let it drop.

"That's a lot to hang on a maybe. He's still an assassin, despite his 'vow', and the Crows aren't renowned for giving up. Maybe he's just biding his time..."

"If he tries anything, then he'll die" Arthur reassured his fellow Warden. While he was prepared to give Zevran the benefit of the doubt, and the elf had proven himself a useful and resourceful companion more than once, Arthur would kill him without hesitation if he got a hint that Zevran thought to renege on his vow in favour of completing his business with Loghain. Too much hung on the Wardens now for them to take any risks.

"Well, at least you're considering it. He just seems shifty to me" Alistair muttered approvingly as he watched the elf and mage disappear into their tent as Shale and a number of Redcliffe guardsmen took their place.

"What about Sten? The way he looks at me with those eyes...creepy. And he's so quiet for someone so big" Alistair remarked, his gaze flicking over to Sten, sat cross-legged at the edge of the camp, Asala lying across his lap, intoning a meditative portion of the Qun quietly.

"He's dedicated, I'll say that for him" Arthur replied fairly. He himself respected the Qunari as a warrior and strategist, and while his periodic comments about how life in Ferelden would be superior under the mandate of the Qun were at times a little disconcerting, he could respect Sten's strength of will and purpose, unyielding even when faced with the most trying of circumstances. _'I sometimes envy him that; I miss things being that certain'._

"Yet he doesn't seem as bad as the Chantry tells us. According to them, his philosophy is repugnant and evil, yet he seems so..._reasonable._ And yet, he killed all those people, he doesn't even deny it."

"He seems to regret what he did" Arthur replied fairly. In truth, there were times when he'd almost forgotten that reason why Sten had joined them, and while he wasn't entirely sure how the Qunari expressed regret, or even if they _did _express regret and remorse in the same manner as humans, but he felt that Sten had saved enough lives by his actions travelling with them to, if not atone for his crime, at least recompense for it. Alistair seemed to share his dubiousness, however.

"I'm not sure his sense of regret means the same as it would to you and me. The Qunari sense of honour is..._difficult_ to grasp. For me at least, anyway...What about Leliana? Is she crazy, or do you believe in her visions?" Alistair asked suddenly and Arthur was momentarily unseated. He knew how important the bard's faith was to her, but everything that had happened to him, his faith had been somewhat shaken, that the Maker could exist and allow such evil to remain in the world, and yet...he'd seen far stranger things since becoming a Grey Warden.

"It could be true. Who's to say it isn't?"

"Maybe you're right" Alistair nodded. "It's not like she could have known how desperately we needed help" he paused upon finishing, casting a look over at the bard, stood at the edge of the camp, refletching her arrows. "I don't know what to make of her; when you look at her sometimes when you don't see her, she just seems so..._sad_. I almost feel guilty for taking away from her life".

"It was her choice..."

"Yes, I know. I still feel bad for her" Alistair replied, casting one more sympathetic glance to Leliana, before turning his attention to the last one requiring his opinion, who Leliana was also glaring at, no doubt suspicious as to what had been said between her Warden and the witch, not to mention that hand on the knee. Arthur grimaced as her eyes flicked to him; he sensed a severe talk coming when they both turned in.

"Morrigan. You surely can't trust her? Think about it; maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason?"

"You really don't like her, do you?" Arthur said with a smile, even though his own thoughts regarding Morrigan were a tumultuous mess. He respected her and judging by that declaration she'd made, she respected and was grateful to him to such an extent that she was able to discard Flemeth's teaching on how friendship was a weakness to be despised, and yet he still remembered Flemeth's last words, that Morrigan wanted something from him, something he would discover for himself soon enough. He liked Morrigan well enough, her sense of humour and her skills with magic that had proved invaluable so many times making up for her sharp tongue and condescending manner, and yet that pronouncement of Flemeth's left him with a foreboding sense regarding Morrigan.

"Aside from the fact she's a complete and utter bitch, no I don't like her" Alistair scowled, glaring over at the witch, who gave him a sarcastic wave and a smile as she realised he was staring at her. "Why, do you?"

"She has uses..." Arthur began, but Alistair seemed to take that as his full answer and spoke over him, sparing Arthur from having to make a defence of Morrigan that he wasn't sure he believed.

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say. Just remember, she's _evil_. And _mean_. Enough, I think my curiosity is sated, and I think I can see Eamon calling me. We'll talk more later" Alistair said as he made for the Arl's tent and Arthur also got to his feet, heading for his own tent and hoping that his respect for Leliana would be enough proof to dissuade her that there was nothing going on between him and Morrigan, given the talking to he was going to get based on the looks the bard and the witch were exchanging.

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By early afternoon the next day, the first hint of their destination came into view in the form of a thin spire rising up to the sky in the distance; the ominous tower of Fort Drakon. Soon enough, the city walls came into view on the horizon, and Eamon despatched outriders from his entourage, to ensure their arrival was expected and that their entrance into the city was not hindered by Loghain. He shouldn't, Eamon insisted, for trying to bar them entry to the city would do his cause no favours, but they weren't taking any chances of having their entrance to the city marred by political wrangling or violence.

"Ah, it is good to be back" Eamon said with a smile as he urged his grey gelding through the gates beside Alistair, sat astride a white stallion, his brother and Arthur, both also mounted on stallions, but black in colour. "They can say what they want about the likes of Val Royeaux, Minrathous and Antiva City; for me, Denerim is the greatest city in Thedas. It is certainly the heart and soul of Ferelden; King Calenhad's city, Andraste's birthplace-stubborn as a mabari and just as good to have on your side".

The procession of nobles and armed guards marched through the city gates without any difficulty, the sentries at the gates and on top of the battlements, drawing all manner of attention as many pairs of eyes fell upon them; humans, elves, men, women, children. Some of the gazes watching them were curious, some impressed, and others suspicious. Arthur couldn't deny Eamon was certainly putting on a show for the people, their entrance a formidable display of martial power. The small army of men, all bearing in the different heraldries of their lieges, meant to inspire the refugees. Their noble allies were on horseback near the front, including Bann Teagan and Arl Bryland, to allow them to be at full view of the people. All of it intended to send a clear message regarding their strength to Loghain, Howe and their allies that they weren't going to have it all their own way, that there were still people in the nation willing to oppose them, in addition to making a point to any of the nobility still sitting on the fence that theirs was the right cause, that to support Loghain was to support a weak king and an failing kingdom destined only for destruction. Arthur couldn't help but be impressed at the brilliance of the strategy, and silently thank the Maker Arl Eamon was on their side.

"If we can defeat Loghain here, then the rest of the nation will follow us" Eamon continued. "By calling for the Landsmeet, I have dealt the first blow; the advantage is, for the moment, ours. He will have little choice but to show himself, to oppose us directly. He _will_ strike back at us...the only question that remains is how soon?"

As Arthur's eyes scanned the crowd, he saw a pair of dark eyes set in a familiar face glowering at him; Ser Cauthrien, her mouth a thin line, her eyes narrowed as she glared at the procession. Arthur held her gaze for a few moments, cold blue eyes boring back into narrowed brown ones, until Cauthrien broke off first to his surprise, barging her way through the crowd in the direction of the Palace district, no doubt to report back to her master.

'_All too soon, I fear my lord'_ Arthur thought as he watched the warrior woman's retreating back.

The answer to Eamon's question came within the hour. As the procession broke off, the Banns and Arls who'd accompanied Eamon heading with their retinues either to their own estates in Denerim or to find lodgings at the Gnawed Noble Tavern, Eamon and Teagan led the Wardens and their companions into the courtyard of their opulent Denerim estate, servants racing out to take the reins of the horses as the nobles and companions dismounted, a thin, middle-aged butler emerging from within to usher them into the estate, bowing and scraping to Arl Eamon.

The group had ascended to the upper quarters of the estate, the butler assigning them each their own rooms for the duration of their stay when a brunette elf maidservant came running up, out of breath and gasping, choking out her message as she recovered.

"My lord...Teyrn Loghain...he's here! In the entrance hall...he requests an audience!"

"Maker's breath!" Eamon cursed. "When I said 'how soon', I didn't expect it to be _today!_" the arl muttered angrily, before sighing reluctantly and gesturing for his brother, Arthur and Alistair to accompany him. "We'll have to face him sooner or later; we might as well get it over and done with"

Three figures were stood in the atrium of the manor as Eamon and the others entered the room; one, clearly a man, standing outside the open door, looking away as if he did not want to be seen. Beside the hidden man was Ser Cauthrien, her stern face and the hilt of her distinctive greatsword protruding over her right shoulder instantly recognisable and in front of her, Loghain himself. Unlike his underlings, Loghain didn't look round at their approach, continuing to stare up at one of the portraits hanging in the hall, one of a tall, elegant young woman clad in a regal looking purple dress, a leaf-bladed sword in her right hand; Lady Rowan Guerrin, every inch the warrior queen. Teagan made a growl of annoyance at the sight of it, his disgust for Loghain's closeness to his sister plain to see. The sound caught Loghain's attention and he turned round to face them. Arthur had to stop himself from making a comment; the regent looked, for want of a better word, _terrible_. Though he'd tried to hide it, his hair combed and oiled, his armour polished to a fine sheen, the signs were there; bags under his eyes, a rather gaunt and weary look to his sallow face, as if Loghain hadn't eaten or slept well for months and he seemed thinner and older; he looked to have aged years in the months since Ostagar, no doubt due to the stress of trying to rule over a nation that despised him to a man. There was also a look to Loghain that suggested the man had taken to silencing his guilty conscience with copious amounts of alcohol, given the flushed look of his cheeks and the slight smell on his breath.

'_Good, I hope he at least suffers some repercussions for his deeds'_ Arthur thought venomously; he had no sympathy for the so-called 'Hero of Ferelden' now, not after all he'd done and allowed.

Whatever the Arl of Redcliffe's personal feelings were about being in the presence of the man who'd murdered his nephew and tried to murder himself, his family and his subjects, he let no sign of it show, instead giving the Regent an even, if strained smile. "Loghain, this is indeed a..._honour _that the regent would find time to greet me personally"

Loghain was also smiling, but Arthur could see it didn't reach his eyes; he could tell the Teyrn was in no way pleased to see either him or Eamon alive. "How could I not welcome a man so _important_ as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates, while a Blight claws at our land!" Loghain answered with sarcastic vigour, every word that left his smirking mouth dripping with irony.

'_So he's admitting it's a Blight now_?' Arthur thought to himself. _'Will miracles never cease?'_

Eamon's cordial manner evaporated in an instant, his tone becoming blunt and cold.

"The Blight is why I'm here, Loghain" Eamon retorted, an angry edge entering his voice. "With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have _a king _to lead it against the darkspawn".

Loghain's response was equally hostile in tone "Ferelden _has_ a strong ruler; its Queen. And _I _lead her armies!"

Arthur gave a snort of contempt at this; he couldn't help himself. "Considering how well your tactics served us at Ostagar, I'd say a better general is needed!"

Loghain looked at him directly for the first time. Arthur saw the fury and the fear in his enemy's eyes; fury that he was still alive, and fear of what threat the youth might pose: doubtless, the rumours of how a rogue Warden was raising an army had reached Loghain, and no doubt he feared it was to depose him from his ill-gotten throne. While his eyes remained wary, Loghain plastered another false smile on his face and held out a hand in welcome, attempting respect. "Ah, Arthur Cousland, the Grey Warden recruit. I had a feeling we would meet again" before turning his attention back to Eamon.

"I must admit, I'm surprised to see him here; I was under the impression you only took in the bastards of better men than yourself, Eamon, not their true born sons. What, did you want a new challenge besides playing wet nurse to a royal indiscretion?"

"Well, at least you're admitting the 'royal' part. That's something, at least" Alistair muttered.

Pausing only to give Alistair a look of utter disdain, his ideal of Maric no doubt offended beyond measure by his very existence, Loghain turned his attention back to Arthur, extending the hand once more, clearly trying to play the gracious ruler. "You have my sympathies for what happened to your Order. It is unfortunate they chose to turn against Ferelden"

Arthur stiffened with outrage. '_This cowardly bastard, who for his own ambitions abandoned the rightful king and Maker-alone-knows how many good, brave men and women to their deaths at the hands of the darkspawn, now has the audacity to accuse _me_, to dare to parrot his lie that the Grey Wardens, the only ones to stand the line and go down fighting, are the ones to blame for _his_ betrayal to my face!'_

In a moment of unthinking madness and fury, where rationality and common sense deserted him, Arthur slapped aside Loghain's outstretched hand and spat in the man's face. "Keep your worthless platitudes, traitor! I and the Grey Wardens neither_ want _nor _accept_ the condolences of deserters and regicides!" he snapped, his voice cracked and overflowing with hatred.

Loghain's hand flew up to his face, turned white with rage. As he wiped the spittle away with his left hand, his right fingered the hilt of his sword, and for a moment, Arthur thought the man would challenge him to a duel on the spot. But to his surprise, the 'Hero of Ferelden' managed to keep his anger in check. '_Hmm, perhaps that precious honour he's supposed to have means less to him these days!'_ Arthur mused contemptuously. Loghain glowered at him and snarled through gritted teeth "You should curb your tongue, boy! This is _my_ city and no safe place to speak treason...for anyone!"

"When last I looked, this was a free city, not a playground for the whims of a petulant fool playing at tyrant!" Arthur sneered coldly.

"Don't interrupt, churl" the warrior woman to Loghain's right snapped. Arthur focused his glare on her; it was Ser Cauthrien. "Your betters are talk-"

"You were not given leave to speak, woman! Hold your tongue or I will see that you lose it!" Teagan barked sharply, and Cauthrien fell silent out of shock more than anything. Teagan turned his attention to Loghain, the full brunt of his distaste and loathing for the man clear in his voice.

"No one in this land believes your lies any longer, Loghain. I didn't push hard enough after Ostagar; when we're done with you, the Landsmeet will see to it you and your collaborators are drawn and quartered for your crimes".

"Ha!" the teyrn sneered superciliously. "You honestly believe the Landsmeet will believe a word you say? I think they will sooner trust the word of a man who has given the better part of his life for Ferelden's safety and freedom than the empty accusations of an attainted traitor's brat and a would-be pretender to the throne, and as for you" and at that, Loghain returned his gaze to Eamon. "There was talk, Eamon that your illness has left you feeble" Loghain remarked conversationally. "Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden..."

"_ILLNESS!_" Eamon angrily hissed, his face now pale with fury, as outraged by Loghain's lies as Arthur. "Why not call your poison by its true name, Loghain!" Eamon gestured angrily to the three of them;-Loghain, Cauthrien and the third man, hidden in shadow still- trying to find a sufficient way to express his disgust, anger and contempt. "Not all in the Landsmeet will discard their loyalties as easily as you and these..._sycophants!_"

"How long you've been gone from court, Eamon!" Loghain sneered coldly, gesturing the man at the back to come forward. As the figure stepped out of the shadow, Arthur recognised him with a burning thrill of delight and hatred. Though he was clad differently than before in a fine suit of studded armour, made from drakeskin, and carried an ornate axe and dagger sheathed on his back, his face, with its short grey hair and weasel-like features were unmistakeable. The bastard who'd taken everything from him; his home, his family, his life. The wretch he had sworn to destroy with his own hand or die in the attempt. The one being in Thedas he'd come to view as the face of true evil.

"YOU!" Arthur roared, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "You _dare_ to show your face to ME!"

"Well, I see your companion at least recognises Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever" Arthur barely heard Loghain's spiel, staring directly at Howe, noticing quickly that the bastard couldn't muster the courage to look him in the eye. '_Good, I only want him to do it once...in the heartbeat before I kill him!'_

"And current Arl of Denerim, since Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar" Howe piped up, the familiar self-satisfied triumph in his voice plain to hear. "Really, it's been an embarrassment of riches..."

"Correction; I am the Teyrn of Highever, by right of blood" Arthur interjected angrily. "And by such right, I demand this man be executed for the murder of my family! And since this is your home, Arl Eamon, I ask for the right to exact justice here and now!" the youth roared. Howe sneered, but Arthur could see the fear in his eyes; Howe knew the monster he'd created had finally caught up with him, and it would have blood.

Still, afraid or not, it didn't stop his nemesis from being his obnoxious, vindictive self. "Still as stupid as your father and as arrogant as your mother, I see. Has it escaped your notice, boy? You have _no_ rights!" Howe sneered "Your family forfeited them when I revealed them to be traitors to Ferelden. Now Highever rightfully belongs to the Howes once more..." his taunt suddenly ended in a choked rasp as Arthur seized him by the throat and held the sword to his neck.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN SLANDER MY FAMILY TO MY FACE!" the young man bellowed. "Oh, I am _really_ going to enjoy cutting your throat!" There was another rasp of metal upon metal, and Arthur saw Cauthrien drawing her own blade, her right hand seizing Arthur's and releasing his grip on Howe's throat as she shoved him back.

"You are very bold or very stupid to threaten the teyrn before witnesses" she snapped. At this, Arthur levelled his sword at the obnoxious woman. "The next time your bitch opens her mouth, Loghain, will be the _last_ time!" he snarled at Loghain.

Cauthrien's mouth opened again to say some threat or insult, but Loghain raised a hand to silence her. "Enough, Cauthrien. This is neither the time nor place". He then nodded to the youth. "Call off your dog, Eamon"

Eamon nodded but Arthur kept his sword still drawn. It would be so tempting; a slight thrusting movement of the arm would send the razor sharp blade through Howe's chest, and his oath of vengeance would be fulfilled. Suddenly, he felt a firm, almost paternal grip on his shoulder, as his father had done so many times before, to console and give him strength in times of doubt. "Friend Arthur, not here. Kill him here and it will only damage our cause. You will have your revenge, but not now" Eamon entreated. Arthur reluctantly put up his sword and stepped back. Eamon was right; there was too much to be done to let a few seconds of sweet revenge take priority.

Reluctantly sheathing his sword, Arthur pointed menacingly at Howe, his anger only growing at the way Howe's lip curled and snarled "I can wait. I'm a patient man and your master won't be around to protect you forever. Rest assured, the _second_ that day comes, I'll be waiting...with a sword cleaving for your neck!"

Loghain shook his head in disgust and turned back to Eamon.

"I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened, our king is dead , our land is under siege. We must be united now if we are to endure this crisis. Your _own sister_, Queen Rowan, worked tirelessly to see Ferelden restored" Loghain pleadingly insisted, gesturing to the portrait overlooking them. "Would you see her work destroyed?"

"Don't you _dare_ mention Rowan, Loghain!" Teagan snapped. "My sister and Maric would turn in their graves if they could see what you have done in the name of their legacy!"

Teagan's barb, and Eamon's seeming lack of reaction to his words only seemed to incense the regent further. "And what you intend is better? You divide our nation, and weaken our efforts against the Blight, with your _selfish_ ambitions to the throne!"

Arthur actually laughed out loud at this "_You're_ the one who divided Ferelden!" he retorted furiously, outraged and stunned that Loghain would accuse anyone else of conspiring to seize the throne after his own acts.

Loghain angrily glared at him and snarled "I wasn't talking to you!".

Arthur's fury only deepened and his face gained a scowl to match Loghain's own "What efforts can be made against the Blight when you outlaw the Grey Wardens, fool!"

"Cailan depended on legends of the Grey Wardens' prowess and looked where that got us. Let us speak of reality, not tall tales. Stories will not save us!" Loghain snapped in answer.

Arthur nodded in agreement and answered "Indeed. I know now the tall tales I heard as a child will not save us; those that talk of the _mighty _Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the hero of River Dane!" he sneered hatefully, sarcastic venom dripping from every word. "A man who loved Ferelden more than anything, who'd give his life without reservation for his homeland! But now I know the truth; he's no great hero and he certainly doesn't love Ferelden. No, he is just like any other power-hungry tyrant; weak, greedy and caring for nothing and no one but himself!"

Loghain paled with fury again at the insults, his eyes gleaming with murder as he glared at the youth again, but Arthur felt no fear. Looking into Loghain's eyes, he knew that both he and the teyrn had realised that one of them would be dead by the other's hand before the Landsmeet was over. At that point, Eamon interrupted their unspoken threat, his voice sad but firm.

"I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight!"

At this, Alistair gave a soft chuckle "Oh, is that _all_ I have to do? No pressure, then!"

Arthur chuckled, but Loghain showed no such amusement as he stormed up to Eamon, stopping when the two men were practically nose-to-nose and hissed in a deadly voice "The Emperor of Orlais also didn't think I could bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is _nothing_ I wouldn't do for my homeland!"

"Including becoming a greater tyrant than the one you overthrew?" Arthur replied innocently. Loghain tossed a withering glare at him, which Arthur met with a look of contempt, before the regent turned on his heel and stormed out. Cauthrien also glowered at him, Arthur returning her glare with an icy stare of his, his lip curled in disgust, well remembering the sight of Cauthrien' all –too-eager kowtowing to Loghain at Ostagar.

The last to depart was Howe, and for the first time, he managed to look Arthur in the eye. He tried to sneer, but all Arthur did was run one finger over his throat and nod at Howe. The wretch's eyes went wide as he caught the meaning, the mockery in his eyes died and he quickly scarpered off after Loghain. Arthur allowed himself a moment of triumph, one that would be only made sweeter when Howe's head rolled from his shoulders.

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As the group retired into the dining room and the cook's servants began to bring out the evening meal for the Arl and his guests, Eamon let out a deep breath as he sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, that was bracing" Eamon remarked with a weary sigh. "I was not expecting Loghain to show himself so swiftly"

Teagan snorted angrily. "That was planned. Loghain knew full well who he was going to meet here. I doubt very much he brought that jumped-up little shit Rendon Howe along for the pleasure of his company"

"Howe" Arthur growled darkly, stabbing the venison steak on his plate vigorously, imagining it to be Rendon Howe's heart...'_not that the bastard has one'_ he thought hatefully.

"That bastard stands there and mocks my family, gloats about their murders to my face, and he thinks I will stand by and let him get away with it? I swear to the Maker, he will beg for death on his knees when I am done with him!". Leliana placed a calming hand on his, making him cease using his fork as an offensive weapon.

"I would not think to deny you your revenge, Arthur" Eamon replied calmly "but I would ask you don't do anything rash; keep in mind, he will be well protected by his alliance with Loghain" before letting out a bitter sigh. "That obnoxious little twerp always seemed like the sort of man who enjoys kicking stray dogs. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by his actions: Rendon Howe has always been, to quote my brother, 'a jumped-up little shit' with an overinflated sense of his own worth, but Loghain...Loghain worries me. What unnerves me most is that I think he actually _believes_ his own insanity, that what he is doing is in Ferelden's best interest..."

"You talk of Loghain as if you've known him a long time" Leliana asked curiously, the tale teller in her no doubt intrigued about how a man renowned as a hero could fall so far from grace.

"Our sister Rowan married King Maric while he was still in exile; by that time, he and Loghain were inseparable. The wild prince who'd never seen the inside of a castle and the farmer's son; when Loghain joined the rebels, he was just a raw-boned boy, but he got down on one knee and swore he would see Ferelden restored or die trying" Eamon finished with another sad sigh. "I would never have believed that he would do anything but what was best for Ferelden"

"Well, look at him now" Alistair muttered angrily. "He murders Maric's son, usurps his throne, goes out of his way to enslave and destroy the kingdom he helped defend-

"And conspires with a blood mage to poison me" Eamon concluded. "It is a bitter dose to swallow. The Chantry speaks truly about the corruption of power if a man like Loghain could go and do this"

"So now what?" Alistair asked.

"Calling the Landsmeet was only the start. Now we must ensure all of Ferelden sees Loghain for the murderous, duplicitous traitor he has shown himself for. We need eyes and ears in the city: Loghain has been here for months, the roots of all his schemes start here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage" Eamon explained. "Tomorrow, I will need you to take a look around, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us"

"We will" Arthur assured the arl. '_The sooner we get this done the better. I fear we do not have a lot of time left; if we take too long trying to save this nation from itself, it may be too late to save it from the darkspawn'._

Next time: The companions delve in Denerim again, encountering nobles, the Antivan Crows and that most pernicious and devious of foes...Goldanna!


	48. Chapter 46: Delving in Denerim Again

_And here we are, the first chapter of the build-up to the Landsmeet, a little later than I planned thanks to the demands of real life, but here we are and more should follow soon._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reviews, reads and subscribes; special thanks to __**Theodur, Ygrain33, MysticGohan88**__ (in answer to your question, I have read __**Dragon Age: Asunder,**__ it was a very good read), __**spectre4hire, KnightofHolyLight**__ (in answer to your question, the other nobles- Sighard, Alfstanna and Wulff haven't been present yet, and there'll be full talks with them later, probably after Howe's estate) and to__** Daan**__, __**mellomatt2001, MB18932, CagedOrange**__ and __**ForestBoff **__for adding to favourites; as I always say, the knowledge so many want to read this is a great help combating writer's block._

_Glad to see my take on the meeting with Howe and Loghain was enjoyed by all; I always felt that, considering the tension between a Cousland Warden and Howe that should have been, a simmering undertone of violence was a fairly accurate approach to adopt. On that note, I've just made a few changes in this one to the events in game, making it so the Antivan Crows ambush the companions _after_ you've worked with them, as opposed to the random encounter in game, and giving Leliana and Alistair some overdue 'screen time', in addition to changing some of the dialogue with Goldanna; I've never liked the idea that Alistair would just blurt out that he's a Grey Warden to a woman he barely knows, particularly since I always got the impression Goldanna would sell him out for the bounty in a heartbeat!_

_I own nothing but my own embellishments to Bioware's work._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

And as always, enjoy!

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Loghain Mac Tir was in a towering rage by the time he reached the Royal Palace and retired to his private study, Cauthrien and Rendon Howe trailing fearfully in his wake, not daring to interject and risk that fury turned on them.

"That runt, that little shit _dares_ to call me traitor! When he would do like his father and sell this nation back to Celene in the blink of an eye! He will pay for that, they will all pay for this; that Cousland brat, Eamon, his whoreson brother and that bastard Maric had the stupidity to sire that they'd sit on the throne as a puppet dancing to Orlais's tune! I won't have them meddling in my efforts to save this nation" Loghain swore, even though he had no notion how he was going to do that. Thanks to the incompetence of that mage boy Howe had insisted they send to Redcliffe, he couldn't risk removing any of them by covert means for fear that the others would raise a hue and cry that he was trying to poison them.

Nor could he simply order his men to arrest or kill the Wardens, not when those two young men had somehow managed to become the talk of the town, thanks to the bards and minstrels spinning mad, impossible tales of impossible battles against darkspawn and dragons, of being led by ghosts and spirits to the final resting place of Andraste and other such nonsense. It had to be completely blown out of proportion, but true or not, it had elevated the Grey Wardens and their companions to the status of heroes to the common folk, in spite of all the proofs he had given of the Wardens' true allegiance to Orlais. In spite of his best efforts, those youths had become a symbol to the people, and Loghain was aware of the value of a symbol. _He_ had been a symbol for close to thirty years: Fereldan resilience and strength embodied, a farmer's son who had risen to the rank of Teyrn on the basis of his abilities, rather than the title of his sire and he had learned to use that to his advantage over the years.

The irony of the fact that he was now being outdone by symbols was not lost on Loghain. The Grey Wardens had taken his place as the heroes of the common folk, fighting for freedom and the salvation of Ferelden, and those same people had made him a symbol of a very different sort, much to his anger. He had not asked to be king; he had taken the throne only to preserve the legacy that he, Rowan, Maric and so many other Fereldan patriots had fought and died for, but that had not stopped every upstart noble from one end of the Bannorn to the other labelling him a tyrant and the common people from holding him in the same regard as Maferath and Meghren; the fools could not see that the control and guidance of a king's rule was the only thing that kept them from devolving back into a seething mass of feuding and back-biting, squabbling like children at the most inappropriate time, just like it had been so many decades ago when their predecessors had failed so miserably to stave off the Orlesian invasion, but the nobility didn't see it, instead contenting themselves to conspire and plot sedition against him. Thanks to another of Howe's 'brilliant schemes', the Alienage was just one of the seething hotbeds of tension within the city just waiting to explode into violence and rebellion, and he knew full well the rest of Denerim's citizenry were spitting on his shadow, sneering behind his back and hurling insults and curses at his soldiers at best, and rocks and dung at worst. Using his own men to try and do away with the Wardens would only incite the peasantry, and the last thing the regent needed was an entire city baying for his blood, forcing him to keep soldiers in the city to maintain order when they would be needed in the field to deal with the darkspawn once the Landsmeet was done.

'_Still, Denerim is hardly the safest place in the world'_ he thought, another notion coming to him '_Footpads and brigands still prowl the shadows of this city. If Eamon's precious Wardens were to die in some dark alley, how could they say it was my doing? Yes, an unexplained, meaningless death in a dark corner would be best, and I think I have just the tool for it...'_

"Do I still have the services of those Antivan dregs you insisted we should practically empty the treasury to hire?" Loghain growled, his disgust for using such underhanded methods overcome by the knowledge he had so few cards left to play, especially since the failure of that ingrate Bann Loren. It deeply irked Loghain to have to still have to order Howe to hand over their hostage, Loren's milksop son, but with victory at the Landsmeet by no means certain for either side, he needed all the allies he could get.

"Indeed we do, my lord" Howe replied diffidently. "The Antivan Crows never cancel a contract once it is made. Rest assured my lord, the assassins stand ready to complete the job"

"For your sake, they had better do more successfully than that knife-ear you presented to me when I agreed to hire those assassins" the regent growled under his breath. It had cost a considerable amount of the treasury's dwindling finances to hire the services of the Antivan Crows, money that in Loghain's opinion would have been better spent hiring and equipping more soldiers, it had taken months to replenish the treasury -primarily through Tevinter blood money that egotistical mage was providing him with as per the 'arrangement'- that, also in Loghain's opinion, had been wasted judging by the fact those Wardens were still alive months after Howe had presented the elf and his men to Loghain and assured him they needed the best to dispatch any Warden survivors of Ostagar.

"We have no choice. Furnish the assassins with the location and tell them I want this done promptly" Loghain commanded, accepting the obsequious nod from Howe as confirmation it would be done and took a deep breath, running a gauntleted hand through his hair as he forced himself to broach the subject he needed to address. Loghain had no wish to resort to such measures, but his encounter with the Wardens had forced his hand. '_I will not shirk from doing __**everything **__necessary to protect the things I care about'_.

"There is one more matter we must discuss. Leave us, Cauthrien". The knight didn't look pleased at the abrupt dismissal, but to Loghain's satisfaction, she didn't dare challenge her lord, merely nodding curtly and retreating from the study, closing the door behind her, the sound of her booted footsteps growing faint as she moved away, much to his relief. His relationship with his lieutenant had grown more and more strained in the months since Ostagar, but he believed she remained loyal because he was doing his utmost for Ferelden; were she to overhear what he needed to discuss with Howe, he was no longer certain if he could count on her blind loyalty to the cause any longer.

"The...precautions we discussed" Loghain, hating himself for needing this viper of a man, who lived only to advance and improve his own fortunes, who cared for nothing and no-one but himself, certainly not the people of Ferelden and the nation's safety and freedom as Loghain did. '_Just a little longer' _he told himself. '_When the darkspawn have been routed, and Ferelden put back to rights, then you can throw this worm to the wolves. He can carry the blame for all that you've had to do, everything that's gone wrong-most of which was his doing- as he deserves'._

"I fear we may have to implement them".

"I agree; I doubt Her Majesty will co-operate with our plans to ensure her safety until this crisis has passed, but it is a precaution we must take if we are to ensure her safety" Howe wittered obsequiously. "As well you know, my lord, Queen Anora will be a prime target for your enemies; were she to die, it would be a weakness to your authority and the stability of your regency that your enemies would not hesitate to exploit. Once the immediate crisis has passed, she can resume her rule with diligence and security, knowing that all and every threat to Ferelden's stability has been eradicated, thanks to your valiant efforts"

Loghain agreed with a silent nod. He and his daughter hadn't spoken with each other for months; she barely deigned to acknowledge his existence since their last strident argument, but he still cared for her enough to ensure her safety. Anora would understand that one day, that everything he had done had been for her and for Ferelden. When he returned to Anora her kingdom, united behind her, cleansed of the darkspawn and the traitors who threatened it, she would see and understand the sacrifices that he had made and be able to rule with the same iron determination as him, which had made all the hard choices so she didn't have to.

He could not balk from this.

"Proceed. Invite my daughter to an extended stay at your hospitality, and...ensure she remains" Loghain muttered, hating himself for it "but I give you fair warning" he added, Howe turning to face him looking rather wary. "This is your last chance, Rendon. If my daughter comes to harm in your charge, and if Bryce's brat and that bastard pretender are not dead by week's end, _you_ will be!"

#################

Alistair woke early the following morning, unable to sleep, owing to the combination of the darkspawn hive mind whispering in his skull as it did every night, the memory of their encounter with Loghain and his own trepidation at being so close to accomplishing so many things important; avenging Duncan, getting justice for his fellow Wardens, living and dead...and the personal matter preying on his mind.

Rising from the opulent four-poster bed and pacing around the quarters Eamon had given him-_'A step up from the stables I slept in last time'_- Alistair seized his pack from the corner he'd discarded it in and ferreted through until he found what he was looking for; a half-crumpled sheaf of parchment, buried there since before Ostagar, containing the information he'd requested one of the archivists at the Warden compound to look into. He'd received the letter before the Order had received Cailan's call to arms, but they'd moved to their posting at the southern fortress before he could act on it, re-reading it many times but never thinking he'd have a chance to act on it.

**'_For the attention of Warden Alistair_**

**_We have done as you asked and obtained the information you requested. The woman you asked us to find resides with her family in the Market District of Denerim, next door to the armoury owned by Master Wade. Her name is Goldanna'_**

He didn't know quite how he was meant to feel; certainly, he was intrigued by the notion of a relation, having never known such himself, growing up at the Arl's convenience. He remembered Arthur talking of his own family, the memories of growing up surrounded by family members who cared for his wellbeing, had cared and appreciated him, made sure he was loved and protected; Alistair couldn't help but envy what Arthur had had, having never experienced anything like that in his life, and while he was not so foolish as to believe this woman would throw her arms around him and embrace her long-lost brother without qualm, he didn't want to squander the opportunity of having family.

Getting washed and dressed quickly, Alistair made his way downstairs quietly- as quiet as one could be in plate armour- relieved that, so early in the morning, most of his companions were still in bed and the only people likely to be up and about were the household's servants who weren't likely to ask questions about where he was going. He opened the estate's main door, stepping out in to the courtyard-

"Going somewhere?" a familiar voice asked from his left. Alistair cursed his luck, his hope at getting out of the estate unseen crushed, and turned round to face Leliana, already dressed in the suit of leather armour she wore, practicing her archery, the man-shaped straw dummy she was practicing on riddled about the head and torso with arrows, and Alistair spared a moment to be impressed at her accuracy.

"It must be important for you to disobey the Arl's instructions" Leliana added with a severe look, sounding so very much like Wynne, Eamon having instructed that none of them were to leave the mansion on their own, for fear of reprisals by Loghain's forces. Alistair hadn't liked going against Eamon's wishes, but he hadn't been sure how the others would react if he'd told them he wished to do something so frivolous. Morrigan would probably laugh her head off at such sentimentality, Wynne and Sten would dismiss it as a distraction and a waste of time and the others...

"It's...private" Alistair tried to protest, but Leliana was persistent.

"Oh come now, we're friends, aren't we? Unless you feel you can't trust me with wanting to help you with something that's clearly bothering you..." she said, pouting in a manner designed to evoke regret for withholding information and causing one to spill their guts to placate her that had no doubt proved invaluable during her career in Orlais, leaving Alistair both impressed and irritated at the bard's ability to tug at the emotions to get what she wanted.

'_Maker's breath, she's good at this'_

"I told you about my mother, how she was a servant in Redcliffe Castle. What I didn't tell you was that ...I had a sister, a half-sister, one I never knew about until recently. What with the Blight and everything, I thought I might...go see her, I don't know, try and warn her" Alistair trailed off, feeling rather foolish suddenly for telling her and for the whole idea in general.

"Have you contacted her?" Leliana asked curiously.

"No, I thought about it, but I never did, and then we got called down to Ostagar and I never got the chance. She's the only family I have, at least the only family not embroiled in this whole royal thing..."

"Do you know where to find her?" Leliana asked; Alistair nodded and handed over the note, the Orlesian skimming over its contents quickly before quickly unstringing her bow and slinging it over her shoulder, retrieving her arrows and "Well, let's go, shall we? No time like the present, strike while the iron's hot and all that?"

"Shouldn't we get some of the others?" Alistair felt rather nervous at the thought of actually _meeting_ this woman now, wondering if it might not be better to put the whole thing off. "Maybe if we wait until the others are awake, Arthur or-"

"Oh, he's still in bed, sleeping off last night" the woman replied with an impish grin. "He was dealing with a lot of frustration after our meeting with that bastard Howe that I helped to..._relieve_" Leliana grinned meaningfully in a way that needed no explanation; Alistair full well remembered some of the sounds coming out of their tents on those nights in camp.

It didn't take them too long to find the house, a small, rather ramshackle house nestled next door to a blacksmith and another emporium on the far side of the Market District, which was all but deserted, save for the first few merchants setting up their stalls for the day's work and a number of young children playing outside the door.

"That's... my sister's house. I'm almost sure of it, this is...yes, this is the right address. She could be inside. Could we... go and see?"

"Would you rather meet her on your own?"

"Do I seem a little nervous?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a cold sweat; this was something completely new to him. "I am. I really don't know what to expect. I'd like you to be there with me, if you're willing. Or we could... leave, I suppose. We really don't have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go-"

"Alistair!" She cut off his babbling. "Calm down, will you?"

"Right. Calming down..._now_" He took a few deep breaths, running a hand through his hair. "Whew. Did that do it? Yes, maybe it did."

"Oh, that's it, I'm coming with you, for your sake" Leliana declared sharply and Alistair nodded gratefully, relieved that he wasn't going to have to do this by himself.

"Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange... 'sister'. 'Siiiiiissssster.'"

"Relax. Just be yourself. You are charming, if a little awkward, but it's endearing; she'd have to have a heart of stone not to like you"

"Really? You really think so?"

Leliana's eyes rolled in exasperation. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Just be yourself... you do know how to do that, don't you?"

"Right. Let's go. Let's just... go." Alistair hesitated in front of the door for a moment to take a few more deep breaths before knocking on it. There was some noise coming from inside, sounding disconcertingly like profanity. He twisted the door knob to find the door unlocked, and opened it. "Err... hello?" he called out tentatively.

The woman inside the house was quite unlike the 'sister' Alistair had envisioned in his dreams so many times thinking on the information. The Goldanna he dreamed of was warm and kind, friendly with a smile on her face, immaculate and welcoming. The difference was quite pronounced in real life; she was much more haggard and weary-looking in appearance, her skin sallow and heavily wrinkled, her hair frizzy and looking in need of a wash and a comb, and her small eyes narrowed suspiciously as she regarded the strangers warily.

"Eh? You have linens to wash?" she demanded. "I charge three bits on the bundles, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

"I'm... not here to have any washing done," Alistair explained, caught a little offguard by how direct the woman was. "My name's Alistair. I'm... well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I supposed I'm your brother."

"My, what? I am Goldanna, yes..." She frowned suspiciously at him. "How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

"You sure your information was correct?" Leliana chipped in, looking very dubious.

"Yes, I'm sure of it" Alistair replied before turning his attention back to the woman. "Look, our mother... she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She-"

"You!" Goldanna pointed a finger angrily at Alistair, her tone accusatory. "I knew it! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead? Who told you that?" Alistair was stunned at this revelation. _'No doubt the work of my 'dear father' trying to keep my existence secret to protect his reputation-Maker forbid that the glorious legend of Maric the Saviour be besmirched by such folly'_ his inner voice added bitterly.

"Them's at the castle! I told them the babe was the king's, and they told me he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry, I... didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him; I'm... your brother."

Awkward he might be, but Alistair was utterly sincere, hoping that she might feel something, surprise, incredulity that might lead to a display of warmth and curiosity regarding him, as he felt towards this woman, about whom he knew next to nothing. Yet, Goldanna only scoffed in utter disdain, glaring at him coldly. "For all the good it does me! You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off!"

The accusation hurt, yet it was no surprise; people had been brushing him off all his life. His father, Eamon, Cailan and now Goldanna; they all only ever saw him as an inconvenience or something to be used, not a person. More disappointed than hurt, Alistair was caught off guard when he saw someone had taken offence at his treatment.

"That's hardly Alistair's fault, is it?" Leliana interjected angrily. "You think he wished her dead?"

"And who in the Maker's name are you?" Goldanna looked at her once over hostilely, her lip curling. "Some poncey Orlesian tart, following after his riches, I expect?". Leliana went white with outrage at the insult, but Alistair tried to head her off before she reacted violently, well aware of the bard's skill with words and blades.

"Hey! Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and-"

"Oooohhh, I see" Goldanna snapped, cutting off the rest of his speech. A prince and some girl too noble for the likes of me. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?" she mocked with a sneer. "I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? _Nothing!_ They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

"And why doesn't the father of these brats pay for their upbringing?" Leliana demanded, and Goldanna's face went bright red with outrage at being contradicted. Alistair could only gape in shock at how deftly the bard wielded her silver tongue, as sharp as any blade, and the redhead was by no means finished.

"Or should we assume that your husband is now lying face down in some drinking den in the city, passed out on cheap ale in an effort to drown out the faces of the asp he's married to and the brats who, judging by the look of them, probably aren't his? Not that I'd blame him" Leliana added spitefully, a savage grin on her face at the sight of the thunderous expression Goldanna displayed at the insult. "If you're unwilling to keep your legs together and marry men who can't stand you, that's your business, but don't try and make Alistair pay for your mistakes"

'_Never get into a war of words with a bard'_ Alistair thought _'You won't win'_

"How dare-! Who in Andraste's name do you think you are, coming in here and insulting me and my family in my own house?" Goldanna demanded hotly.

"Someone who has better things to do with their time than bandy words with a vicious, money-grubbing harridan with an overinflated opinion of what she's due!" was the retort. Alistair felt the bard take his arm, directing him towards the door, glaring at his sister-no- the woman who was his sister- all the while as she added "Let's go, Alistair. All this bitch wants is your money. Family shouldn't be like this. You don't need her. There's nothing for you here."

"You're right. I don't know why I came..." Alistair nodded in agreement, feeling more disappointed than upset, feeling stupid for ever considering the notion that someone might look past his heritage, to see him for the person he was, not as an indiscretion or an annoyance...

"I don't know why you came, either, or what you expected to find. But it isn't here!" Goldanna couldn't resist twisting the knife further, it seemed. "Now get out of my house, the both of you!"

Alistair was willing to be the bigger man, to ignore the parting shot, but Leliana's anger on his behalf had other ideas. "Someone ought to do Thedas a favour and cut out that forked tongue of yours!" A dagger was in her hand faster than anyone could react, hovering an inch from Goldanna's throat, the woman's face going white with fear and Alistair forced himself to intervene; he knew Leliana was more than capable of murder and while he no longer felt anything but disgust for this money-grabbing shrew, cutting her down in anger would do their cause no favours.

"No!" Alistair sighed sadly, placing a hand on the bard's shoulder to calm her down, grateful for her fervent support and defence of him, but not wanting it to cause further trouble. "Just... just leave her alone. It's her house, after all. Let's just go." He turned and left the house without a backward glance, the bard, glaring daggers to match the one in her hand following him out and angrily slamming the door shut behind her.

"Well that was... not what I expected. To put it lightly," said Alistair, disappointment and regret at having wasted his time on such folly clear in his voice. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it."

"I'm sorry it turned out like this." He didn't doubt the bard understood his feelings; she was an orphan too, brought up on the kindness of another, but she'd found a family of sorts in the form of her lover, whereas he...

"Yes... I'm sorry, too," said Alistair. "I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I... I feel like a complete idiot." An idiot for holding on to the idealistic dream of a happy, welcoming family out there waiting for him to join them for so long, that dream now destroyed by the very person whom he'd built his dreams upon.

His disappointment must have shown on his face, because Leliana gave him the hug of a friend, wrapping her arms around him, heedless of the growing crowd in the marketplace.

"You are not an idiot, Alistair" she said when she let go of him. "You have been told how much of an inconvenience and a burden you were and treated as such all your life. It's _not_ idiotic to want acceptance, or a family to belong to. The trouble is that there are so many people in this world, who like that bitch, see you as something to be used for their benefit; they don't care about you, they're just out for themselves. You try too hard to be who you are told to be, you neglect your own desires and allow others to make choices for you, important ones, ones that affect you. You should start to look out for yourself, and don't let anyone take advantage of you anymore, because if you don't look out for yourself, who will?"

'_Maybe I was wrong; perhaps I already have something similar to what I was looking for...'_

"So this is where you two have been" a familiar voice called out, interrupting the moment; both Alistair and Leliana spun round to see Arthur approaching, his armour gleaming brightly in the morning sun, Oghren trailing behind him, though Alistair noticed his hair was still quite tousled and he could see what looked to be..._bite marks_ on the parts of Arthur's neck that were visible.

"Zev woke me up to say he'd seen you two sneaking out and I thought I'd find out what was going on. Besides, it can't be long until that contact Bann Loren told us about calls for us, so I thought best to be ready. So what have you two been up to?"

"Alistair found out he had a half-sister living in Denerim , so I agreed to help him seek her out, and we did, for all the good it did, _grossière, ignorante, chienne ingrate_ that she was" Leliana seethed, reverting to her native language to curse Goldanna further, making Alistair fairly grateful he couldn't understand Orlesian. "I was just saying he needs to look out and stand up for himself a bit more, lest others try to manipulate him like that _putain". _Arthur nodded sagely in agreement, his expression sympathetic but firm.

"Sad to say, my friend, but I have to agree; in this life, almost everybody's out for themselves. I learned that lesson too late in the form of Howe. I don't doubt it's a sore spot but at least you've learned it before you were too attached to this woman; you could have been really hurt. All I can say is take this lesson and learn from it"

"Yes, you're right..." Alistair muttered in agreement; it might be wisdom, but it was a particularly bitter lesson to learn...

"Is there anything you need? Anything we can get that would help?" Leliana offered, a comforting hand placed on Alistair's shoulder, her expression one of concern.

'_What do I want?_' Alistair thought, for perhaps the first time in so long_. 'A moment to myself, to be free of all the burdens pressing down on me, to deal with the Blight...so many things...'_

"Maker's breath, I need a drink" he spoke out loud.

"That, pike-twirler, is the smartest thing you've said since I met you!" Oghren laughed as they made their way towards the Gnawed Noble Tavern.

##################

Even early in the morning, the Gnawed Noble was doing a roaring trade; a good number of nobles were already gathered, breaking their fast in the tavern and discussing the upcoming Landsmeet amongst themselves.

"You're being very foolish. Why would Loghain leave half our own army to die when a Blight threatens? I take him at his word; the battle couldn't be won" one nobleman, an ugly balding fellow sat at one of the tables lining the wall protested, loud enough for them to here as they walked by.

"Even _you _must admit there has been a suspicious rash of mortality among the advisors to the Crown. Bryce, Urien, Eamon..." another noble, a blonde, bearded man of middle years retorted sharply.

"Eamon's not dead! Mores' the pity" the balding noble sneered.

"That was beneath you" the second noble snapped, before looking around pensively, as if he feared being eavesdropped. "Though I will grant you, I am...discomforted by Eamon's notion of placing this bastard on Maric's throne; it would set an ill precedent"

"True, I would much rather see Anora keep the throne myself; far better it pass to the Mac Tir line than to some... _by-blow_!" the first noble nodded.

"Good to know" Alistair muttered bitterly. _'No matter where I go or what I do, my father's shadow will always hang over me'_ his mind added sullenly, trying to push the thought of Goldanna out of his head.

The group found an empty table and Arthur waved over one of the barmaids to bring them something over. As the serving wench moved over carrying a tray of tankards that she set down before them, Alistair seized his, eager to try and blot out the memories of that past encounter; he'd have to address it sooner or later, but not now. For the moment, they had time to kill while they waited for Bann Loren's contact with the Antivan Crows to make contact with them; the exchange was due to go ahead today and Arthur and Eamon were adamant about intervening, not wishing to pass up the chance to accrue the support of any noble they could for the Landsmeet.

"So, who's who in here?" Alistair asked of his fellow as he took a deep draught of the mead the serving girl placed before him, ignoring Oghren's hasty gulping as the dwarf downed his own tankard, trusting Arthur's knowledge and past encounters with these individuals to increase his own knowledge, in addition to trying to distract himself while they waited. Eamon had instructed him to test the waters and see where the loyalties of the nobles arriving in the capital lay, and if they were all set on naming him as the next king, then Alistair fully intend to do the task to the best of his ability. '_Knowing the names of the men and women who may prove instrumental to that is probably a good start'_.

"Bann Sighard, ruler of the Dragon's Peak Bannorn" Arthur answered, gesturing to the blonde, bearded noble. "Very forceful man when he puts his mind to something, and his conviction would be a great support, but unfortunately, by all accounts he's still sitting on the sidelines, uncertain which side to take. We'll have to remedy that before long".

"And the balding old coot singing Loghain's praises?" Alistair continued.

"Bann Ceorlic, living up to his family's reputation as the finest bootlickers in Ferelden" Arthur scowled contemptuously as he glared at the Bann. At the enquiring looks of his companions, he went on to explain "The Bann is the son of one of the traitors who betrayed and murdered Queen Moira-your grandmother- during the rebellion at the behest of the usurper Meghren. Ceorlic only kept his head on his shoulders because he swore loyalty to Maric and denounced his father with remarkable alacrity, and he's worked very hard down the years to try and ensure no one views him in the same way as his traitorous father, hence his hasty allegiance to Loghain. Plus, his lands border Loghain's terynir of Gwaren; no doubt the good Bann is scared shitless by the thought of what Loghain will do to him if he refuses"

"And those two?" Alistair continued, pointing to a familiar, broad-shouldered man sat at a table in the far corner, talking to a striking young woman, dressed in studded leather armour, her braided brunette hair, pale skin and green eyes that Alistair caught a glimpse of as the woman turned round to see who her companion was acknowledging, were quite eye-catching.

"Leonas Bryland, Arl of South Reach you know" Arthur replied, inclining his head towards the Arl, who nodded by way of greeting "and his support we can count on. His charming companion is Lady Alfstanna, Bann of the Waking Sea"

"The one your parents were making plans for you to marry?" Leliana enquired.

"The very same" Arthur nodded, ignoring the gleam in the Orlesian woman's eyes as she stared over at the noblewoman's back. "Only twenty five and yet she's one of the most promising nobles in Ferelden; she's restored her Bannorn's treasuries to levels unseen in years, opened up lucrative trade routes across the Waking Sea and has quite a reputation for being a firm and even-handed ruler, popular and respected by the people. If we could get her on our side..." Arthur trailed off, like Alistair clearly having no ideas at present as to how they were going to get the many nobles sitting on the fence onto their side.

"And of course, you've already met the charming Arl Wulff" Arthur added with a nod towards the only other noble in the tavern, sat by the door, nursing a tankard of ale and glowering sullenly at them. Alistair returned the scowl, remembering the angry brushing off the Arl had given them moments before...

"_Another one" the bearded noble, clad unusually in armour rather than the finery of silk or velvet that his fellow patrons were clad in, scowled as he mopped the ale that had spilled down the front of his armour as he'd gotten up to go to the bar and Alistair had collided with the noble's shoulder accidentally. "Wonderful. I suppose you're here to ask for another donation?"_

_The man's grey eyes scanned the faces of the group, but before any of them could make a response to his demand, the noble's gaze fell on Arthur and a comprehending expression contorted his bearded face. "The youngest Cousland, I see, probably looking for men and coin to take your terynir back. You're better off asking the darkspawn, boy; they hold West Hills"_

"_Arl Wulff?" Arthur asked, astonished, or so it seemed, to see the man; they'd heard of West Hills' destruction on their journey and how few survivors had escaped the horde's onslaught._

"_That's correct; Gallagher Wulff, Arl of West Hills...or what's left of them anyway" the Arl added as a bitter afterthought. "All of southern Ferelden covered by black clouds, the ground rotting beneath your feet, plagues and darkspawn raids going on until even the crows get sick of the smell of carrion" the Arl spat sullenly, glowering at them before taking a deep breath and muttering harshly "No matter. I've nothing for you to take, Cousland, not even my sons"_

"_They're dead?" Arthur seemed genuinely surprised, causing Alistair to wonder; had he known them? From his time in Redcliffe, he'd seen the sons of other nobles spending time as wards or squires in the charge of Eamon and his brother; could Arthur have known this Arl's boys from a similar arrangement?_

"_What do you think?" the Arl snapped, anger in his eyes at such an idiotic question. "War claims the young and strong first, and plague doesn't give a damn how skilled or brave you are" Arl Wulff ranted angrily, before sinking back into his seat and motioning for another drink, looking away as he awaited the next aid to blotting out the horrors he'd witnessed._

"_Bah, it doesn't matter. Leave me, boy; I've nothing for you"_

They'd done as the Arl asked, not wanting to start an argument, but Alistair couldn't help but muse. The Arl's anger was understandable, given that he wanted to be out in the field trying to reclaim his land from its monstrous conquerors instead of waiting on Loghain's charity to lend him soldiers once he swore fealty, but the presence of the darkspawn running unchecked through West Hills raised thoughts. _'Surely his arguments are something we could make use of. After all, he's seen firsthand the threat posed by the Blight, and there must be more nobles who are tired of Loghain's incessant rants that the chevaliers are just waiting to overrun us the second we let our guard down when there's a more immediate threat within our borders...'_

"Message for you, milord" a voice from behind Arthur piped up, disrupting Alistair's train of thought; they all looked round to see a boy of about eleven or twelve stood by Arthur's chair, holding out a paper scroll for him. Arthur nodded and took the paper, tossing the lad a few silvers for his trouble, unfurled it and skimmed over its contents, casting it aside as he read the message.

"We're on" Arthur said, downing the last dregs of his tankard and rising from his seat, the others following suit and falling into step as they headed for Room 1 of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, where Ignacio awaited.

################

"We're done here" the assassin muttered dispassionately as Arthur drew his sword from the guts of Captain Chase. "Go back to your contact. Quickly"

Arthur had to agree; the alleyway where the exchange of prisoners was to take place now resembled an abattoir, the walls and buildings around splattered with blood, the ground strewn with mangled corpses, though fortunately none of their own. It would do them no good, at a time when Loghain was just begging for a reason to drag them to Fort Drakon and throw away the key, to have a wandering patrol of the city guard chance upon them here.

The situation had been tense enough when they'd arrived, the directions Ignacio had given them to the meeting point proving accurate; two Crows disguised as noblemen arguing with a heavyset man in chainmail armour marked on the breast with the Howe sigil; clearly the infamous Captain Chase. Behind the captain stood five other armed and armoured men-the sort of thugs adept at violence and brutality that Howe would hire- and a sixth man, hands bound behind his back and a bag placed over his head.

"Deal was no-one else! Kill them all!" Chase roared as he caught sight of the new arrivals, his shout turning into a piggish squeal as one assassin drove a knife into his shoulder. His men drew their own weapons and hastened to their leader's side, though to Arthur's horror, one drove a sword through their captive's back before charging into the fray. The sheer callousness of the act ignited the berserker fury, and Arthur and Oghren waded into the fray, striking down men without mercy, their assassin allies protecting their flanks while Leliana and Alistair hung back, loosing arrows and crossbow bolts where they saw an opening.

Oghren's maul connected with Chase's right knee, crushing the greave and shattering the bone into pieces. Two of his men leapt over their stricken leader before the dwarf could finish him off, stabbing at Oghren. The dwarf blocked one blade and leapt back from the second, the blade shearing off several braids in his beard instead of opening his throat. The second thug let out a scream as a crossbow bolt took him in the thigh; before he could recover, Oghren smashed in his chest, the maul's head crushing armour, bone and flesh easily. The other attacker was trying to sneak round to backstab the dwarf, only to stop as a thrown knife from one of the Crows struck him in the side; before he could recover, Arthur was on him, hammering the thug with one relentless heavy blow after another. The man desperately tried to block but his own steel sword snapped after managing to parry four strikes from Arthur; the fifth opened Howe's man from collarbone to navel, Arthur twisting the blade before planting his foot on the man's chest and ripping the blade free in a spray of blood and viscera, stepping over the thug's body as he fell forward, pausing only to finish off the wounded Captain Chase who'd been trying to crawl to safety, driving his sword through the captain's back and out of his belly in a spurt of gore.

The two remaining thugs tried to retreat, one managing to draw a bow and loose a single shaft that managed to find a gap in the Juggernaut plate at the shoulder, but before the thug could nock a second shaft, a well-aimed arrow took him in the mouth as he bellowed a triumphant cry, the arrowhead erupting from the back of his. The last man lost his nerve entirely and turned to flee, only to topple with a thrown dagger embedded in his back. Before he could get back up, the Crow who'd thrown the blade was on the man, ripping the blade free and using it to slit the stricken man's throat.

"Dairren" Arthur cursed, snapping the shaft still in his shoulder as he raced over to the downed hostage, all but disembowelled by the force of the blow they'd been dealt, knowing it was futile, that no one could survive such a wound, knowing that they had failed, but still he wrenched the sack off the dead youth's head...only to see a face quite unlike that of the young man he remembered-blonde haired, ruddy of complexion and with a smattering of stubble around the cheeks and jaw line. '_This is not Dairren!'_ Arthur thought at once, initially relieved at the thought that they hadn't failed, only to be replaced with disappointment and anger as he realised that this discovery made no difference to the circumstances whatsoever.

They'd been duped.

'_No doubt, this was some poxy lack witted criminal Chase and his thugs dragged out of the dungeon and convinced to participate in this charade with the promise of coin and a pardon'_ Arthur thought bitterly, giving the corpse a savage kick in the ribs out of frustration. Howe and Loghain probably never intended to give up their hostage to ensure Bann Loren's loyalty, had probably only told him that to ensure he supported them at the Landsmeet. The real Dairren was probably already dead, killed to punish his father's failure to slay them at Redcliffe and dumped in an unmarked grave, and with him had died a potential offer of support come the Landsmeet.

"We're done" Arthur repeated as he cleaned his sword on the back of Captain Chase's armour and sheathed it, pausing only to allow Leliana and Alistair to tend to the arrow wound in his shoulder. Once the arrowhead had been removed, having fortunately not gone too deep, and the wound bandaged to stop the bleeding, they set off back in the direction of the Market District, Arthur almost hoping for a skirmish, some idiot bandits to try their luck, so as to release their tension and frustration at the turn of events, but nothing came, their reputation clearly having preceded them enough for not even the most desperate footpads to dare attempt an attack, so that when they reached the Gnawed Noble Tavern and stormed into the room the Crows had hired as their base of operations, all were extremely irritable.

"I heard there was quite a scuffle in the alleyways. Well done" Ignacio said upon their entry in such a blasé tone that it only heightened the collective sense of annoyance.

"Well done? _Well done!" _Arthur bellowed, throwing his helmet at the Crow contact furiously, finally giving in to the fit of pique. "Arl Howe betrayed us! He never intended to hand his captive over" he roared, advancing on the Crow. "You risked our lives for _nothing!_"

The Antivan's guards made to draw their blades, but Ignacio waved them aside, raising a placating hand to the Warden.

"Do not worry, Warden. Some...'friends' have already rescued the boy. He's back safe and sound with his very important father by now...as we intended" Ignacio replied, leaving all present dumbstruck with relief and anger.

"And you didn't think to mention this beforehand?" Arthur snapped waspishly once the shock and relief at the fact they hadn't failed after all had dissipated enough for his capacity for speech to return.

"We're told all we need to know; that's an assassin's life" Ignacio retorted with a shrug of the shoulders. "You were told all you needed to know; anything else you got was a bonus"

"So, we're done here? I've done all that the Crows asked, so there is no need for any further contact between us?"

"Not quite" Ignacio confessed ruefully. "As I said before, one master already has a contract on you-when we took it, we didn't realise how useful an asset you might be to us. As far as stopping the Blight was concerned, we truly believed Loghain was the best man for the job, and by the time you proved otherwise, it was too late to undo matters; we never cancel a contract once it's made. But you have my word; the Crows will be taking no further contracts on you. Once the matter of Taliesin is dealt with, you will have nothing more to fear from us...one way or the other"

"So we are done?" Arthur insisted and Ignacio nodded.

"Indeed we are; I and the Crows have nothing more for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a boat to catch; I wish to be back home long before the darkspawn arrive here. It was a pleasure working with you, Warden. Luck be to you" Ignacio said with a nod of the head to Arthur, the Warden reluctantly stepping aside to allow the contact and his guards out.

Ignacio waited until he was out of earshot before summoning a messenger to convey his last message before heading for the docks to book passage on the next ship back to Antiva. He had nothing against these Grey Wardens- indeed, they'd proven a great help to business, completing contracts that his own men might have been more hard-pressed to accomplish- but he was an agent of the Antivan Crows first and foremost, and it was his charge to ensure that all the contracts that fell under his purview were assigned and dealt with.

_All_ of them.

"Nothing personal, Warden. Purely business" Ignacio muttered quietly as he sent the errand boy off with a message to the occupants of the safe house the Crows owned in Denerim as to the location of their target.

#################

It was just after sunset when the quartet finally left the Gnawed Noble Tavern, their spirits higher than they'd been in some time. Bann Loren had showed up some hours earlier, overjoyed and jubilant at the return of his son, swearing that Alistair and Eamon had his support without question once the Landsmeet came to order. The Bann had ordered the barmaid to bring the finest wine they had and before long, Aggregio Pavali was flowing freely as they drank toast after toast to victory, to freedom, to Dairren and any other notion that came to mind, Oghren swilling down glass after glass like there was no tomorrow, having clearly discovered a liking for the Tevinter wine, Alistair, Leliana and Arthur drinking in a somewhat more restrained manner, but not stinting on the celebratory drinks. It was undoubtedly a folly, a restrained part of their minds told them, but the sudden reversal of fortune inspired a desire to celebrate their first bit of luck.

It was raining slightly as they exited the tavern, a bit drunk, not that it bothered them; it was only a short walk back to Arl Eamon's estate, so the likelihood of getting soaked was relatively small. But that wasn't what bothered Arthur. What bothered him was how quiet the market square was. Granted, it was after trading hours, and the merchants had long since closed up their stalls and gone home, but even so, he had expected an odd patrol of the city guard to be on the prowl, keeping an eye out for brigands and cutpurses looking for prospective targets...

'_Unless they've been ordered away tonight'_ he thought_. 'After all, how hard could it be for someone to order their commander to pull the guardsmen back from the Market District, so that they can't intervene if a certain individual gets into trouble...'_

'_Snap out of it!_' Rationality tried to reassert itself. '_Remember the Deep Roads; do not let your fear populate the night and the shadows with enemies, it will make you unprepared. Seeing conspiracy everywhere doesn't help either; you need only look at Loghain to know the truth of that..'_

"Be alert" he snapped, now heartily wishing now he'd stayed sober, keeping one hand close to the hilt of his sword as they turned out of the alley where the tavern stood, around the corner into the market square...and all jumping out of their skins as they heard a noise to their left. Arthur fought down the urge to draw his sword. '_Probably just a fox'_ he told himself, but then they heard whistling to their side and saw they were no longer alone.

Leaning up against the tavern's wall was a tall, thin man in leather armour, idly whistling to himself and drumming on his knees to the tune he was whistling; likely just a passer-by, and the group let out a collective sigh of relief, continuing on their way. But as they made to walk past him, the man moved away from the wall, blocking their path.

"And here is the mighty Grey Warden, at long last" the man spoke, his voice marked by a rich Antivan accent, idly examining his fingernails as the group glared at him.

"You'd best have a good reason for this, scum!" Arthur snarled and the dark-haired Antivan laughed richly as he turned to regard them, a predatory gleam entering his eyes.

"Oh, of course, where are my manners? The Crows send their greetings once again" the man replied with a mocking bow, clapping his hands twice and at the signal, five more assassins emerged from hiding in the shadows- from behind stalls, within alleyways and buildings around the market square to surround them, along with two others perched on the roof of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, aiming crossbows at Arthur and Alistair.

"Taliesin, I presume?"

"My reputation precedes me, I see" Taliesin replied with another laugh, before his expression became hard and cold as he scoured the quartet before him. "Where is Zevran?" the Antivan demanded.

Before they could answer, a pair of strangled screams rang out and all eyes flew to the roof as the two crossbow-wielding Crows on the roof fell, a throwing knife embedded in their throats. Taliesin whirled round in time to see his men plummet to their deaths, one smashing into the rain-soaked cobbles, the other crash-landing headfirst on a merchant's stall, and then turned in the direction the fatal missiles had come from...

"Here I am, Taliesin" Zevran barked in a flat voice, showing no emotion as he marched over to them, Arabella trailing in his wake, her staff raised. "Tell me, were you sent, or did you volunteer for the job?"

Taliesin laughed, oblivious to, or more likely ignoring the disinterest his old friend seemed to showing towards him. "Ho, ho! And he makes an appearance! I volunteered, _of course_; when I heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I just had to see it for myself!"

"Is that so?" Zevran replied in that same emotionless tone, which seemed to unnerve his former partner more than any threat or insult. "Well here I am, in the flesh"

Taliesin, looking deeply unsettled, extended a hand to his former comrade, speaking in a persuasive tone of voice "You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you in the slightest. It's not too late; come back with me and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake..."

"Like you did with Rinna?" Arabella sneered and Taliesin reeled as if the mage had struck him.

"How does she know about that?" the Crow demanded of his fellow, who merely gave a blasé shrug.

"Don't you remember? I never could keep my mouth shut, particularly in bed" Zev retorted, a devilish grin crossing his lips.

"Sorry to interrupt this touching reunion, but you seem to be forgetting that for your plan to work, I would have to be dead..." Arthur snarled warningly, glowering at the elf, waiting to see if he was going to live up to his oath, or if he would have to keep his own pledge regarding what he'd do to the elf if he betrayed their trust.

"Yes, you would have to be dead..." Zevran admitted as he circled round all those present, drawing his daggers and idly spinning them in his hands...

"And I'm not about to let that happen!" Zevran proclaimed as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the Warden and levelled his daggers at Taliesin's chest.

"What?" Taliesin's expression was one of disgust and outrage, as if he couldn't believe this betrayal. "You've gone soft! Are you tired of living, Zevran? You do this, and you'll never be safe, you hear me? The Crows will hunt you to the ends of Thedas!"

"I suspect I shall do just fine" Zevran chuckled with his usual humour, before a sad, more sombre look entered his eyes; one might almost call it regret. "I'm sorry, old friend, but my answer is no. I'm not coming back, and you should have stayed in Antiva" Zev replied sadly, before leaping to the attack, stabbing with both daggers at Talisen's face. His former comrade leapt back from the strike, drawing his own blades and motioning for his fellow assassins to attack, but Arabella moved first, flicking a dark red globule into the midst of the attackers. Before they could move, the blood droplet splattered across the cobblestones in the middle of the group; the second it did, to a man the Crows fell to their knees, screaming in agony and clutching their limbs and chests, as if fire now coursed through their veins. Arthur recognised the spell Arabella's colleague had used against them to brutal effect upon their first meeting back at Kinloch Hold, but now he was grateful for such a destructive spell; with their senses more than a little fogged by the alcohol, they needed every advantage they could get.

They managed to dispose of two of the six without trouble as they thrashed and screamed in pain, Arthur beheading one and Oghren smashing in a seconds chest, before Taliesin, clearly fighting to think straight through the pain tearing at him, hurled a throwing knife at Arabella; though Zev pushed her out of the way of the blade, it broke her concentration and disrupted the spell. Freed from the blinding pain, the Crows went on the attack; Taliesin and two others going for the Wardens and Oghren, the fourth hanging back and exchanging arrows with Leliana, Arabella conjuring an arcane shield to protect the bard from most of the missiles.

Taliesin and Zevran locked blades, the elf's blades blazing with magical flames thanks to Arabella, while Arthur, Alistair and Oghren took on the other two; the first assassin threw a handful of sand into Arthur's eyes, enough of the stuff getting through the Juggernaut helm's visor, but Oghren's hammer, the dwarf warrior's skill seemingly unaffected by the amount he'd drunk, connected with the outstretched hand that had thrown the sand, accompanied by an audible crack of bone breaking. The assassin, however, managed to fight down the pain, stabbing out with his remaining good hand at Oghren's face, catching the dwarf on the right cheek with the blade of his dagger, but so intent was the assassin on the dwarf that he left himself open to Alistair, seeing the danger too late to stop Maric's sword from carving open a horizontal gash through his chest. The assassin fell to the floor, and Alistair and Oghren swiftly put him out of his misery.

Arthur battled the second assassin, who despite the advantage he should have had over his opponent due to the effects of the wine, also had to evade spells Arabella periodically shot at him, bolts of lightning and ice that forced him. Finally, his luck ran out, and a blast of lightning struck him in the leg, causing the Crow to stumble. Arthur ran him through, dodging back from the dying man's last desperate lunge.

Meanwhile, they heard a cry of pain as Zevran staggered back, toppling from a roundhouse kick to the jaw, Taliesin letting out a jubilant exclamation as he lunged at his old friend, daggers raised for the kill. Before he could strike however, Arabella let out a screaming war cry, almost feral in its intensity, and from the tip of her staff unleashed a stream of lightning that engulfed the Crow, Taliesin's pain-stricken screams just audible over the crackling of magical electricity. Leaping back to his feet, Zev retrieved his blades and, racing at his old comrade, tackled Taliesin to the floor, badly burned from the magical onslaught, and before he could recover, drove both daggers into the assassin's chest.

"_That_" Zevran muttered, twisting the blades as he spoke "was for Rinna. _This_ is for me. Goodbye, old friend" Zevran said with a hint of what could have been sadness in his voice as he drew one blade free from Taliesin's chest, placed it to his neck, and tore open the Crow's throat. The last remaining Crow, the archer, lost her will to fight on and broke, but she didn't get far, falling face first into the dirt a few metres away with two arrows buried in the small of her back.

"And so it is done" Zev muttered, wiping his daggers clean on Taliesin's cuirass, staring at the bodies of his former comrades. "Taliesin is dead and I am free of the Crows. They should assume I have perished along with Taliesin; so long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out"

"Surely that's a good thing?" Arabella offered, a tentative smile on her face.

"A _very_ good thing" Zev replied, a wide smile crossing his lips, though Arthur saw it didn't reach his eyes. "It's what I've hoped for ever since your fellow Wardens decided not to kill me". Zev took a deep breath before he continued, running a hand through his rain-soaked hair before turning to address Arthur.

"It has been fun travelling in your company, but I am wondering if the time has come for us to part ways; I feel that would be the practical thing to do? Still, the decision is yours; would you have me leave?"

"Stay" Arabella entreated. "You've been quite useful, not to mention a good fellow to have around and fun for other things, wouldn't you agree?" she added, turning to the others. Alistair looked undecided, clearly weighing his distaste for the assassin with his gratitude for the fact he'd fought by their side, Leliana nodding in agreement as she did all those months ago when she persuaded them to spare the elf's life, and Oghren merely shrugged his shoulders in an unconcerned manner, still trying to staunch the bleeding from the facial cut. Arthur let the moment hang for a time, before making his decision.

"I would have you stay" Arthur added in agreement; his opinion of the elf had changed a great deal since they'd first met all those months ago. They'd given Zevran the benefit of the doubt, and he hadn't let them down, proving his loyalty and faithfulness to his vow and his skills and information had been beneficial on more than one occasion. As Leliana had said, one doesn't cast aside a fine sword simply on account of the hand that had wielded it before you, and it would be folly to discard one of the few allies they had, particularly now.

"If you are willing to stand and fight with us in this endeavour, then I would be happy to have you at our side"

"Very well" Zev replied with a wide smile, sheathing his blades and extending a hand, which Arthur shook. "Let us return to the task at hand...and be gone before someone comes and asks awkward questions" he added, nodding at the surrounding corpses of the assassins.

Arl Eamon's estate was a welcome sight, though none could have imagined the day's troubles were by no means over. As they entered the estate's courtyard, Bann Teagan came running out to meet them. "There you are! My brother's had his men out looking for you everywhere-Maker's breath, what's happened to you?" the Bann exclaimed as he took in the state of them, covered in blood, cuts and bruises, armour clearly marked by the signs of combat.

"We ran into some...old friends" Zev replied. Teagan's eyebrows rose, but he chose not to enquire further.

"Arthur, Alistair, my brothers asks if you could join him in his study" Teagan explained as their companions moved off in search of Wynne. "Something has come up"

#################

"I trust you've made yourself comfortable?" Eamon asked with an ironic note in his voice, the arl's gaze clearly noting the blood and dents on their armour, the fresh cuts and battle scars they'd acquired since he'd last seen them.

"Yes, very nice" Arthur muttered distractedly as he entered the arl's study, his gaze focused on the only other figure in the room besides himself, Alistair and Eamon, shorter than the others, face hidden beneath a hooded black cloak.

"Good, because it's likely to be your last rest for quite some time" Eamon said as he made to the door of his study, looked to ensure there was no one nearby to eavesdrop, then closed and locked it. The moment the lock clicked, the figure pulled down the hood of their cloak, revealing a female elf in her thirties, dark hair framing her pale face, dressed in a maid's attire, but much finer than the usual clothing elven servants wore.

Eamon gestured to the elven woman, a touch annoyed at the late hour at which his guest had appeared. "This is Erlina. She's-"

"I am Queen Anora's handmaiden," Erlina cut in smoothly. Her speech held the same lilting accent that Leliana had, though much thicker than the bard's. "She sent me here to ask for your help."

"Or perhaps the young lady prefers to speak for herself" Eamon added with a scowl, looking irked by the interruption. He was not the only one.

"We know the manner of message your master has for us, and he knows the manner of our replies" Arthur replied coldly, hand going to the hilt of his sword. "So speak your piece quickly before we send you back to your master in pieces!". To her credit, while she paled a little and her eyes remained fixed on the sword at his waist, the elf didn't lose her head at the threat.

"I'm here for Loghain's daughter, not Loghain!" the elf blurted out. "Their interests are not as similar as they once were"

"And Loghain allowed his daughter to hire an Orlesian?" Arthur cut in incredulously. "Not to mention letting her come and go as she pleases? I'm surprised he hasn't thrown you in Fort Drakon as a spy!"

"He had no say in the matter" Erlina retorted. "I was hired by King Cailan himself, at great expense, to serve as Queen Anora's maidservant. When he lived, I was highly respected in the royal household; I came very highly recommended" the elf began to ramble, puffing out her chest in pride. "My mother, uncle and cousins are all servants to Empress Celene herself; t'was she who recommended my services. Now my only protection from the regent's prejudices is from my lady's patronage, so I have, as you might say, a 'vested interest' in ensuring her safety"

"Which brings us to the reason you are here, woman" Eamon snapped, and Erlina had the sense to return the conversation back to the matter of business.

The queen, she is in a difficult position" Erlina explained, looking quickly between the three men present. "She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumours, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to ask her father, he doesn't answer; he just tells her 'not to trouble herself'"

"So the queen no longer wishes to be seen standing side-by-side with her husband's murderer?" Arthur remarked coldly, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"My queen suspects she can no longer trust her father" Erlina nodded in agreement. "And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe... he is privy to all the secrets and... not so subtle. So, she goes to Howe. A visit from the queen to the new arl of Denerim... it is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers."

"Considering what I've heard of the man, I'm guessing that went well" Alistair murmured darkly from his position in the corner.

The elven woman nodded. "He calls her every sort of name, "traitor" being the kindest, and locks her in a guest room."

"And Loghain would allow this?" Arthur asked sceptically.

"King Cailan was like a son to him, and Loghain left him to die," Erlina said, shrugging her shoulders sadly. "Does he love Anora more? Who can say? If he thought she was standing in his way, or doing something not to Ferelden's benefit..." There was a long pause before the handmaiden spoke again, a desperate look in her eyes.

"I think her life is in danger," the elf said earnestly, directing her attention to the arl. "I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon."

Arthur scowled, growing enraged at how Erlina was trying to play the arl's fear like a lute. He very much doubted Anora was any real danger. She was still the Queen, though her inaction in this conflict said otherwise; even Loghain couldn't harm her without suffering some consequences, if the regent were willing to add another charge of kin-slaying to his crimes, which Arthur highly doubted. And if she were in danger, she'd have more likely sent her maidservant to the commander of the city guard to ask for help, rather than a group of nobles who were rather uncertain allies; Anora had to know she couldn't be certain Eamon and the Wardens would support her. And if Anora wasn't in danger, then Erlina's plea wasn't a cry for help; it was a lure, the bait in a snare.

"You expect me to believe that Loghain, all for the sake of getting one over on Arl Eamon at the Landsmeet, would take the word of a cockroach like Howe and kill his own child?" Arthur snapped angrily. "Give me _one_ good reason why I should believe this cock-and-bull story and not throw you out on your arse right now!"

"Because you don't want Loghain ruling Ferelden, and if Anora speaks out at the Landsmeet, her voice could sway many nobles" Erlina replied a little smugly, and Arthur was forced to bite back a sarcastic retort. That _was_ a good reason, not that he was going to admit that to the elf.

"We may have no choice but to trust Anora" Eamon interjected. "The queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeds in pinning her death on me... I'm not sure that's a risk we can afford to take."

"Why should we trust her? You must be thinking the same as I..." Arthur retorted, not wanting to continue in front of Anora's maid if his suspicions were correct..._ 'That this is a trap baited for a particular prey...Wardens' _his mind finished. But Eamon, while seeming to share his distaste for the situation, was adamant.

"I fear if this is a trap, we're already caught in it. They can kill Anora whether or not we act and blame her death on us. With things as they are, few would believe our word over Loghain's; we can only defend ourselves with the Queen in hand".

Arthur grimaced angrily, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Once more, he was going to have to stick his head into the lion's mouth, and there was no guarantee he would emerge unscathed, and worst of all was the fact he had no choice, since as the damned elf has pointed out, standing aside and leaving this matter untouched would only cause them more trouble.

"What do you propose we do?"Arthur sighed bitterly.

"I have some uniforms," Erlina cut in before Eamon could reply, much to the Arl's visible annoyance. "Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir..."

"No, no, no" Arthur cut in, already seeing the flaws in that plan. The fact that this whole affair was almost certainly a trap ruled Alistair out from going, and Shale was an obvious no; the golem was not designed for subterfuge. Arthur very much doubted that Howe would stoop to hiring qunari, elves and dwarves for his guard no matter how desperate he was for hired thugs, which would make the presence of Sten, Oghren or Zevran in a guard uniform difficult to explain, and since 'misogynist' ranked somewhere amongst Rendon Howe's list of fine personal qualities, there weren't likely to be any women amongst his household guard.

"That will never work; unlike you, I know Rendon Howe, and if I and any of my companions show up in his estate wearing the uniform of his guards, it's going to attract far too much attention, for us and your mistress. No, I have a better plan..."

Erlina seemed irritated at having had her plan-or more likely her mistress's, Arthur doubted the elf came up with such a notion herself- dismissed, but when she spoke again, she was the very picture of servile courtesy.

"Very well, inform me when you are ready and I will lead you to Howe's estate. Please do not take too long, Warden; I fear my lady does not have much time..." Erlina pleaded, before allowing one of Eamon's servants to lead her to suitable quarters for the night, oblivious to or ignoring the malevolent glares all three men were directing at her retreating back for making their lives and the task ahead so much more difficult.

"One day" Arthur muttered darkly "one _glorious_ day, I'll go somewhere where no-one asks me to risk my neck running around trying to solve their idiotic problems when there are so many better things I could be doing..."

#################

_For those of you who don't know French (standing in for Orlesian), here's the translation for Leliana:_

_Faute bouche, ignorant, chienne ingrat_: Foul mouthed, ignorant, unappreciative bitch

_Putain_: Whore


	49. Chapter 47: Breaking In

_Ok, first let me say sorry for how long it's taken to get this done; I don't doubt you've all been waiting very patiently for this. Suffice to say real life has not been co-operating with me in the slightest of late; hopefully, it'll go easier in the future!_

_First things first, thanks as always to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work; that's what's been giving me the impetus to keep going. Special thanks to __**Kabutokun **__for pointing out some lingual errors on my part, __**spectre4hire, Theodur, KnightofHolyLight, Mystic Gohan88, MB18932**__ for your great, energising reviews and to __**Dex-El, HowlNimbus189, Hound9120, Rinage**__ and__** hornet07**__ for adding this to favourites._

_As always, I've tried to add my own flair to the vivid canvas Bioware has given us to play with, and I hope you enjoy my take on how the companions get into Howe's estate; I just felt it was a bit more believable than assuming no one will pay any attention to the odd assortment of people in guard uniforms wandering around the manor._

_My embellishments are mine; everything else is Bioware's._

_As always, __**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"There is no way on earth I am wearing this!" Morrigan scowled, holding up the dress in her arms as if it were a manure-stained rag. Zevran had paid a quick visit to the Pearl, calling in a favour with Sanga and returning with three extremely ostentatious dresses, all designed with low cut cleavage and long slits at the side to expose the wearer's legs . Arabella and Leliana had already changed, the bard wearing one fashioned from emerald silk, his fellow Warden dressed in similar, though Arabella's was fashioned from a very eye-catching turquoise fabric.

"It's a necessary deception" Arthur insisted. "I need women who'll be believable as courtesans Howe would hire, and you, my dear, fall into that category whether you like it or not". Morrigan's scowl only deepened and Leliana took up the cause, running a hand over the dress.

"I cannot understand your distaste for such finery, for wanting to indulge yourself a little in your work. After all, you are very beautiful Morrigan-"

"Tell me something I do not know" Morrigan sniffed airily.

"But you always dress in such rags. It suits you I suppose. A little tear here, a little rip there to show some skin. I understand"

"You understand I lived in a forest, I hope?" Morrigan snapped in exasperation, rolling her eyes at the bard's persistence that she indulge in some of the more feminine frippery that Leliana enjoyed to which she was less inclined.

"And now we have a chance to get you into something a little finer than your usual attire, you sneer at it!" Leliana insisted, seemingly incredulous that Morrigan would turn her nose up at such. "It's a fine dress, dark red velvet, better to guard against the cold in Ferelden and gold embroidery, and it is cut low in the front of course, we don't want to hide your features"

"Stop looking at my breasts like that. T'is most disturbing!" Morrigan griped, her mood less than genial at Leliana's assessment of her assets.

"You don't think so?" Leliana didn't seem abashed, looking, if anything, disappointed as Morrigan's right arm covered her cleavage. "And if it's cut low in the front we must put your hair up to show off that lovely neck".

"You are _insane_. I would sooner let Alistair dress me" Morrigan continued to protest as she stormed away to change in privacy. Arthur knew that Morrigan would accede to his request, no matter her personal distaste-she never turned down the opportunity to exercise her power and since her declaration of how she valued his friendship, Morrigan had been most eager to keep on Arthur's good side for whatever reason.

"It'll be fun, I promise! We'll get some shoes too! Ah, shoes! We could go shopping together!" Leliana continued to needle, trying to persuade the witch to indulge her feminine side, and while it would prove futile, Arthur couldn't help but be amused by the mental image of Leliana and Morrigan excitedly poring over shoes in the Denerim Market.

Five minutes later, Morrigan was changed into the courtesan's garb, and after Leliana made a few adjustments to her own hair, adding a few more braids, and that of the other two women-giving Arabella bangs and tying Morrigan's hair into a long plait- so as to lessen the similarity to their faces on the 'Wanted' posters and lower the risk of being recognised while in Howe's estate.

The rest of their companions were gathered in the main hall to bid them good luck. At the door stood Sten, dressed in the suit of dwarven forged plate armour made for the Wardens that he'd acquired in Orzammar and carrying a sack full to the brim with whips, chains, handcuffs and various other items designed for pleasure, though hidden beneath the tools of the courtesan's trade at the bottom of the sack was Leliana's armour and weapons and the staffs and robes belonging to the two mages, along with something special Arthur had for Howe.

The rest of their companions bid them good luck in their own way; Wynne trying to pull them all into a close hug, Oghren promising to keep a mug of ale ready for Arthur to toast their victory when they got back, Zevran and Arabella exchanging a tense kiss, Edward trying to jump up and lick the faces of all and Shale urging them to crush as many heads as possible.

"I still say I should be going with you" Alistair insisted, the last of their companions to speak to them, his expression one of worry and disappointment, but Arthur's response was immediate, for the simple reason that he needed to be sure that his fellow Warden, the lynchpin for all their efforts, did not try to do anything foolish now.

"You know why not. This is almost certainly a trap. Alistair, I hate to sound like Eamon, but everything we face now may well hinge on you. The darkspawn and all the other foes we've faced before now care nothing for your claim to the throne, but Loghain does. He knows that you are key to our plans to remove him from power, and he also knows that if he can kill you or weaken your position before the Landsmeet, it will work to his favour. You cannot go into this trap-if it snaps shut and you are killed, Loghain wins the Landsmeet and even if you were to escape, your part in this would give him more ammunition to use against you. It would be better if you used your time to better understand the loyalties of the nobles in the city and think on how we can accrue their support". Alistair didn't look satisfied with the answer, but reluctantly nodded in agreement and retired back to the estate's study. The moment Alistair was out of earshot, Arthur turned to the others remaining behind.

"Do what you have to-talk to him, drink with him, knock him out if you have to- but Alistair does not leave this house until we get back, understand?" Arthur declared in a voice that expected obedience. "And" he added, trying to put into words the fear clawing at the back of his mind "should the worst happen, should we not return-"

"Trust in the Maker that all will go well, and it shall" Wynne interjected, her voice hopeful but firm and Arthur held his tongue, deciding to go along with the older woman's faith.

'_We trusted the Maker once to help us save an arl's life and He answered our prayers. Let's see if He'll do the same to help us take the life of one now'_.

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"Over here!" Erlina called out as they reached the outskirts of the Arl of Denerim's estate close to sunset, the group taking refuge in the shadows behind a workman's cart just outside the gates of the manor, where a large number of people seemed to be congregating.

"I hope your plan is going to work" Erlina archly said as they sidled up to her. "If you're willing to listen to my advice, the easiest way to get into the estate would be the servant's entrance. It is located on the other side of the estate; we must slip past this crowd to reach it. We will have to be very careful; Arl Howe is inside today"

"Howe is here?"

"Yes, he is usually away on business for the regent, but he has remained here today, and wherever he goes, a great many guards accompany him"

"Good, I've been hoping to see him again. I left a few things unsaid at our last meeting..." Arthur muttered darkly, his right hand closing over the hilt of his sword, already imagining the arl's face contorting in shock, eyes widening and blood slopping down his front as the razor-edged dragonbone carved through armour, flesh and bone like paper...

His thoughts might as well have been written on his face, as Erlina blurted out, looking mortified "I _beg_ you, do not put my lady in danger for the sake of your revenge! We must get her out first!"

Arthur snorted inwardly. '_Your mistress's safety is a distant second to my revenge!'_ was his internal response, considering it was her mistress's safety that necessitated them risking their necks in Howe's lair, but before he could make some other comment, Leliana interjected, wanting to be briefed on what was going on.

"What's the deal with the crowd?"

"The estate's in poor repair; the new arl has not exactly been prompt in paying his workmen" Erlina explained as they overheard snippets of the protestors shouting at the household guard on duty watching the door; so far, the protest was still relatively peaceful, but given their frustration, sooner or later things would get worse.

"For the last time" a beleaguered guardsman was saying to the crowd "His Lordship isn't seeing anyone today; you'll have to come back tomorrow"

"No!" one man shouted back. "The Carpenter's Crafthall has had quite enough of Howe's conveniently busy schedule! We will not be put off again!"

"Nor will the stonemasons!" bellowed a second. "It's been more than a month since we've seen as much of a coin of Howe's for our work!"

"His lordship is very much engaged with the regent. He will address your complaints as soon as he has the time..." the guard tried to explain, but the mob was having none of it.

"And when will that be? At the dawn of the next age? Our people have families to feed; they can't wait forever on the arl's whims!" the man representing the carpenters shouted out again at the same time as the companions emerged from cover behind the wagon's shadow. Suddenly one of the guardsmen on duty looked up, saw the armoured figure of Arthur approaching from the outskirts of the estate and waved in greeting.

"Ser Wyman? Aren't you back a little early? And where are the rest of your men? I thought you were on patrol"

Arthur had no idea who this 'Ser Wyman' was, likely some knight sworn to Howe's service- Zevran hadn't elaborated where he'd gotten the heavy plate armour and full helm Arthur had donned as his disguise, but Arthur had a strong suspicion its former owner had been dumped in the River Drakon with their throat opened from ear to ear by the elf and prayed that those on watch hadn't learned of that.

"I had a small..._personal _matter of business to attend to on the arl's behalf" Arthur explained, his voice thankfully muffled thanks to the full helm he wore. "The proprietor of the Pearl asked me to bring these three for the arl's pleasure as a token of good faith, and a hope that the arl might grant his patronage to her establishment"

"More likely Sanga wants to stop us from searching the place every other week after Paedan and his lack witted hirelings ended up chopped into fish bait by those bloody Wardens, eh" the guard snickered, his fellow chuckling in agreement before they turned their attention to the hulking form of Sten.

"And what's his story? I've heard they've got a wide range of things in the Pearl- elves, couple of Chasind girls, even that dwarf in drag-but I didn't realise they had horn-heads in there!"

"The escort for these lovely ladies; he's here to take 'em back once His Lordship's done with 'em" Arthur replied crisply, and Sten nodded in agreement with the statement.

"I go where money is" Sten replied in an emotionless voice, impersonating some Tal-Vashoth thug for hire anywhere in the city. "Right now, it is here"

"Didn't realise Sanga hired qunari as bouncers" the guard muttered, scratching his head for an instant before shrugging his shoulders "not that I care; I got better things to worry about" the guard added, nodding to the mob. "Take the whores round the back, Ser and get them to His Lordship via the servants' entrance"

"What?" Arthur heard one of the complainers rage as they moved away. "So Howe doesn't have the money to pay _our_ workers, but he can afford to hire the Pearl's?"

#######################

The servant's entrance was relatively easy to get into, even if they had to pander to Erlina's insistence that she distract the guards just to be on the safe side. Once inside the estate, the elf maid informed them that Anora was being held in the guest quarters and advised them to not draw attention to themselves from both the servants and the guards.

The servants were easy, too busy scurrying about like ants attending to the matter of preparing and serving dinner to pay attention to one of the arl's knights escorting three courtesans through the servants' entrance. The guards were another matter; exiting the kitchen, the group found themselves in the mess hall of the household guard, filling up with soldiers arriving for dinner, many of whom directed wolf-whistles and catcalls at Leliana, Morrigan and Arabella upon catching sight of the women.

"Looks like the Arl's going to be _very_ busy tonight, eh lads?"

"Reckon we'll get a crack at those beauties once that old goat Howe's finished with 'em?"

"Didn't realise the Pearl had gotten so classy of late. I'll have to get myself over there more often if these three lovelies are anything to go on!"

"You wish, mate! The pittance Howe pays us ain't nowhere near enough to satisfy that she-wolf Sanga's costs!"

But not all had their eyes fixed on the feminine charms displayed before them, and the few whose attention was elsewhere had some choice things to say.

"It's bad luck living in a house where all the family got killed. I say Howe ought to level the place and build a new one" one guard muttered as he and two others entered the hall.

"He'd have to knock down every place he owns, then!" another guard added to sniggers from his companions, and Arthur made sure to slam into the speaker, the full weight of his shoulder hitting the man with considerable force. The guard looked about to make some comment, but one cold glare from behind the helm's visor, not to mention that he was, in the eyes of the guardsmen, a knight in service to the Arl ensured that the man kept any comment to himself.

"I hope it's not mutton again. Three nights in a row..." another guardsman griped a short distance later as they passed him and another in the corridor just outside the mess hall, both wearing tabards bearing the Howe sigil over their chainmail and looking as they'd just finished a long sparring session.

"For all we know, it's not mutton; Howe's too cheap to buy it. Cook's probably roasting those elves that broke in here"

"You realise that doesn't help, right? Urgh...!" the first speaker complained, ignoring the curious look Arthur gave him from behind the full helm. _'Elves breaking in? I wonder what that's all about'_ Arthur mused. He'd heard talks of the brutality Howe had been treating the inhabitants of the Alienage with and wondered if that had anything to do with it, but put it to the back of his mind as a matter to be considered when they were not in immediate danger of being caught and had the freedom to investigate.

The absence of guards as they progressed through the manor's corridors only heightened Arthur's sense of discomfort and certainty that they were walking headlong into a trap with no idea of when the jaws were going to snap shut. The absence of any obvious presence of guards only added to Arthur's wariness, and while he would liked to have believed that it was because they were all gorging themselves in the mess hall, a more suspicious part of his mind had an alternative suggestion, that they were being _allowed _to come this far, that they were being herded into a particular place...'_like lambs to the slaughter'_ his inner voice supplied.

His suspicions crystallised upon Erlina leading them to the guest quarters where Anora was being housed on the opposite site of the manor's entrance hall, at the very sight of her door, made remarkable by the shimmering blue runes engraved into the woodwork of the door frame; Arthur didn't need to be a mage to recognise the signs of magic.

"The Grey Warden is here, my lady" Erlina whispered through the door.

"Thank the Maker!" Anora's muffled voice, or at least Arthur assumed it to be Anora's, carried through the door. She sounded alright, if a little exasperated. "I would greet you properly, but I'm afraid we've had something of a setback."

"Nothing's ever simple, is it?" Arthur muttered angrily.

"My 'host' was not content with leaving me under heavy guard" Anora continued to speak, clearly having missed his comment. "He's sealed the door by magic"

Quick as a flash, Morrigan seized Erlina by the throat with her left hand and slammed the elf against the nearest wall, her right hand shifting into the paw of a bear, jagged claws held an inch from the quivering elf's neck. "Care to explain why you didn't think to mention this to us before we came?"

"I didn't know; there were only guards here when I left!" the elf blabbed, clearly aware from the look on the witch's face her life hung on the answer.

"Don't panic, Erlina!" Anora snapped, blissfully unaware of the situation occurring outside her door. "Find the mage who cast the spell," Anora interrupted. "He'll most likely be at Howe's side."

"Kadan, this is folly" Sten interjected, his violet eyes wary behind his helm and his hand close to the hilt of his sword. "Our enemy must have known we were coming, else he would not have his pet saarebas block this door to deny us. To go further is to surely walk headlong into a trap..."

"Please Warden, I beg you" Erlina pleaded, massaging her throat "do not leave my Queen in there"

"Free me and I promise you my aid at the Landsmeet" Anora added, rather unnecessarily in Arthur's opinion, since he couldn't exactly leave Anora there; he'd never hear the end of it from Eamon for a start, to say nothing of what would happen if Anora's fears for her safety proved to be genuine.

'_I have no bloody choice, do I? Very well, I will have to put my head into the lion's jaws for you...but afterwards, I swear I'll find out if you're as innocent in this as you claim. And if I find you had even a finger in this...you'll see that a Cousland doesn't leave a debt unpaid!'_

##################

The rest of the estate was abandoned, only heightening Arthur's sense of unease. The more palatial rooms of the manor were arrayed around them now, bedrooms -one in use by a guardsman and a serving girl having some fun while the rest of the household staff were otherwise occupied- a small chapel for the arl's use, not that it had seen much based on the dust accumulated on the statue of Andraste within, a library and a small room that, though locked, proved little challenge to Leliana's skills and when opened, was revealed to be overflowing with material wealth-large amounts of gold and silver, in coins and ingots, a variety of precious stones, both uncut and cabochons, likely accrued from bribes, murders and all the other illicit means Rendon Howe had used to claw more wealth and power for himself. Arthur didn't care how it had been obtained and felt no shame in robbing his nemesis before killing him as the companions quickly helped themselves to the riches.

'_After all, considering if caught we're already going to be arrested for breaking and entering, entering under false pretences and likely murder, why not add burglary to the list?_' Arthur thought as they emptied the chests and lined the sack with gold and silver coins and ingots, gems and whatever else comprised Howe's ill-gotten gains.

Howe's bedroom, the last room at the end of the corridor was a surprisingly barren affair; considering the amount of money Howe had acquired, he could easily have made it far more elaborate. The furnishings were simple- a functional four-poster bed in one corner of the room, an unadorned mahogany desk, upon which lay a few papers related to business of the arl's-a meeting with a businessman from the Tevinter Imperium the next day, an appointment to speak with a group of minor banns arriving from Amaranthine regarding their support for the Landsmeet and a command for the captain of the guard to hire more men following the untimely deaths of Captain Chase and his patrol-, and a pair of bookcases that looked to have been untouched by Howe, probably having belonged to Arl Urien. A large wooden chest was the only thing out of place, close to the door on the far side leading down to the dungeons, but to their surprise, there was no money or treasure inside, merely a large collection of papers, each having had their seal, made from white wax and stamped with a griffon seal, broken.

'_Grey Warden documents? What in Andraste's name is Howe doing with these?' _

The dialect they'd been written in seemed to be Orlesian, but not even Leliana could make sense of it, declaring that even in her native tongue, the writing was gibberish, likely some form of encryption to ensure, even if the documents fell into the wrong hands, nothing would be gained from them. Putting the scrolls of parchment out of his mind and into the sack, Arthur led them through a small iron door at the far side of the room, leading down into the lower recesses of the manor.

"What? Who goes there?" the single guard on duty demanded as they entered the room at the foot of the stairs, the first section of the dungeons, just as a thin, pale arm darted out through the bars of the cell behind the guard and wrapped itself around the man's neck. The man struggled desperately against his attacker, choking as the pressure around his throat increased, before a second hand darted out, seized the guard's head and twisted. There was a loud crack and the guard slumped to the floor, neck snapped with chilling precision. The hand that had killed the guard retrieved a ring of keys from his belt, inserted one into the lock and opened the door.

"I thank you for creating such distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for the opportunity." A scruffy looking man of later years, his dark hair liberally streaked with grey, said as he stumbled out of the cell, helping himself to the guard's armour, before bundling the corpse into the cell. He looked exhausted and there were deep cuts and welts on his body that suggested he'd been tortured. '_But for information or simply for Howe's sick amusement?_' Arthur wondered.

"You never hear music in the sound of a key turning in a lock until you've been imprisoned" the man added with a wry smile, his spirit unbroken by whatever he'd endured.

"Impressive moves, old man" Morrigan sniffed airily and the man's smile became a scowl.

"Perhaps introductions are in order, if only so you _never_ call me that again" the man snapped, before bowing out of courtesy. "I am Riordan," the man replied with a bow. "Senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever, and glad to be home. And _you_" he added, pointing to Arthur "must be Duncan's last recruit. Yes, you match his description. But you..." his gaze suddenly shifted to Arabella "I can feel the taint in you, but I don't recognise you from any of the Fereldan Grey's records. Where are you from? The Anderfels? The Free Marches?"

"No, I am a Fereldan Warden" Arabella replied "but it is something of a long story, one probably best told in safer circumstances"

"No doubt" the senior Warden nodded, but Arthur had to question; after so long running for their lives, of thinking they were the last of their Order to have survived the destruction, the knowledge that there had been another was both welcome and yet quite frustrating.

"I can think of many questions I wish to ask you, and I agree some of them can wait until we are away from here, but there are some too pressing to wait. For a start, how are you alive? Why weren't you slain at Ostagar?"

"I was not there. I was sent from Orlais when we received no word from King Cailan. The king had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, then... nothing."

"You brought an army with you?" Arthur pressed, enthused at the prospect of more Wardens to aid against the darkspawn.

"We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain's edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when the rumour reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre." Riordan glanced at his fellow Wardens, tight-lipped, as if he couldn't imagine the sorts of things they'd had to do to stay alive. "We finally decided it was safest to send someone alone, to learn how best to fight the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Fereldan, I volunteered to make the crossing."

"Is there a way to get word to them? We're running out of time; the longer we take to overthrow that lunatic Loghain by politics, the longer the archdemon has to marshal its strength. "We've seen it, Riordan. The archdemon...it is Urthemiel. We saw him in the Deep Roads; by now, he and his armies have likely reached the surface. It won't be long now before the darkspawn fall upon us with everything they have"

Riordan's eyes widened slightly, but otherwise, he stayed relatively calm for someone who was aware of the danger posed by such an entity. "Then matters are worse than we previously thought; we'd hoped we still had time, that the beast was still building its strength in the Deep Roads. I could get word to the others, but the Grey Wardens won't risk their strength fighting Ferelden's civil war. If they spend themselves against Loghain, then there is truly no hope. They recall accounts of the first Blight, how many cities fell. If Ferelden is too foolish to save itself, at least we'll be ready when the archdemon leads its forces further. Besides..."

An eyebrow rose wryly. "I hear you've not done too badly at raising an army yourself. Even across the borders, we've heard rumours of Dalish clans gathering and the Circle of Magi mustering its strength, and now you say Orzammar is calling forth its banners... perhaps if the edict can be lifted..." Riordan added thoughtfully, rubbing his stubble-covered chin. "I will send a message as soon as we are gone from this place."

"Are these documents yours, ser?" Arabella asked suddenly. She was holding the papers marked with the Grey Warden seal, and the senior Warden's eyes widened again, though from relief this time.

"Yes! These are my records... the names of the dead I could recognize at Ostagar, what I could find of Duncan's own recruitment records." Riordan muttered half to himself as he leafed through the sheafs of parchment. "Ah, and copies of the Joining ritual I rescued from our Denerim vault. Those should never be seen by any outside eyes, but I trust their encryption."

"The Joining? Could you create more Grey Wardens?" Arthur pressed, intrigued and hopeful at the possibility.

"I see you've already made a start on that front" Riordan replied with a wry smile and a nod towards Arabella. "You'll have to tell me how you managed that at some point. Would that I could do the same, for Ferelden sorely needs them. But as you must have discovered, for the Joining to work, the recruit needs not only fresh darkspawn blood, but a drop of blood preserved from an archdemon. Ferelden's supply of archdemon blood should have been in the vault, but it was gone. I can only imagine someone took it out and Loghain either confiscated or destroyed it. In any case, as you know, the Joining's chances of success are slim anyway, and Loghain has done far worse to our Order than simply cut us off from recruiting"

"How were you taken prisoner? I find it hard to believe, considering what we've had to do to evade capture, that one of our own could be taken so easily" Leliana enquired, addressing a question that also confounded Arthur.

"I was taken captive with an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice" Riordan answered, a dark look crossing his face. "I was foolish enough to think Loghain didn't know who I was...but that can be discussed later. For now, it seems to me the most urgent order of business is to leave this place; I think it would do none of us good to be caught at the site of a murder"

"Not yet" Arthur said "We have business to attend to with Howe...business to be conducted at sword point"

"I saw him go into the dungeons. He may still be there" Riordan replied. "I wish you luck; I would be of little use to you in my current state, and I long to see the light of day once more. I will seek you out, once I've secured the help of a good physician"

"Perhaps you would consider heading to the estate of Arl Eamon Guerrin?" Arthur put forward. "That is our base of operations in Denerim; you will find allies, food, shelter and the services of one of the finest healers I've encountered..."

"Very well, I shall head there. And..." the senior Warden added as an afterthought before departing "Good luck, Brother, Sister"

#################

With most of the cells on the floor they were on empty, the group headed through a side door and down a short flight of stairs to the lower dungeons. It appeared as if Howe, or his guards, had moved all the other prisoners downstairs. Either for safety, or more seclusion during torture, Arthur didn't know and didn't care to speculate.

"Who goes?" a guard barked at them as Arthur swung open the door. Deciding that it was pointless to waste time trying to talk, Arthur ran the man through, the dragonbone blade easily tearing through the steel splintmail the guard wore. Four more of the man's comrades came charging out of the passages further down the hall to avenge him, swords raised, shouting war cries.

"Anybody who tries to come in here without Howe's say so, we get to do what we like with 'em. I think we finally got a bit of entertainment here, lads!" the first guard sneered, a second before an arrow sank into his groin. Two bolts of lightning flew through the air, dropping another two who screamed as their own armour conducted the electricity that tore through them, frying flesh and charring organs.

"Loose the dogs!" Arthur heard the first guard shout, just before another well-placed arrow of the bard's took him in the mouth, and there was a trio of blood-curdling howls as three mabaris came charging out of another side room, snapping their fang-packed jaws, ropes of drool flying from their mouths as they went on the attack. One went down with a whimper, crumpling into a heap as a precisely aimed arrow pierced its skull between the eyes. The second hit Arthur with the force of a battering ram, bowling the young Cousland over, knocking his sword from his grasp. Fortunately, Arthur had had training from Highever's master-at-arms on how to deal with an attacking mabari, managing to get his sword arm in the dog's mouth to keep it from trying to tear out his throat, feeling teeth break against the metal of the vambrace. His left hand, still entangled in the straps of his shield, swung out into the mabari's side, impacting with an audible crack as Arthur heard what sounded like ribs cracking from the blow; the animal let out a whimper and released him. Arthur scrabbled away, reaching for his sword as the mabari regained its courage and leapt for another attack; gauntleted fingers closed around the hilt of Duncan's sword in the nick of time. Already in mid-leap, the mabari couldn't stop itself as Arthur stabbed out and impaled itself on the sword.

Pulling the blade from the mabari's corpse, Arthur saw the third one was also dead, Sten having all but cleaved the dog in half, the force of Asala having laid bare the bones of the spine. The last of the guards who'd tried to stop them was also dead a short distance away, two arrows buried in his back. Arthur cleaned his sword on the back of the dead mabari and sheathed it, pausing to check the state of his sword arm. To his relief, there was no serious injury, the mabari having failed to get through the metal of the vambrace. The others seemed unharmed, the magic and arrows having dropped most of their enemies before they'd gotten too close, the only real injuries a handful of claw scratches Sten had received which were swiftly closed by a small amount of healing magic. The women wasted no time in retrieving the rest of their weapons and armour from the bottom of the sack, now they were likely going to be fighting.

"So, now we've lost the element of surprise, and judging by these louts, our presence, or at least the presence of an intruder was expected, what do we do now?" Leliana asked as she retrieved her arrows from the corpses littered about the corridor.

'_Make the best of a bad situation'_ Arthur thought. Retreat was not an option now, since more of the household guard were, by now, likely blocking the way back. In any case, they were down in the dungeons for a reason and now that they were here and the opportunity had presented itself, Arthur didn't plan on leaving without settling a score with Rendon Howe. Still...

"We're here for Howe, but while we're down here, we might as well see who else he's keeping down here" Arthur commanded as he headed for the door of a side room of the dungeons.

'_Hopefully there are some who we can free, and who might have a few choice things to say about why they're here'_

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The first room they entered was choked with the stench of blood, the stink of death and decay that hung over the chamber almost as strong as that of the broodmother's lair. Bodies, some burned, others beheaded, disembowelled or dismembered, hung from the rafters, all just left to rot where they lay, the walls drenched with arterial spurt... the room was far worse than a torture chamber, more like a slaughterhouse. A handful of vicious, brutal looking men looked up from their work at a rack in the room's centre at the intrusion, seizing knives, whips and other tools of their trade close to hand as makeshift weapons; Leliana dropped one with an arrow in the throat. Sten and Arthur didn't even need to raise their swords to dispatch the others; Arabella and Morrigan extended their hands, intoned a few words of Arcanum and the torturers were incinerated as streamers of fire erupted from the hands of the two mages.

"Don't leave me here..." a hoarse, weak voice cried out desperately from the rack as the last charred corpse slumped to the floor. "Get me out of here! _That's an order!_"

A man in his mid twenties was tied to the rack, the focus of the torturers' attention before they'd been interrupted. No part of his body looked to have been spared the attention of the torturers, his chest marked with burns and knife cuts, most relatively recent, deep welts circled his wrists and ankles where the ropes had gouged into his skin as Arthur cut the youth free of the rack, and there were more long marks visible on his back as he slowly sat up, characteristic marks of the whip, and he was covered in bruises in varying stages of healing.

"Was this supposed to be a lesson?" The young man winced as he tried to stand and the pain of the injuries to his legs overwhelmed him, forcing him to remaining sitting on the rack. Arthur grimaced at the sight of them; judging by what was done to him, the lad would be lucky if he ever walked properly again, even with magical healing."I... did my father... did he think it was funny to leave me for so long before sending you?"

"Unless you're a bastard of Eamon's we weren't told about, we weren't sent for you" Morrigan replied icily as she tended to his maimed legs.

"You move in august company, stranger" the young man replied with an inclined head. "I'm... Oswyn, son of Bann Sighard of the Dragon's Peak Bannorn" and Arthur snapped his fingers in recognition, having seen the youth at one of the many tourneys his father had held over the years, one of the noble lads he'd broken lances with during the joust or clashed blades with in the melee, not to mention the lad had his father's look to him; the same blonde hair and shape of the face.

"If you aren't one of my father's soldiers, pray tell who am I thanking for my rescue?"

By way of an answer, Arthur pulled off his helm and Oswyn's eyes widened in recognition.

"Arthur? Arthur Cousland, is that _you_? Maker's breath, my father, he thought all your family dead-Maker knows Howe's been bragging about it for months- we were deeply saddened. I assume that's why you're here, to make that old bastard pay for his crimes?"

"I'm a Grey Warden as well now, Oswyn. That's my business here-"

"Then I have no question why you have come, for the Grey Wardens and their people have suffered the most in this _evil_ place" Oswyn interjected, nodding in comprehension. "You have my heartfelt gratitude and, I assume, the gratitude of the entire Dragon's Peak Bannorn. If my father has sent no one after me, I can only assume that he does not yet know the true colours of the snakes he has allied with... but if you talk to him, I'm certain he would offer you any reward you might ask."

"Why was Howe torturing you?" Leliana asked, pointing to the ruin of the youth's legs. "If he and his master are so eager to get your father on their side, this seems likely to do exactly the opposite"

"One of the soldiers returning from Ostagar was my wet nurse's son; we've been friends since we were children. He told me that his regiment was ordered to turn their backs on Cailan at Ostagar, _before_ the darkspawn overwhelmed him. The next day, he disappeared and when I went to search for him, I accepted a drink from a stranger and ended up here"

'_And by now, this friend is likely dead, along with any threat his knowledge posed to Loghain'_ Arthur thought bitterly. Out loud, he angrily snarled "Loghain grows more ruthless the closer the Landsmeet draws"

"Then there _is_ a Landsmeet after all" Oswyn blurted out, looking incredulous. "Howe said the Arl of Redcliffe was dead, the Landsmeet called off-"

"No, the Landsmeet is going ahead, despite the best efforts of Howe and his master to derail it" Arthur answered and Oswyn gave a sigh of relief, no doubt glad to know that Howe and those behind him weren't going to get away with their crimes, not least of all maiming him and murdering his friend.

"I swear, if any forum to speak out against Loghain exists, my father will be there" Oswyn assured them. "I must try to get to him. I... I cannot see the last of this place too soon." Oswyn declared, trying to stand up, only to collapse in pain again as his ruined legs failed to take his weight.

"You're in no state to go anywhere" Arthur insisted. "Wait here; we'll find some way to get you out of here once we've finished with Howe". Oswyn nodded and remained seated as the companions headed out of the torture chamber, Arthur feeling great pity for what the youth had endured, deep regret that they hadn't gotten there sooner to save him from the worst of it and a deeper hatred for the one responsible.

'_Just one more crime you will face justice for, Howe. You and your master; given what poor Oswyn knows, I don't doubt Loghain gave you free rein to do as you pleased with the boy, though I'm sure the depravity of what was done came from you. Your master will answer for his sins in due course, but you will answer for yours the second I find you' _

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The adjoining rooms held a few guards, all which were easily dispatched, the only real challenge being the jailor, a hefty man whose maul would have smashed limbs had they connected, but most missed, and when Sten entered the fray, the fight came to an abrupt end when Asala cut off the maul's stone head, leaving the jailor armed with a worthless long stick, before carving through the man's neck to claim his head with ease. Looting the keys from the guard's corpse, they entered a corridor of cells, though only a few actually held prisoners. The first held a hunched man, weeping and babbling incoherently about a battle in which he'd participated, one that sounded suspiciously like Ostagar based on the poor fellow's rambling.

"They said to retreat... the horn sounded... we turned... the screams..." The man shook, wrapping his arms around himself. "We rode and they screamed... Can you smell the blood? They said it was only darkspawn, but we ate them too. They died and we left them. In the swamp. The witch. The _witch_!"

"Hmm, do you suppose he _actually_ saw my mother?" Morrigan muttered thoughtfully as the wretch continued to blither and moan incoherently. "Or is he just blaming Flemeth in his madness?"

"I think that's all we're going to get out of him," Leliana murmured sadly. Turning to the man, she spoke louder. "Ser, if you can find somewhere safe for the moment to hide yourself until we're finished and then we will help you get out of here, help you find refuge at the Chantry, perhaps. I believe your family are looking for you"

"Safe, safe... is there a safe? Perhaps next door..." Without another word, the man stumbled away down the passage, continuing to witter to himself.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" Another muted voice from down the passage echoed strangely back to them, sounding so forlorn, so bereft of hope that Arthur didn't want to imagine what horrors these poor souls had endured at the hands of Howe and his master...

A young elven man in his early twenties, dressed in clothes that might have been fine once but were now little more than rags, reddish brown hair a tangled mess, his pale face marked with a number of bruises, contusions and poorly healed cuts blinked blearily at them as if he couldn't believe he was seeing them.

"What, what month is it? I feel like I've spent half my life down here..."

"Soris, who are you talking to?" a weak, female voice whispered from the next cell. "Why waste your breath on these shems? Everything they've said to us has just been lies and insults-You? No, no I've gone mad, it can't be you!"

The elven woman's last words were spoken as Arthur moved in front of her cell, the girl looking like she'd seen a ghost, and the elf wasn't the only one dumbstruck. She was older than he remembered her, her pale blonde hair now short and spiky, but those pale green eyes were still the same heart-stopping orbs he'd once loved all those years ago and though time and circumstance had changed matters between them, he was still concerned about Niamh.

"Niamh?" Arthur muttered in shock. "Niamh Tabris?". He moved in a daze, seizing the key to the cell and nearly breaking it in his haste to open her cell and that of the elven man. Arthur had to help his old friend hobble out of her cell, her legs cramped and dark with barely healed bruises, while Sten helped the male elf out of his own cell.

"Not imagining it..." the elf whispered, reaching out to touch his face, weak and delirious from confinement. Morrigan and Arabella went to work immediately, pouring healing magic into the elven woman's slender frame, the eldritch green energy restoring strength and vitality and combating malnutrition and the side effects of imprisonment and torture, while Sten held out a waterskin by way of something useful, which the male elf drank from eagerly. Leliana hovered around Arthur's shoulder, a strange look in her eyes, a combination of concern for the elf's condition, uncertainty at the familiarity between her lover and this unknown woman and perhaps..._jealousy_, even at such a time?

"What happened to you?" Arthur asked of the elf, his oldest friend, his first love, deeply concerned for what had been done to her, and feeling rage for what had been done and the perpetrators. He noticed what looked like the evidence of a severe flogging, along with several old scars that looked suspiciously like knife wounds; it had been almost five years since they'd last seen each other and the Denerim Alienage was a lot more unforgiving than the one at Highever, and Arthur couldn't begin to imagine what Niamh and her family had endured in the years since, to say nothing of the brutality of Loghain's regency and Howe's tenure as Arl.

"There was trouble at my second marriage" she explained, pausing as the bitterness of the memories overcame her and she was forced to pause to recover herself, fighting back tears of sadness and rage. "That little prick Vaughn, son of the old Arl, showed up with some cronies and tried to cause trouble; my cousin, Shianni...she whacked him round the head with a bottle, knocked him out and we thought that was the end of it. But when he came to, he was back with his friends and some thugs from the city guard and dragged me, Shianni and a few other girls from the Alienage back here for their pleasure..." she spat hatefully.

"What happened then?" Leliana asked, the spark of jealously replaced by righteous anger; she was well acquainted with the sort of things the other woman was likely to have suffered.

"Soris and my fiancée, Nelaros, snuck into the manor with a few weapons, tried to free us but they weren't enough; Nelaros, they killed him like a dog in the hall. Even so, the distraction was enough for me to get free. I snuck through the keep and walked in on Vaughn in the middle of raping Shianni. Bastard _actually_ thought he could bribe me into leaving him to it! When I told him he could shove his bribe up his arse, he got violent, tried to kill me but I was too quick and got him in the face with a dagger, took half his nose off in the process- he's not pretty anymore!- and I would have finished the job but for the fact that my cousin was a quivering wreck thanks to that little shit. So we ran, left Vaughn to bleed out and tried to escape; me, Shianni and the girls managed to get out through the servant's entrance, but Soris, he had the rearguard; one of Vaughn's thugs hit him round the head with a club, knocked him out"

Soris, the young male elf, nodded at this point, indicating an ugly, half-healed cut to the side of his head, the doing of a spiked mace and Niamh continued her tale.

"I couldn't leave him there to be tortured or hanged as the guards saw fit, so I swiped a maid's outfit, snuck back in here, slipped the guards wine laced with rat poison and tried to get the key to the dungeon...only I got caught rooting around in the arl's study. By then, Urien was dead and that old bastard Howe had been made arl; all the guards were new, none of them recognised me, they probably just thought I was a thief. Since I had nothing on me that merited killing me on the spot, the guards just tossed me in here to rot, more or less...except when they wanted to have 'some fun', or to torment me with the knowledge of the purges Howe had conducted to exact justice for Vaughn and to teach 'those insolent knife-ears' to respect their betters!" Niamh wept angrily, before her tears abruptly stopped, the regret and pain contorting into fury. Arthur recognised that he and the elven woman were still kindred spirits, though where once they'd been united by love, now it was rage and hatred for a common enemy that forged a bond between them.

"Howe...I intend to open that old bastard from balls to brain and cut his heart out in front of him!" Niamh swore vehemently, the fury and determination in her eyes unmistakeable as her long fingered hands closed into fists.

"You'll be lucky to find it" Arthur replied "and in any case, I intend to feed it to my dog!" but he placed a supportive hand on his old friend's shoulder.

"Get your strength back first-it may take some time- but if you feel up to it, I won't stop you from trying to claim what you feel is your due. And by the way" and at this point, Arthur bent down and embraced Niamh "it is _extremely_ good to see you again after so long". The elf was caught offguard, but returned the hug with genuine feeling, letting go at the sight of the bard's green eyes and the look in them.

"And you. Even in the Alienage we hear rumours about what happened in Highever...I'm glad to see you made it out in one piece". Arthur nodded gratefully, drawing Duncan's dagger from its sheath at his hip and left it there beside the recovering elves for Niamh to use if she felt strong enough to follow.

'_I want to kill you by my own hand, Howe, but I'm not so arrogant as to think I'm the only one who wants you dead' _Arthur knew that as he exited the cell block, leaving the elves to recover from their confinement and made for the last door they hadn't entered, intending to confront the viper in its lair.

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The sounds of fighting, the screams of the dying and the yells of the victors were growing louder as the intruders in his home drew ever nearer to the last chamber of the dungeons, where he and his best men lay in wait. He would like to believe that it was because his men had overcome the intruders, but it didn't seem likely. The screams were too numerous and too familiar in tone to be those of the intruders he'd been informed of.

In truth, he hoped the boy made it this far; it would be much more satisfying to let the runt come within reach of his goal, only to bring his dreams of vengeance crashing down around him. The brat had been a thorn in his side for far too long, offending the honour of his House by refusing to go along with plans for marriage that would have benefitted Houses Howe and Cousland, instead looking down on Delilah as those high-and-mighty, stuck up Couslands always had on those they thought beneath them , making him look like a fool in front of his ally the regent by thwarting his carefully wrought schemes, tearing apart plans that had taken months of preparation and attention to detail to ensure they not only succeeded, but didn't attract the wrong sort of attention. He would deeply enjoy making the little bastard suffer for every indignity the Cousland whelp had inflicted upon him.

And yet...

Even now, months after the taking of Highever, he still couldn't forget the scrap of parchment, written in the blood of his own men, in which the boy had sworn to tear apart his world, to destroy everything he'd accomplished before destroying him.

'_You fool. You survived White River and the fall of Harper's Ford. You took the terynir of Highever from those upstart Couslands with pitiful ease, and now you are the second most powerful man in all of Ferelden. What victories has this brat ever won that __**you**__ should fear __**him**__?'_

He knew that, and yet the memory of that threat, tempered by the knowledge that Bryce's wastrel libertine of a second son had not only survived everything fate and his enemies had thrown at him-Ostagar, the Antivan Crows, the raging civil war and so many other dangers besides- still tugged at the back of his mind.

The door to the chamber swung open, crashing loudly as it slammed against the wall, propelled by the momentum of a plate-booted foot. Five people stormed in, weapons and armour coated in the blood of a good proportion of his household guard, warily assessing their new environs and the foes within. The qunari he recognised as a threat immediately- the Orlesians and other foes he'd fought over the years favoured the horned brutes that were kin to this plate-armoured specimen as mercenaries, and he was well acquainted with the skill, strength and raw power such beasts fought with; putting that one down would be a priority.

The red-haired girl in leather armour with the longbow raised he recognised as the Orlesian tart Bryce's whelp was fucking according to his sources, and he mused on whether it would be better to kill her first to make the Cousland brat suffer, or take her alive, make her watch her traitor lover's slow and painful death, and keep her as a trophy. The other two, the dark-haired woman and the other redhead in mage robes would also be suitable trophies of his victory over the last Cousland, something to remind him of the triumph he would achieve, provided precautions were taken to ensure they couldn't use their magic against him. _'Considering what I'd have in mind for such, they wouldn't need their hands. Yes, perhaps I will keep them around to remind me of this triumph, and to make them pay for their part in helping this whelp hinder me'_

'_First things first'_ he thought as he drew the axe on his back and idly held it out in front of him, dark eyes gleaming with malice and feral cruelty, only to be met by the gaze of blue eyes as cold as flecks of ice, burning with hate and the promise of death. Cousland eyes, the same eyes that had looked down on him and his family for generations.

The eyes of his executioner. His bravery and certainty of victory began to fade away, leeching out at the sight of those cold, merciless eyes.

'_You will not intimidate me'_ he swore, trying to banish the icy claws clutching at his soul. '_I will not allow my inferiors to make fools of me any longer!'_

"Well, well boys, look what we have here" Rendon Howe sneered, just managing to mask any fear in his voice. "Bryce Cousland's little brat, all grown up and still trying to fit in Daddy's armour"

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_Story Note: Yes, I know I'm a bas*#rd for leaving it there, but before you start gathering up torches and pitchforks, I wanted to devote an entire chapter to the final confrontation between Arthur and Howe so as to really give it the depth and attention to detail it deserves. I will try to have that up very soon, I promise!_

_Until next time..._


	50. Chapter 48: A Cousland Pays His Debts

_Well, at long last, here we are, the moment we all (myself included) have been waiting for. I honestly can't believe that it's come this far, and I hope the wait was worth it! Sorry it took longer than expected; that can be blamed on 1). My computer breaking down on me and 2). A newfound addiction to Mass Effect (having completed it, I have to agree with the consensus that ME3's ending has got some _serious _flaws)._

_As always thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this: special thanks to __**Theodur, KnightofHolyLight **__(in answer to your question, Fergus will be in this soon)__**, MysticGohan88, MB18932 **__and __**ArtanisRose **__for your reviews and to __**blooddrinker, firedragonboy, ArtanisRose, Burning DragonSword, gonj, Galadon **__and __**Suqu124**__ for adding this to favourites; it gives me the impetus to see this through to the end._

_As always, '__**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**__._

_And above all, and I particularly hope you do in this case, enjoy! _

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**Chapter 48: A Cousland Always Pays His Debts**

'_**If you wrong us, will we not revenge**_?'- _William Shakespeare, 'The Merchant of Venice'_

"Well well, boys, look what we have here" Rendon Howe sneered as they stormed in. "Bryce Cousland's little brat, all grown up and still trying to fit into Daddy's armour" the insult drawing snickers of amusement from the thugs flanking the arl.

"Still as predictable as ever, I see" Howe went on spitefully, enjoying his monologue. "Even with our best efforts to bait this snare, I never thought you'd be foolish enough to turn up here. But then" the arl added petulantly, his smirk faltering into a scowl, like a child denied a promised treat "I never thought you'd live either"

"Happy to disappoint you" Arthur snarled in answer.

"Even with our…'recent history', I'm surprised Eamon would condone you breaking into my house and murdering my men" Howe declared, ignoring the irony of his statement. "Is he losing faith in the persuasive powers of the Landsmeet? And such company you bring into my home as well! For years, I warned your father about the company you kept being beneath you, but really? Qunari heretics, blood mages, Orlesian harlots? Tsk, tsk" Howe tutted with a patronising wag of his finger, though his eyes sparkled with cruel mirth. "Whatever would Mummy and Daddy think?"

"The _only_ person who needs to worry about my parents is you, Rendon!" Arthur snarled, trying to rein in his anger at the barb, fighting down berserker bloodlust urging him to fling himself at his nemesis; Howe was trying to goad him into foolish action and Arthur refused to dance to the arl's tune. "You'll have to face them again soon enough"

Howe's face contorted into an ugly grimace, his eyes dark with spiteful malice and bitterness. "Let me tell you a few things about your precious, high-and-mighty family, whelp: your parents died on their knees, _begging_ me for mercy. Your brother's corpse rots at Ostagar, and his brat was burned on a scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife. And what's left? A fool husk of a second son, likely to end his days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone; you're the last of _nothing_. This is pointless...you've lost"

"I'm nothing?" Arthur spat in incredulity and outrage, disgusted at the depths of Howe's self delusion, allowing every last drop of the hate and fury that he felt for the viper of a man stood before to infuse his voice. "_You_ are nothing, Rendon, but a parasite and a cancer on this land, you always have been. You have _no_ accomplishments or achievements of your own; all your life you have bowed and scraped before better men than yourself and tried to steal scraps of their glory; your father, mine, Maric, Loghain! You lie, Howe, to yourself most of all. I know my parents, they would never have asked scum like you for anything, let alone begged you. As for me, I am a Grey Warden, a symbol of resistance against tyranny and destruction, an icon of hope in the face of evil. _You_ are nothing- you and your master will _never _be anything more than parasites, traitors and food for the crows!"

Howe was about to retort with some further insult of his own, but the glacial look of murder and hate in Arthur's eyes silenced his retort. A spark of fear now appeared in his dark eyes, the arl involuntarily taking a step back at the force of such implacable fury directed at him, pointing an accusatory finger at his enemy, his voice shaking.

"There it is, right there. That damnable look in the eye behind every Cousland success that ever held me back!"

"What can I say?" Arthur smiled wolfishly as his hand drew his sword free of its scabbard, holding it level with Howe's chest. Behind him, he heard the sound of other blades being drawn and the crackle of magical flames and lightning coming to life. "I'm one for upholding tradition"

"It would appear you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud...I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever!"

"Others have said the same on my road to get here, Howe" Arthur snarled as he circled his nemesis like a stalking wolf, looking for an opening. "Be sure to ask them about it when you meet in Hell!" he bellowed as he stabbed out at Howe's stomach. The Arl dodged back with surprising speed for a man of his age and waved his guards forward, Arthur's shield and sword sweeping up in time to block the attacks of the two who went for him, the sword of one rebounding off the silverite of the shield, the other colliding against enchanted and honed dragonbone with a loud crash as Arthur parried.

"Coward!" Arthur bellowed as he blocked another slash from the sword of one of Howe's elite. Arabella and Morrigan shot orbs of ice and fire at a mage stood by the arl, the man conjuring a shield of arcane energy to protect himself. One of the guards fighting Arthur screamed as a well-aimed arrow found the gap between the pauldron and breastplate at the right arm and Arthur went for the opening as the soldier clutched at his wounded sword arm, running him through and shoving the dying man aside as the next man between him and the arl was set ablaze, a magical fireball from Morrigan's fingertips hitting him full in the chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Sten moving to engage the mage who stepped in front of Howe, still projecting the arcane shield to protect them, though Howe showed no sign of any concern at the swiftness with which his lackeys were dying to protect him or any fear at the ease with which his enemies were carving through his defenders, only fuelling Arthur's ire.

"Fight me! Or do you only fight when your opponent is unarmed with their back to you?" Arthur screamed hatefully, feeling the last restraints on his rage slipping as he hammered the second guard to his knees with blow after blow, before the guard missed a parry, and Duncan's sword severed the man's sword hand first, and then his head. There was a roar like a bull and a squeal of terror from the other side of the dungeon as Sten slashed Asala, wreathed in magical fire, across the mage's abdomen, the man's arcane shield crumpling in the face of the onslaught. The man collapsed into a heap and then there was no one between them and Howe, Arthur leaping over the mage's corpse, his sword levelled with the arl's chest, Sten and Leliana stood beside him, the qunari with Asala held at the ready, the bard with an arrow nocked and ready, aimed at Howe's throat. Morrigan and Arabella flanked them, magical fire and ice flickering to life in the palms of their hands, the spells ready to be cast with a click of the fingers.

"There's nowhere left to run, no one left to die for you" Arthur snarled "Now you answer for your crimes"

"You think so?" Howe sneered, his face twisted by a smile so reptilian Arthur was surprised a forked tongue wasn't darting out from the arl's mouth, before with a flurry of shouts, five more guardsmen burst out of the rear chamber of the dungeon, swords drawn and ready.

"Kill the lackeys!" Howe screamed at his reinforcements. "Bryce's whelp is mine!" he added as he drew his weapons, a silverite axe and dagger. With a snarl, Howe went on the attack and lashed out with the axe, Arthur catching the blow on his shield, retaliating with a stab at the older man's face, but Howe leapt back, stabbing out at the gorget of the youth's armour. Arthur leapt back himself and retaliated with a shield bash; Howe staggered back, clutching his jaw, spitting out a broken tooth and stabbed out at Arthur's face, the blow skimming off the visor of Arthur's helm. Arthur recovered swiftly and the two men charged each other, the blades of the axe and sword locking together, their wielders struggling to break free and continue, exchanging barbs and insults all the while.

"You know what this is?" Howe hissed at Arthur, both men so close their noses were almost touching, the fetid stink of Howe's breath offending Arthur's senses, indicating the dagger in his left hand. "This is the blade I drove into your father's gut. The blade I used to open your mother's neck from ear to ear after I and my men were done with her-!" the rest of the insult petered out into a strangled cry as Arthur slammed his forehead into Howe's face, and the arl staggered back, clutching his bleeding and broken nose.

"Bastard!" he screamed, swinging his axe at Arthur's chest. Arthur caught the blow on his shield, only to realise his mistake almost too late as Howe's dagger stabbed for his exposed underarm. Arthur dropped his arm to protect the gap and the dagger, instead of piercing into the heart, instead found flesh at the gap in his armour at the elbow.

Howe gave a cry of triumph...which turned into a howl of pain and anger as an arrow slammed into his right shoulder. Ripping the missile from his flesh, Howe tossed it to the floor, dark eyes searching for the culprit, spotting Leliana notching another arrow to the bowstring, levelling it with the arl's head, her expression one of deepest loathing at the sight of the man who'd taken everything from her lover.

"Fucking Orlesian bitch!" Howe raged, before jabbing with his axe at the bard. "I want that slut's head!" Two of his men charged at Leliana but she reacted with incredible speed, sending the arrow slamming into the chest of one before hurling her bow at the other, using the distraction to draw her daggers with fluid swiftness and parry the second man's sword. A third guard tried to interpose himself between his master and Arthur, lashing out with his kite shield; Arthur was caught offguard as the blow hit him full in the face, sending his helmet flying, feeling teeth break away from his jaw...but the guard's triumph was short-lived as Arthur spat a wad of blood and teeth into the soldier's face as the guardsman made to finish with a sword blow, finding appreciation once more for the benefits of Avernus's research as the soldier dropped his sword and shield and clawed at his face, screaming as the tainted, corrosive blood consumed his eyes and began to devour the surrounding flesh of his face. Arthur ran the soldier through without pause, the blow as much a mercy killing as a sound tactical decision, kicking the dying man off his blade.

"What are you, demon?" Howe screamed, genuine fear in his eyes as he watched the tainted blood eat the flesh and bone of his man-at-arms, burning away skin and flesh down to the very bone, watching as Arthur stepped over the corpse, anointing his sword with the same toxic gore, the taint and Avernus's research making it as lethal as any natural or man-made poison.

"The agent of your destruction! The monster you created that night at Highever has returned...to kill you!" Arthur bellowed as he made to attack again, catching sight out the corner of his eye of two of Howe's men trying to pull a gargantuan spider off one of their compatriots, the one Leliana had shot in the chest, only to be thwarted as Morrigan's clicking mandibles tore out the guardsman's throat in a spray of blood and green venom, before spinning round to deal with the others, swiping out with her long forelegs. Two more aiming loaded crossbows at the transformed witch suddenly dropped their weapons and fell to their knees screaming, as if molten metal now flowed through their veins. As they lay thrashing, a third soldier, his eyes glowing with eldritch blue light and a dagger drawn, seized each man in turn by the back of the head and slit their throats. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Arabella holding out her right hand, its palm scored by a bleeding cut, and moving her fingers like a puppeteer directing a marionette. With his task done, Sten beheaded the poor wretch dancing like a puppet to the other Warden's tune.

The fight between Arthur and Howe continued, both men having eyes for no one but each other, the arl giving ground as the Cousland youth drove him back towards the door the companions had burst in through. Arthur lunged as he ducked under a blow that would have decapitated him had it connected, and drove his shield into Howe's gut; the arl went down in a sprawled heap. Arthur went in for the kill, stabbing down, his sword aiming at his enemy's heart but Howe wasn't finished; quick as a striking snake, Howe rolled away from the descending blade and threw something from a pouch at his belt into the young Cousland's face. Arthur had half a second to realise it was a mixture of sand and crushed glass before excruciating pain tore at his eyes, blinding him. Crying out from shock more than anything, Arthur's hands flew to his face, trying to tend to his eyes, the pain overwhelming...only to realise his mistake as he felt something dart out behind him, sweeping his legs from under him and Arthur went down with a loud crash, like a tortoise flipped onto its back.

"And now the son dies like the father, helpless before me!" Howe hissed as the older man staggered over, planting a booted foot on Arthur's chest and pulling his axe back for the final blow, Arthur hearing the others screaming his name vaguely, along with the sound of a door being kicked open-

"For the Alienage!" a familiar voice screamed and Howe's face contorted into a look of confusion, which melted into shock as a thin arm wrapped around his neck and the blonde female elf who'd leapt onto his back drove a knife repeatedly into his side through the gaps in his armour. Once, twice, thrice, the razor-edged dragonbone blade of the dagger cut through the arl's leather armour as easily as it pierced skin, meat and bone, Howe gasping in pain as the blade pierced his pale flesh repeatedly, staggering back.

But even caught by surprise, Howe, like any wounded beast, was still dangerous; with a roar of pain and fury, the arl drove an elbow into Niamh's gut, dislodging the elf's grip on him. Shrugging her off, the arl threw the elf woman to the floor, pinning her to the ground with a boot on her throat, taking a moment to investigate the severity of the wounds she'd given him; the cuts to his side were deep and bleeding profusely, but weren't likely to be fatal.

"Knife-eared bitch! I'll have your head on a spike and hang your ears from my belt, you whore-spawned -!" Howe bellowed at the downed Tabris woman in his wroth, raising his axe over his head for a decapitating blow...but he never got the chance to finish, having made the fatal mistake of turning his back on an undefeated enemy to face another. Still assuming Arthur to be incapacitated, by the time Howe noticed the Cousland youth surging back to his feet, driven on by the opening, given new strength and energy by the chance to take his vengeance, it was too late. His face contorted in a confused expression as Arthur seized him by the left shoulder...and drove his sword through Rendon Howe's back.

Howe dropped his axe, still held above his head, in shock, staring in horror at the bloodied length of sharpened dragonbone jutting from his chest, his life's blood flooding down his chest from the mortal wound, painting his armour and the hands clutching the sword scarlet and freezing into icicles that clung to the enchanted sword's edge as Rendon Howe stumbled to his knees.

"Instead, you die like my father...stabbed in the back!" Arthur hissed in the arl's ear, planting a foot in the small of Howe's back and kicking him off the sword. Howe went down in a mangled heap, desperately trying to move away, half crawling, half dragging himself across the dungeon floor, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his chest, the sword having clearly gone through a lung if Howe's ragged gasps for breath and the bloody froth on his lips were any indication. Arthur advanced on him with the dolorous march of an executioner, sword raised.

"I told you this day would come, do you remember? That one day I would stand over you with the executioner's blade in my hand and show you the mercy you showed me and mine"

"Maker...spit on you! I deserved..._MORE!" _ Rendon Howe bawled petulantly and Arthur's anger overflowed. With a scream of hate and pain, almost bestial in its intensity, the youth lashed out with a booted foot that connected with Howe's jaw, accompanied by a whimper of pain from Rendon and the audible crack of bone breaking.

"You want more?" he yelled, seizing the dying man by the front of his armour and hitting Howe with a brutal right hook to his cracked jaw. "I'll give you more! I'll give you _everything_ you deserve!" Arthur snarled as he drove his gauntleted fist repeatedly into Howe's face, every blow he landed, every bone broken, every drop of blood shed done in the memory of all those he'd lost, that had been lost, seeing the faces of all those he'd loved and lost-so many good people, friends, companions and loved ones consigned to the oblivion of the grave because of this one man's insatiable ambition and greed, hearing their voices, lost forever now, ringing in his ears.

'_I love you, my dear boy. You know that, don't you?...I turn around and here you are, a fine young man in your own right'_

"For my mother!" he yelled with another punch to Howe's jaw.

'_Mama says you're going to be watching over us while Papa is gone. Is that true, uncle?'_

"For Oren!" was the cry this time, accompanied by a fist to the left temple.

'_If you should need any help in the coming days, I would be glad to offer it'_

"Oriana!" The blow this time shattered the right eye socket, eliciting another pained whimper from Howe.

'_My lord is very kind. Thank you...'_

"For Iona! And Nan, and Gilmore, Aldous, Mallol and _all _the others who died that night!" Arthur screamed hatefully, raining down blow after blow. The others were watching with looks of astonishment and even a little fear at the depths of his fury –even Morrigan looked shaken- but Arthur was past caring, lost in the red mist of bloodlust, the siren song of retribution urging him on.

"For everything you've done, every crime you've committed, everyone you've murdered in the name of your ravening ambition, you will suffer tenfold for it, you hear me?" Arthur swore, feeling the hate, the rage, the contempt burn away the last restraints on his self-control, losing himself to the vengeful frenzy. "I will destroy your legacy! I will feed your corpse to the crows and piss on your ashes! I will hunt down and kill your children like dogs! I will wipe your very name from history, do you hear me? Your very existence will be wiped from history, I _SWEAR_ IT-!"

"_Enough_, kadan. Show respect" a sharp voice interjected into his diatribe, accompanied by a strong hand seizing his blood-stained, gauntleted fist by the wrist. Arthur whirled round, seeing Sten holding him by the wrist, disapproval writ in his violet eyes.

"_RESPECT_?" Arthur roared, insulted and outraged at the notion Sten was suggesting. "After all he's done to _me_? To my family, my people? Do you think he would show any of us such mercy if our positions were reversed?"

"You are not your enemy, kadan. Do not become him. You are better than this" Sten intoned, his voice flat and emotionless, but his words cutting deeper than a blow from Asala. The qunari was right; _this,_ drawing out the suffering of a defeated enemy was exactly what Howe would do- one only had to look at what they had found in those dungeons. A quick death or a slow one would not change what had happened; all he could do now was bring an end to this sorry saga of ambition, jealousy, betrayal and vengeance.

There was just enough life in Howe for him to see Arthur plant a booted foot on the arl's chest to hold him down as the youth extended a hand and Sten pulled out of the sack the last thing it had held, buried at the very bottom, still familiar to Arthur even after so long unused; the ebon-wood scabbard, the gold-leafed hilt and pommel engraved with the Highever coat of arms on one side, and the Cousland family crest on the other. For months, it had languished in a chest at Soldier's Peak for safe keeping, but he'd taken it up again because there was nothing more fitting for this purpose. Even now Arthur heard his mother's voice speaking to him, what seemed like a lifetime ago... '_That sword cannot fall into Howe's hands; it must sever his treacherous skull!'_

"I would have to kill you a thousand times to repay you for what you've done" Arthur muttered softly, drawing the blade free of its scabbard and raising the Cousland Sword above his head. "Doing it once will have to do. And _this _is for my father" Arthur finished, and with nothing more to be said, cut off Rendon Howe's head. It rolled away with surprisingly little blood, coming to a stop by Morrigan's feet, the witch idly kicking it away in disgust.

Arthur relished the satisfaction of having accomplished the seemingly impossible, of having avenged his family, of having, and then the Cousland sword fell from nerveless fingers with a loud clang, followed by Arthur as he fell to his knees, knowing that this changed nothing, that destroying Howe's world, taking everything he held dear and ending his life in this humiliating fashion neither brought the dead back to life nor gave him back his home and the life he'd had before this. The weight on his shoulders placed there since that night was lifted, but it didn't make him feel better, only empty, the purpose that had driven him for so long gone.

Leliana was there in an instant, wrapping her arms around him, just holding him as he had once for her, providing support and reassurance, pressing her lips to his forehead, whispering words of comfort and compassion , consoling him that his family, friends and all the others were undoubtedly now at peace at the Maker's side, able to rest even easier now that their murderer had been brought to justice, wiping away any tears that threatened to fall and just allowing Arthur to let out the grief and pain that he had kept welled up inside for so long. Arabella and Niamh offered similar gestures of compassion, and Sten and Morrigan for once kept any comments to themselves, for which Arthur was grateful, but it was Leliana who provided the bulk of the comfort and support for him in this critical moment, holding him in the moment and promising more to heal his heart and soul when they were alone. As he had been a tower of strength for her in her time of emotional need, so she provided the same for him.

After a few moments, Arthur regained enough of his composure to return to his feet and nodded in thanks to all of them for their compassion, as well as thanking Niamh for saving his life at great risk to her own. The elf merely shrugged her shoulders and replied with an easy smile "We're friends. I don't doubt you'd do the same for me". Leliana's expression seemed to forebode many interesting conversations between the two women at some point, but she seemed to realise that that would be a topic best suited for another time.

"Where's your cousin?" Leliana asked instead.

"Soris is looking after that noble boy on the rack; he didn't think he'd be of much use in a situation like this. I must agree; Soris is a good man and I love him dearly, but he's not the brightest or the most skilled"

"Now if we're finished with displays of emotion, what now?" Morrigan demanded.

"Howe may be dead, but this was his inner sanctum, and I'm sure if we look around, we'll find something that'll be of use to us at the Landsmeet" Leliana retorted sharply. "And it should hopefully have the benefit of ensuring that traitorous scum is seen for what he truly is by all come the Landsmeet"

'_On that, we agree'_ Arthur mentally nodded as they made their way to the last section of the dungeons.

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There were two cells in the chamber behind Howe's ambush; no doubt the prisoners kept there were kept here to 'enjoy' the arl's special attention. The first captive was a man of middle years, who judging from his barely lucid ramblings appeared to have been a templar, and judging by the bags under his bloodshot eyes, the delirious manner of his speech and how gaunt he looked, he was deep in the throes of lyrium deprivation, Arthur remembering Alistair's campfire-side discussion of how the Chantry ensured the obedience of its military arm.

"The maleficar...he'd escaped the tower, turned blood magic against the templars. Near Redcliffe, I caught him...but the teyrn's men took him...brought me here" the man whimpered, tears of frustration and remorse coursing down his cheeks.

"This maleficar, was his name Jowan?" Arthur asked. When the captive templar nodded, the pieces fell into place; it didn't make sense that the templars would allow Loghain to use Jowan, an escapee from Kinloch Hold captured and sentenced to death, for his own ends...unless Loghain had done away with the templars who took Jowan to keep word from reaching the ears of the Chantry. Certainly, thinking back, Greagoir and the other templars present at the tower had had no idea of Jowan's capture and his hiring into Loghain's services; if they had, it would have proved the teyrn had severely contravened the laws of both Chantry and Maker...

The Chantry did not tolerate its authority being flouted, and even in times of war, they still had influence and power; even Loghain had to know he could not defy the Chantry and escape the consequences. _'This should prove quite a scandal for him at the Landsmeet, particularly if we can corroborate it with this man's accusations and Jowan's confession about what Loghain ordered him to do...I must send a message to the Circle about that once we're gone from here. Also, Leliana was in the Chantry for two years; she must have made some friends among the clergy in her time. Perhaps I could convince her to ask around, see if any of her old acquaintances are in the city who could discreetly bring this to the Grand Cleric's attention...'_

Unfortunately, their efforts to convince the templar to leave with them were unsuccessful; weeping and insisting that none save Andraste could forgive his failure to enforce the Maker's will, the poor fellow had simply pulled a signet ring from inside the folds of the ragged tunic he was wearing, pressed it into Arthur's hand and pleaded with them to tell 'little Alfstanna' to pray for Irminric.

The only other cell in use was occupied by a scruffy looking young man who was slightly older than Arthur, twenty four or twenty five years at a guess. His clothing- a faded red doublet and hose were dirty and torn, little more than rags in some places, and the man reeked of sweat, vomit and blood, as well as looking very underfed and malnourished. Even so, there was a haughty, self-righteous look in the youth's dark eyes that irked Arthur when he saw it, that this prisoner seemed to consider himself superior to all others.

"Let me out! You can't do this to me! I'll have you all flayed, you hear me? I am the Arl of Denerim!"

"Of course you are!" Arthur sneered. "I'm the King of Antiva, and these two are the Empress of Orlais and the Queen of Nevarra" he added jokingly as Leliana and Morrigan joined him by the cell door.

"I'm Vaughn Kendalls, heir to the Arling of Denerim!" the wretch pouted sullenly and Arthur scrutinised the prisoner more closely. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, the man having been denied the opportunity to trim and shave, his once fine clothing now stained rags clinging to him, and the deep scar across his face that began at the right corner of his mouth, across the right cheek and the nose, having taken a good portion of Vaughn's nose in the process, and ending beside his left eye hadn't been there before, but on close inspection, Arthur recognised the weak chin, the dark brown eyes and the undeniable air of smugness he carried...

"It is you..." Arthur muttered, remembering well the self-righteous prig, the smugly superior bully whom no children would play with and no lord, arl or bann with a crumb of sense would take as a squire or ward. Small wonder, given that Vaughn had rarely had the word 'No' said to him growing up, leading to the snobbish, stuck-up boy growing into a petulant, selfish young man with a sadistic streak a mile wide.

"Too many of our soldiers were lost at Ostagar. When the riots began, Howe came here with men to reinforce the garrison...or at least that's what he told me. The second I let him in the manor, he had me thrown in here; 'One more victim of the elven uprising' Vaughn whinged, clearly not realising that none of those before him cared about his plight in the slightest. That swiftly became plain as they stepped aside to allow Niamh access to the cell.

"You!" Vaughn hissed in fear and outrage, instinctively clutching his mutilated face. Niamh gave a feral smile as she advanced on the trapped Vaughn, reminding Arthur of a cat circling a cornered mouse, waiting for the moment to go in for the kill.

"Not nice, is it? Being trapped, helpless, not knowing what your captor's going to do, how they're going to make you suffer? Perhaps you should have thought of that before you dragged me and my friends here to be your whores!" Niamh Tabris screamed as she seized Vaughn through the bars of the cell door and slammed his head into them. The young man fell to the floor, an impressive bruise forming on his forehead as Niamh rummaged through Howe's dead guards, looking for the key to Vaughn's cell.

"You there!" he barked at Arthur. "In my room, there's a lockbox full to bursting with gold sovereigns! Keep that crazy knife-ear away from me and the key to it is yours!"

"Thanks for the offer" Arthur said pleasantly "but to be frank, we can just as easily let her kill you and then take the key from your corpse" he finished in the same genial tone, indifferent to the look of horror on Vaughn's face as he realised he was doomed and Niamh opened the door to his cell, her expression one of murderous glee.

It was deeply satisfying to see the bully and coward Vaughn had always been begging for his life, offering money, prestige, _anything_ if Niamh would spare him. Arthur felt nothing but merciless amusement when Niamh gave him the grin of a snake about to strike and spat in his face.

"Can you give my cousin back her innocence, her honour? Can you bring back to life those who Howe murdered in the name of avenging you? You have nothing to offer me but your life, and I'm gonna take that anyway!" his elven friend declared, savouring the look of horror in Vaughn's eyes as the young man realised he was looking into the face of his own executioner, one he'd created, before driving her borrowed knife into Vaughn's paunch.

Vaughn Kendalls' death was as cruel and undignified than Howe's. Niamh gave in to a bloodthirsty frenzy, stabbing Vaughn over and over in the stomach and groin, the youth making noises more akin to a pig on the butcher's block every time the blade pierced flesh. Arthur was quick to notice each strike of the blade didn't cut deep, as if she were drawing out the wretch's suffering. Before he could say anything, Niamh ended it, driving the dagger deep into Vaughn's belly, then wrenching it out with a violent twist and a shriek of frenzied glee, and the disembowelled Vaughn died squirming in his own guts. Niamh stared at the mangled corpse for a moment, her expression first one of satisfaction, before uncertainty began to creep in, Arthur recognising the signs in his old friend that the taste of vengeance was not as sweet as she thought it would be.

"He's dead and yet...it doesn't make me feel...doesn't change what happened to Shianni and Nola...it's just...I've spent so longer focused on making my enemy suffer that I never thought on what comes afterward..."

Arthur placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, about to say something, but it was Leliana who spoke first, talking from experience, Arthur didn't doubt, given that what she'd endured at the hands of her Orlesian captors thanks to Marjolaine and what Niamh and her friends had suffered at the hands of Vaughn and his sadistic, hedonist cronies.

"We carry on. We try to move on with our lives and prove to the bastards who tried to destroy us, who tried to take everything from us that we are stronger than them, that we won't allow them to hold us back and that we will survive and be the stronger for it"

'_Well said'_ Arthur thought '_and that is advice I plan to follow, when we have left here. I will not live like Loghain and Zathrian, shackled to their hatred until it is the only thing they live for. I am better than them, and I will not walk the path of hate and retribution to its end as they have. One of my enemies is dead, and when his master joins him in oblivion, my need for revenge will die with them'_

Yet as they made to leave, Arthur gave into sheer spite for the very last time and vindictively kicked Rendon Howe's corpse in the ribs three more times after the others had stepped over it on their way out; once for the family he'd lost, once out of hate for his fallen nemesis and once for the fact that Howe's death, no matter how brutal, how satisfying, changed nothing. The dead stayed dead, and all he could do was hope that all those the late Arl had murdered in the name of clawing his way to power were now avenged and at peace at the Maker's side. And yet, it still galled Arthur that this was still too good for Howe, that the bastard should have died drawn and quartered on the gallows, condemned as a traitor with a mob of thousands screaming for his blood.

"Don't think you're safe from me even now, you bastard!" Arthur swore vehemently. "You'd best be looking over your shoulder for me in Hell, because I'm not finished with you by _any _stretch of the imagination!"

And with that, Arthur Cousland left his enemy to rot and closed the darkest chapter of his young life. The grief at the loss of his family and his hate for the man responsible for their deaths and so many others, all in the name of his greed, vanity and ambition still burned, though it was embers rather than the inferno it had been as he'd cut the bastard down, and that was enough for him to leave them behind to rot with the corpse of the man who'd caused them.


	51. Chapter 49: The Price of Honour

_Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up, I've been very busy of late. A bit of a short one, this time, and several others follow it, so hopefully they won't take as long to get done, if all goes according to plan. The next few mostly involve Arthur's plans with the nobility and Anora as we make our way ever closer to the Landsmeet._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work; special thanks to __**Theodur, ArtanisRose **__(in answer to your question, I did know the default names of the Wardens, but I prefer my own; it adds an individual aspect to my work), __**spectre4hire**__, __**MB1892, MysticGohan88**__ (What can I say, I liked that line from Assassin's Creed II! And in answer to your question, I would be most intrigued to see Morrigan's God Child integral to the plot of DA 3) and to __**KnightofHolyLight**__ for your great reviews- I am most pleased that the last chapter went down so well with you all- and to __**silverdragon1928**__ for adding my work to favourites._

'_**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find you way in the dark'.**_

_I hope to have more for you all very soon...and as always, above all else, enjoy!_

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'_Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before the fall'_ – Proverbs 16:18

Cauthrien heard the sound of approaching footsteps from the corridor and she knows that her prey is nearly within reach. Armour-clad fingers closed round the Summer Sword's hilt, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Judging by how Cousland behaved in the regent's presence, he was not likely to come quietly, and the boy and his lackeys would have to be beaten into submission.

'_No matter. I'd relish beating some sense and respect into his head before Loghain has it cut off!' _ Cauthrien mused, remembering all too well the disrespect, the outrageous insults Cousland had directed at Loghain and at her, feeling her blood boil at the memory.

"Be ready" she commanded her men-ten of Maric's Shield, some of the best swordsmen and archers available to command, along with one of the few remaining Circle acolytes the regent had in his service, more than enough to overwhelm whoever they had to face. Rendon Howe had many faults, but his household guards were all hardened thugs who knew how to kill and maim; if this was the Warden and his lackeys approaching them, they would already be in poor condition, all the more easy to overcome. She would much rather have killed the traitors, but Loghain's orders had been explicit that they, and Cousland and that would-be pretender to the throne in particular, be taken alive.

"We've received information that suggests those Wardens intend to break into the Arl of Denerim's estate" Loghain had informed her that morning when he'd called her into his study.

"Who gave us the information?"

"An anonymous source" Loghain replied curtly, his temper as perpetually short as ever, the strain of ruling a nation that hated and actively sought to undermine him becoming more evident. Cauthrien would very much have liked to press for more information, but the look on Loghain's face forestalled her questions; their relationship was fragile enough as it was. She wanted to believe in her lord again, but after so long, and after all that had happened, all he'd done, all _she'd _ done, the camaraderie, the trust and loyal friendship they'd had before Ostagar...that was gone, perhaps forever.

"I have an agent watching outside the estate, who will alert us if there is any sign of suspicious activity. Should Arthur Cousland and his lackeys be stupid enough to go within a mile of the Arl of Denerim's estate, I will know...and you will be ready for it"

"Give me the orders and I will go now. No one will harm the arl while I live, if those are your orders" Cauthrien assured her lord -her honour would never be besmirched by leaving a noble charge to his death- but to her surprise, Loghain had actually _laughed_ for the first time in months at her suggestion.

"Rendon Howe's safety is the least of my concerns" Loghain snorted. "The man is out of control and if anything, he would be of more use to our cause now dead than alive; if he dies and we can prove Eamon and his cronies had a hand in it, well that will be to our benefit, more than any of Howe's schemes have been. In any case..." and at this, Loghain's expression darkened "I understand what it is like to suffer injustice, to hunger for vengeance against those who wronged you with every fibre of being; Cousland and I are alike in that sense, more than he will ever admit. I will grant him the chance to avenge the memories of his family and the honour of his House, but I cannot have him roaming about before the Landsmeet, smashing apart my plans like a bull in a china shop. The boy is more use to me alive than dead, Cauthrien; I cannot stress that enough. If he can be...'persuaded', by the whip and the rack to denounce himself and Maric's bastard as nothing but puppets for Eamon's ambition, it would be to my advantage. I wanted Bryce Cousland alive so I could have him denounce any other claimant to the throne after Cailan's death and give endorsement to my regency- the backing of such a powerful and respected man would have been most useful in this political turmoil- but Rendon Howe took it upon himself to settle an old score, put his ambition and jealousy above Ferelden's needs and murdered the man in cold blood. I have wanted to execute Howe many times over the past year for that, so I will allow the boy to avenge his family, if he can- Rendon Howe is not likely to lie down and die easily- but Arthur Cousland is not to escape. I cannot stress that enough, Cauthrien"

Cauthrien nodded and made to take her leave, but at that moment, Loghain had placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her straight in the eye as he had done when he'd first taken her into his service and would give her some advice on how to be better, his expression earnest and solemn.

"Cauthrien, I knew we have had some...differences in the last few months, but I'd like to believe you understand that everything I have done has been necessary for Ferelden. What follows in the coming days and weeks will be pivotal; you have seen the nature of the enemy we face. If we succeed, we will ensure Ferelden's safety and security for generations to come, not to mention our names will be remembered as heroes who gave everything and did all that was necessary to protect our homeland. If we fail, than this land will be destroyed, and our names will be remembered in obscurity and with hatred...if we are remembered at all. And Cousland has made it clear he intends to be the architect of our destruction. If you fail now, if the boy escapes us...then I fear, for us and for Ferelden"

"You gave me everything, my lord. In return, I have never failed you in any task you set me. I do not intend to start now" Cauthrien had assured her lord.

And now, as Cousland staggers into the entrance hall, Cauthrien stands ready to face him. Loghain, Eamon, Cousland and others might have abandoned honour for the sake of ambition, but she never would. She still knew the meaning of honour, always kept her vows and if she were required to bring this wretch to heel, then she would not fail.

"Warden, by the authority and in the name of Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren and Lord Regent of Ferelden, I am bound to place you and your companions under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms. Surrender and you _may_ be shown mercy" Cauthrien barked, casting an eye over the approaching group; Cousland looks tired and a bit beaten-cuts and bruises mark his face, there is a great deal of blood staining his skin and armour, which is also dented and scratched, and some of that blood has to be the youth's, but he is not as injured as she would like; it seemed Rendon Howe can only kill unarmed men with their back to him, not to mention a bit of magic to speed recovery.

Her eyes shifted in turn to the others behind him; she had fought enough qunari in her time to know the hulking, plate-clad brute to Cousland's right would be a danger. The Orlesian girl she recognised, though the armour and longbow levelled at her head were new, and the two women at the back- another redhead and a dark-haired, pale girl- Cauthrien knew were a danger, even if they seemed harmless; mages didn't have to be armed to be able to kill with ruthless efficiency. The others seemed to be a gaggle of wretches pulled from Howe's dungeons; a trio of elves, two female, one male, lingering at the back, the male elf and one of the women, tall with short, braided blonde hair, supporting a young man who looked to have been badly tortured, limping gingerly. Behind them lingered a weeping man clad in rags and scraps of what looked to be templar armour, his mind likely broken by torture and incarceration and a woman in the armour of one of Howe's household guard, likely the one who'd let the Warden and his lackeys into the estate to begin their murderous rampage. '_I wonder how much Eamon and his pretender paid the bitch to betray her master, how much gold Rendon Howe's life was worth'_ Cauthrien thought, resolving to ask the bitch when they had her on the rack in Fort Drakon's dungeons.

To her surprise, the Cousland boy showed no fear at the sight of so many arrayed before him; his lip curled at the sight of her as he threw something held in his left hand at her, the object hitting Cauthrien in the chest before she could step aside, leaving a bloody red splotch on her chainmail. Looking down at her feet, Cauthrien saw it was the severed head of Rendon Howe, the arl's final expression one of utter shock. She looked up from the head at her feet to the young man standing before her and felt a flutter of trepidation as she saw there was no fear in the young man's eyes, only an implacable rage.

"If you value your lives, you will stand aside. Your master is not worth dying for" he snapped in a curt voice. Her men seemed to show some trepidation- they'd all heard the stories about this boy; how he'd survived Ostagar without a scratch, destroyed an army of demons in the Circle's tower, killed a High Dragon guarding the tomb of Andraste herself and they'd all heard the stories of Grey Wardens, how they could fight harder and longer, endure wounds that would kill other men, and if Rendon Howe and his household guard couldn't stop them from slaughtering their way through the manor...

'_No'_ Cauthrien chides herself _'I will not think that way. Start believing that and this fight is lost before it has begun'._

"I won't repeat myself" Cauthrien barked sharply. "If you continue to resist, the regent will not be merciful with the likes of you".

Cousland's answer was a derisive snort. "So you're willing to defend a man who raises murderers and traitors to the highest offices in the land? Who allows his own daughter, our rightful monarch, to be imprisoned against her will?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Cauthrien snapped, determined to crush any vile rumour and treasonous talk likely to sap the morale of her men even further, though she was astounded at the absurdity of his claim. _'Why would Anora come here? She hates Rendon Howe! It is one of the few things we still agree on!'_

"Anora is not being held here or anywhere. Her father wouldn't stand for such a thing!"

"And you believe that?" Cousland sneered at her and Cauthrien's leash on her temper failed._ 'What does he want me to say, that my master is a traitor? An ambitious wretch who keeps monsters and cravens at his side? No, I will not say that, no matter how much it_ _linger in my mind; I will not sully my lord's honour and mine by believing in such slander. Let the boy speak with steel, not barbed words'_

"Unlike you, Cousland, some of us still know what honour and loyalty are. I have no doubts about Loghain whatsoever". It was a lie, but it, combined with the look of satisfaction on her face, was worth it for the outraged response it drew from the boy. Her smile soon fell, however, at his response; the Cousland boy spat at her feet, drawing his sword, and snarled in a hateful voice:

"Then die with your misplaced pride. May it grant you succour when you stand before the Maker!"

"Bring them down! Loghain wants the Warden, dead or alive!" Cauthrien screamed as she raised her sword and leapt to the attack, only to stagger back as an arrow slammed through the rings of chainmail at her shoulder, embedding itself in the flesh. Four of her men made to join her as the other six loosed a volley of crossbow bolts; much to her disappointment, most of the bolts impacted harmlessly against a shield of energy that the dark-haired mage conjured in front of them.

The mage behind her gave a strangled scream; Cauthrien whirled round, to see him falling to his knees, a pair of arrows buried in his chest. Phillips ripped them free and began casting a healing spell on himself, magical green energy flickering to life in his hands...and then guttering out as another arrow hit him in the face, the arrowhead punching through his left eye and out the back of his head, staining the violet-dyed fabric of his cowl scarlet. Cauthrien cursed as Phillips slumped to the floor, as she'd hoped for him to give them some protection from the spells of the mages and the arrows of that Orlesian bitch, to say nothing of their enemy's swords.

Ignoring the death, Cauthrien shoved her way forward, instinctively raising her sword, blocking a strike from the qunari's blade that would have torn open her neck had she not parried. Two of her men charged forward to assist, their stabbing blades driving the brute back, while the other two battled with Cousland. Julian's mace clashed against Cousland's shield, while Patrick's sword was parried. Julian staggered back with a scream as another well-placed arrow took him in the chest; before he could recover, Cousland shouldered Patrick back and swung out with his sword. The boy's dragonbone blade, glittering with magical hoarfrost, cleaved through the mail shirt and steel gorget as if made of cheese and Julian's head went bouncing across the stone floor. Before Patrick could recover himself, a bolt of lightning from the far side of the room struck him in the chest, followed by another and another, until the electrocution proved fatal.

"Deal with the mages; leave Cousland to me!" she cried, wincing as Danes turned to her and the qunari opened him from collarbone to crotch in his moment of distraction, the force of the blow knocking off his feet, leaving him writhing like a gutted fish on the floor. Carter managed to barge past the Orlesian girl and reach the redhead mage, slashing a deep cut from her left shoulder to elbow. But his triumph was short-lived as the girl, instead of falling to the floor screaming and thrashing as most would do in such situations, plunged her fingers into the gaping wound, coming out stained with blood, and closing her red-stained fingers into a fist. It was Carter who screamed as a torrent of fire erupted into life in the mage's hand, fed by the blood, and coiled around him like a serpent. The screams of agony as her soldier was cooked alive in his own armour were blood-curdling.

'_Maleficar!_' Cauthrien had never seen blood magic before, but there could be no mistake. The sight of Carter being roasted alive was horrific, as brutal and horrendous a death as any she'd seen or dealt, so much so that Cauthrien barely regained her concentration in time to parry the qunari's sword as it cleaved for her neck. Knocking the blade back, Cauthrien retaliated by jabbing the pommel of the Summer Sword into the heathen's face, the qunari staggering back as its helm's visor slammed into its eyes from the impact, one of her men taking the initiative as she paused to survey the battlefield. Half her men lay dead or dying about the hall, while the remaining five were still standing, hanging back, crossbows still loaded and ready, letting loose a volley of bolts that had some success-while most clattered harmlessly off shields, magical and mundane, one impacted with the qunari's chest and a second found a home in Cousland's right pauldron- but before Cauthrien could order them to drop Cousland's companions with another salvo, a fireball from the dark-haired mage's fingertips exploded in their midst, sending them flying in all directions, crashing in dazed and smouldering heaps all around the room.

"Now!" she heard Cousland roar, ripping the crossbow bolt from his shoulder and Cauthrien saw the gaggle of hangers-on the Wardens had acquired- the elves, the tortured prisoners and the traitorous guardswoman- who'd been hiding out of sight when the fighting erupted, make a break for the door, the Orlesian spy at their head, her longbow put aside in favour of a pair of daggers, which she used to bat aside the swords and hands of any who tried to stop them. Before any of Cauthrien's dazed and injured men could stop her, the Orlesian had wrenched open the estate door, ushered the escapees through it and slammed it shut behind her. Cauthrien heard the clash of swords and strangled screams from outside as the guards on duty tried-and failed- to stop her.

'_Let them go'_ Cauthrien thought. _'There will be time enough to hunt them down after we're done here!'_

Cauthrien surveyed the situation; four of her men were still standing, Aaron having caught the brunt of the blast, ending up a charred corpse, discarding their crossbows and drawing swords. No, three, she cursed mentally as a bash from Cousland's shield hit Marcus in the face as he tried to rise, knocking him off his feet before the Warden's sword came stabbing down, burying itself in Marcus's chest. The Warden twisted the blade, wrenched it free and then levelled it at her; a clear challenge. Motioning the rest of her men to deal with the mages, Cauthrien charged for him but before she could reach Cousland, the qunari interposed itself between the two, its greatsword swinging towards her head. Cauthrien parried and retaliated with a vicious kick to the balls- she'd learned to fight dirty long before Loghain had found her- that even a qunari couldn't ignore, following up as the brute staggered to its knees with a hefty blow to the head, sending the beast sprawling to the floor. But before she could finish the qunari off with a decapitating stroke, a dragonbone sword intercepted the strike. A blow from Cousland's shield to her chest knocked her back and Cauthrien staggered, winded, just managing to block strike after strike of Cousland's blade.

"You've lasted longer than I thought. You turned tail and ran more swiftly at Ostagar!" Cousland sneered, his voice distorted by his helm. Cauthrien threw herself forward with even more fury- she would _not _have Ostagar thrown in her face, nor would she have the accusation of coward thrown at her, the implication that she would run at a moment's notice, willingly dishonouring herself. _'I am no coward, there was no choice. To fight at Ostagar would have been suicide. Would he have had me and all the others throw our lives away for Cailan's folly? It was more honourable to save the lives of thousands of good, loyal soldiers whose skills would be instrumental in defending the realm, than to waste them saving a foolish man-child living out his own fantasy!'_

But before she could make some equally barbed response, the sounds of men screaming distracted her; the knight looked up in time to see Willis go flying across the atrium, neck broken even before he collided with the wall at speed, leaving her with two men. A bestial roar deafened her, and Cauthrien whirled to see David and Rik desperately trying to keep the snapping jaws of a huge, black-furred bear at bay. '_Where in the Maker's name did __**that **__come from?'_

Turning her attention back to her own enemy, Cauthrien turned aside another stroke of Cousland's blade and kicked the boy in the fork of his legs, sending him staggering to one knee, gasping in shock and pain. But as she pulled back her sword to send the youth spiralling into unconsciousness, crushing pain tore through the back of her right leg, accompanied by stabbing pains as the teeth of the bear bit deeper and deeper, feeling flesh tear, armour crumple, knowing the breaking of bone would not be far behind...

Smashing the pommel of her sword into the beast's face repeatedly, the bear relinquished its grip on her leg, Cauthrien staggering away from the monster's fangs, the gaping wound leaving a bloody trail behind as she limped away, seeing David and Rik lying with their throats torn out, steel gorgets useless against the bear's fangs, hearing the sound of running feet charging towards her and Cauthrien looked away from the bear to see Arthur Cousland hurtling at her, screaming a bestial war cry, sword pulled back for the strike. Forcing herself to her feet, fighting down the pain burning in her maimed leg, Cauthrien raised her own blade for a final, overhead blow, aiming to kill-she could see what Loghain did not, that the boy was too dangerous to be taken alive, and would never dance to whatever tune the regent had in mind- but to her shock, he parried the blade with his shield, keeping his feet despite the blow's force, knocking her sword away from him, wrenching the blade to his left and leaving her right side completely open...and before Cauthrien could move to counter, Arthur Cousland drove his sword into her chest.

The pain as the dragonbone blade carved through her armour, piercing her chest below the right breast, tearing through flesh and bone, sundering major organs and emerging between her shoulder blades was indescribable. Cauthrien had been injured many times in battle, so she was no stranger to the pain of being struck by weapons, but this...she could tell instantly it was a fatal wound. The Summer Sword fell from limp fingers as she tried to stay on her feet, but strength was flooding out of her in torrents along with her life's blood, her vision blurring. Placing a hand on her shoulder, the only thing keeping her upright, Cousland twisted the blade and then tore it free; without him holding her up, Cauthrien fell to her knees. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the bear moving through the bodies of her men, finishing off the dying, while the redhead mage helped the qunari to its feet She watched Cousland circle round her like a cat with a trapped mouse, as he picked up the Summer Sword with deliberate slowness, felt the sword, tested its balance and pulled it back for a decapitating blow.

"The Alamarri used to say it was a great dishonour to be killed with your own blade. They reserved such punishment for only the worst of criminal; murderers, deserters and traitors. So I think it's highly appropriate for the likes of you!"

"Wait!" Cauthrien screamed, throwing out a hand in desperate entreaty. "Kill me, obliterate my body, cast my name and my legacy to the four winds, but I beg you, grant me a last boon and heed me! Do not do what you intend; Loghain does not have to be your enemy! He wants what you want; to save Ferelden!"

"He's got a strange way of going about it" Cousland sneered "Not that I have seen any evidence of success on Loghain's part; lords and ladies murdered unjustly in their own homes, their men-at-arms fighting pointless battles against him while the darkspawn pillage and burn at will. He may desire to save Ferelden, but his methods will destroy it, as everyone but you and your master see, and I mean to stop him stopped, one way or the other. His actions have earned him nothing but a traitor's fate, and it is one I will gladly administer!"

"Please!" Cauthrien entreated; she had to make him understand, that Loghain was trying his best, that were it not for the fact his own people, the people who he had given most of his own life for, were openly fighting against him, that despite his many failings, he was still the hero they looked up to, that given a chance, he and those who followed him could regain their honour. "Show him mercy; Loghain was the man who ensured you were born into freedom! Without him, there'd be no Ferelden to defend!"

Cousland, the last scion of a House renowned for their honour, for showing respect to all, friends and enemies alike, spat in her face and on her pleas. "Your master will have the same mercy he has shown to all who have dared to stand in his path, the same mercy I show you now!"

The blade descended, and blessed oblivion washed everything away; the pain of her injuries, and the pain of failure. The last thought to go through Cauthrien's head was that in the end, she had failed to keep her pledge-she had failed Loghain, left his enemies free to defy him and destroy him. She had failed her lord in his hour of need, and her honour-that which she had prized so strongly, that had caused her to stand by her lord's side after all that had happened- would go to the grave with her, forgotten, unmourned and hated.

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Arthur cast the greatsword aside, the blade clattering to the floor beside Cauthrien's headless corpse.

'_Bloody fool'_ Arthur cursed her. _'There was no need for you and these wretches to die...not today, anyway'._ Certainly, Cauthrien and most of those who followed Loghain would have followed their master to a traitor's death on the gallows, but they didn't have to die here, cut down like rabid dogs. Had they just stood aside...

'_Good men in service to a wicked cause. Was your honour worth your lives? Was your master's?_' Arthur thought angrily as he seized Cauthrien's head, along with Rendon Howe's and tossed the pair into the sack that had once held their weapons. It was a great disappointment that neither of the great enemies he had slain that day had died not as he had wished- drawn and quartered on a gallows with a mob of thousands screaming for their blood- but he intended to ensure that come the Landsmeet, those two, and the man they served, ended up with their heads on spikes as food for the crows.

"The woman had skill, but her defeat was inevitable" Sten intoned sullenly, glaring at the corpse as he picked up Cauthrien's blade, testing its balance- he still favoured Asala, but he had a liking for weapons of skilled forging, taking them as trophies of victory over worthy foes. "Women are priests, artisans, farmers or shopkeepers. None of them have any place in fighting".

'_Bitter?'_ Arthur mused, remembering the beating Cauthrien had given the qunari, but holding his tongue; the look in Sten's violet eyes did not suggest he would take mockery well, also silencing any remarks from the other two. The qunari hobbled over the bodies towards the door as Morrigan, returned to human form, wiped the blood of her slain enemies from her mouth and stripped the dead of any valuables as Arabella moved from person to person, healing green energy closing up the wounds acquired in the skirmish.

"We're done here" Arthur declared as he led his companions out of the manor once their business was done, but didn't close the door. There was just one more promise to keep, one more assurance he had made to Rendon Howe. Everything Rendon Howe had achieved- every iota of power, every coin of blood money, every scrap of stolen land and prestige he had hoarded about him thanks to his treachery and deceit- the arl had gathered about him in that manor, and Arthur meant to destroy it all.

Nodding to Morrigan and Arabella, Arthur watched as the two mages channelled powerful magic into their hands; snowflakes and icicles forming around Arabella's fingers while lightning sparked and crackled in Morrigan's hands. As their spells reached their climax, both women looked to Arthur who gave a curt nod, and with a flick of their fingers, the mages unleashed their spells. The magical blizzard and tempest combined into a storm of formidable strength and power, smashing down the doors of the manor, tearing through corridors and rooms, obliterating wood and stone...and anyone still inside.

Arthur smiled as he heard the yells and screams of Howe's household as the magically conjured hurricane tore the building apart. But there was more to this than petty destruction; word of what had happened would soon reach Loghain's ears, but with any luck, the teyrn would send his men here in the hope they were still there, only to waste hours sifting through the rubble that would be left once the storm had lost its power, instead of heading to Eamon's estate to look for them. With any luck, the first things they would find would be the bodies of Cauthrien and her soldiers, and Loghain would know from the corpse of his finest lieutenant that his enemy was no longer a callow boy to be underestimated.

'_I swore I would destroy your world, Howe, and I have done so. You're next, Loghain'_ Arthur thought as he turned away from the Arl of Denerim's manor as a storm the likes of which only occur in a century continued to tear through the estate, and walked away from the site of their first victory in the proceedings of the Landsmeet.

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_Story note: For those of you who haven't seen it, the spell Morrigan and Arabella cast is Storm of the Century, a very powerful spell combination that I have come to like a very great deal._


	52. Chapter 50: Unexpected Guests

_Right, well first things first, sorry this has taken so long; I've been up to my eyeballs in other things these last few weeks and these chapters- the ones where not much happens, that merely serve as bridging points- I often find a challenge to write, plus I wanted to indulge my muse on a seperate project. Another chapter like this next time as Arthur makes deals with Anora and the nobility against Loghain, and then we'll be back into the action, as it'll be time to crack some Tevinter heads!_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this; it has been a great help combating writer's block, knowing so many want to know what happens next. Special thanks to __**MB18932, Theodur, KnightofHolyLight **__(I hope the ending makes you happy, I'll flesh it out more next time) and __**Mystic Gohan88 **__for your reviews, and to __**Ibbi, HalasterBC, Aritha **__and __**Hetairoii**__ for adding this to favourites; it's always good to know so many enjoy this!_

_Hopefully, I'll have more for you sooner than this, since things have eased up a bit; at least, that's the plan!_

'_**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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"Where are you taking us?" Anora demanded sharply as they raced away from the Arl of Denerim's estate, hoping that none of the men Cauthrien had brought with her would try to give chase. She'd never been the most athletic of people, and the fact she was wearing armour a great deal heavier than any form of clothing she'd worn in her life meant she was lagging at the back of the group, and with the exception of Erlina, none of the others were showing her the due deference that one should when in the presence of Ferelden's Queen, refusing to slow their pace for her or even to acknowledge her. "This is not the most direct route to Eamon's estate!". Her already short temper was not improved by the fact the Orlesian girl utterly ignored her request.

"I asked you a question!" Anora snapped, seizing the younger woman by her wrist, forcing the Orlesian to stop and look at her.

"And I chose to ignore you" the girl retorted with such an icy look in her eyes that Anora quickly withdrew her hand, the memory of the ease with which the Orlesian had cut down the two guards who'd tried to stop them leaving Howe's estate coming to mind.

"I am trying to ensure that we aren't being pursued, which surely you can understand, since you will be the main reason any pursuers come after us. And just so you know, if Arthur doesn't come back, or if your father's thugs hurt even a hair on his head, then Loghain won't find a piece of you big enough to bury"

"How dare you! I am the Queen of Ferelden and I will be shown the respect my station deserves!" Anora raged, affronted at such outrageous, open disrespect. "You do know threats to a monarch's person are punishable by death?" However, the woman's reaction was not what Anora had anticipated.

"I'm not Fereldan, so I owe you nothing" the Orlesian girl replied with an innocent smile on her lips, though the look in those blue-green eyes was murderous "And respect is earned, and from what I've heard of you, you haven't done enough to earn a jot. Oh by the way, that wasn't a threat. That was a promise" she spat, glaring at Anora with utter disdain, green eyes boring into her own blue gaze without flinching, matching the Queen's furious stare...

"Perhaps we should move on?" one of the elves they'd pulled from the dungeon- a tall, blonde woman- interjected. "Surely we do not wish to delay, lest any pursuers catch up to us?" the elf pressed, placing a hand on their shoulders. Anora was outraged by such presumption-'_Maker's breath, have all my subjects forgotten who I am? The respect I am owed?_'- but before she could make a response, the Orlesian nodded in agreement and took to leading the way on again, a seething Anora among those trailing in her wake.

'_Enjoy your moment of authority. When I return to my throne, my power unchecked and no longer undermined, I will remember all who've dared to show me the disrespect I've been forced to endure since Cailan got himself killed and my father set himself in my husband's place!'_

It began to rain heavily as they drew closer to Denerim's Market District, few people abroad in the face of such vile weather for which Anora was grateful; sooner or later, word of her disappearance would get out. Eamon's Denerim estate came into view mercifully quickly, the only people to see them two guards who looked desperately eager for their guard shifts to end so they could get out of the rain. The pair seemed to recognise the Orlesian, waving her into the estate with only a raised eyebrow at her companions, Anora ducking her head as she passed by, not wanting her face to be seen, lest talk of it reach her father and he try something to get her back, something no doubt hasty, foolhardy and detrimental to both of them. The fewer people who knew where she was, the better.

As they entered, three figures came into the atrium of the manor to greet them. One Anora recognised instantly; Bann Teagan, a welcome sight if only because it was someone familiar amongst the hostile and uncooperative strangers she'd had to deal with so far. Of the other two, one was a woman in her sixties, grey hair tied back behind her head, clad in the dark red robes and bearing the staff of a high-ranking mage of the Circle, observing Anora warily even as she removed the helm Anora had donned, ensured that there were no injuries on the Queen to tend to, before moving onto the others, applying healing magic to the injuries of the two men liberated from Howe's dungeons and the elves. The other...

"Maker's breath" Anora gasped in astonishment as she saw the young man beside the mage. His hair was a lot shorter, his skin more weather-beaten and his eyes a more pale shade of hazel, but the structure of his face, the shape of his nose, the colour of his hair...the resemblance to Cailan at that age was unmistakable.

'_This must be Alistair...the one they have in mind to replace me'_ Anora thought to herself, disliking the suspicious manner in which the young man was looking at her, openly disrespectful, particularly the way his lip curled at the sight of her. '_Has __**everyone**__ in this realm forgotten who I am?'_

She waved a dismissive hand impatiently and demanded, "Take me to Eamon!". This boy might aspire to take her crown from her, but she'd have him know who she was and know she was not some shrinking violet who'd bow her head and meekly let him by.

"My brother is in his study" Teagan interjected, before Alistair could say anything.

"Then what are you waiting for? Take me there! I must speak with him at once!"

"You sent word here that you wish to ally with us, Anora" The mage woman's voice was curt and waspish as she interjected "If you wish to be shown respect, it would behove you to show some, just as it would behove you to behave like a monarch and not like a child being denied her way"

"In any case, you wish to change into something more...presentable" Teagan also added before she could reply, a quirk at the edge of his mouth that might have been a suppressed grin. Anora had to concede that presenting herself to the arl in this state would not be appropriate, to say nothing of how it would reflect on her.

"I will have the maids escort you to somewhere you can change" Teagan remarked, clapping his hands until two elves came running "I think some of Isolde's things are still here from her last visit to the capital". Anora nodded curtly and took her leave; she knew full well that Teagan was as eager to get out of her presence as she was to be rid of his; the Bann had made his distaste for the Mac Tir family clear over the years. '_No doubt his brother has told him to keep his venom to himself for the moment, until they've got me on their side'_ Anora thought disparagingly as she allowed the elven maids to lead her to the manor's guest quarters.

"Anora, welcome" Eamon said respectfully as the Queen entered his study a few minutes later, changed from the suit of heavy chainmail to a dress of lavender silk borrowed from Arlessa Isolde's wardrobe that fit her surprisingly well. She was grateful for Eamon's attempts at courtesy- standing and bowing to the Queen, waiting for her to extend a hand for him to kiss – after the outrageous indignities she'd had to endure, but she knew that like his brother, it was an act; Eamon and Teagan Guerrin had their own political ambitions that held no place for her. _'No matter'_ she thought _'I am here for the Cousland boy, not you two. Hopefully, he will have the sense to see allying with me is in his best interests...and when I return_ _to_ my _throne, I will make sure to keep a close watch on you two and your ambitions'_

A warm smile graced her lips openly, however, and it was with courteous good grace that she replied "I am most glad that you would extend me such hospitality and gracious welcome. It has been too long since I have had the pleasure of your company, and too long since I have been shown the cordiality and consideration I am due"

"Where are Arthur and the others?" Eamon pressed, and Anora paused for a moment, considering how best to tell the Arl what had happened, how their smooth exit had gone so spectacularly wrong.

"They were...waylaid" Anora explained when the door slammed open, raised voices echoing from outside the study, one sounding like Teagan, another man's voice desperately sounding like they were trying to stop a third individual, female from the sound of the voice, from bursting in, only to be thwarted as the study's door swung open with a loud bang, as if it had been kicked in...

"Waylaid? Is that what you call letting us walk into a trap laid by your father's elite guard?" the Orlesian snarled, a short sword held in her right hand, Teagan and Maric's bastard trailing in her wake. Anora was furious at the fact they'd been eavesdropping, but now was not the time to raise such matters.

"I assure you, I had no notion of what Cauthrien was intending to-"

"Bullshit!" the Orlesian cut across her with a snarl and Anora felt the constraints on her temper, already frayed by the disrespect that she'd already been shown by that woman, accompanied by the ingrained distaste for Orlesians that her father and her upbringing had embedded in her, snap utterly.

"How dare you! Eamon, I must insist that you tell this uncouth wench to either show me the respect I am entitled to or get out!"

"Is what she's saying true, Anora?" Teagan interjected sharply before more could be said, the girl falling silent as Alistair placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, seeming to calm the Orlesian from launching into another venomous diatribe against her, though the expression Maric's bastard directed at her mirrored the girl's in coldness.

"I had no idea what my father intended; we've barely spoken since Ostagar and Cailan's death! He has shared none of his schemes with me, nor do I know his intentions! If you failed to consider the possibility of a trap, that is not my fault. In any case, we cannot argue about this, we don't have time! It is possible that Cauthrien and her men have taken Arthur and the others captive. If so, my father will probably order them taken to Fort Drakon..."

At that moment, there was a rapping on one of the windows; all spun round at the noise, to see a rather bedraggled looking falcon sat on the windowsill, rapping the glass with a talon. Eamon opened the window and extended an arm, the raptor allowing itself to be brought inside. The second it was in the room, the falcon leapt down to the floor, a flash of green light erupting from the bird's chest the second its feet touched the carpet, forcing all present to shield their eyes. When the light had died away, in place of the falcon, a dark-haired young woman clad in blue and gold robes of Tevinter make stood in their midst, getting to her feet and brushing rainwater off her clothing. Anora recognised her as one of the mages who'd accompanied Cousland into Howe's estate.

"We made it out of Howe's estate. The others are not far behind me; they sent me ahead to allay any fears you might have that we wouldn't make it back" the dark-haired witch remarked, to cries of relief from the Orlesian and Alistair. Anora also felt a sense of relief; her father was out for the Warden's blood, and would have no doubt had Arthur thrown into the deepest cell in Fort Drakon had Cauthrien succeed. Not that the atmosphere improved; the Orlesian and the bastard still glared at her, no doubt holding her responsible for the debacle getting out of Howe's manor. _'How was I to know? My father and I have not spoken to each other in months, and I hardly had access to my informers and spies while I was a prisoner of Howe's!'_

An interminable half of an hour passed, as much to Anora's annoyance Eamon and the others refused to discuss anything further until Arthur Cousland and his companions had returned safely. But finally, Anora heard the sound of armoured feet clattering into the atrium, Teagan leaving the study for a moment to investigate, a variety of voices coming from the lower floor of the manor, Teagan's pleasant baritone, a harsh, gravelly voice that sounded like that of a qunari, another male voice, and the sound of armoured feet clattering as they headed upstairs...

"Maker's breath, it is good to see you in one piece" Eamon said, his tone heartfelt as Arthur Cousland staggered into the study, looking like he'd taken a beating; clearly Cauthrien and her men hadn't let him past without a fight. A variety of bruises and cuts to his face and neck were visible, the plate armour of a Denerim knight he was wearing crushed and cut open around the vambraces and breastplate, and he seemed to be limping slightly, but overall, Arthur Cousland seemed relatively intact. '_Well, intact in body. I hope his mind is still as sharp as they, enough to grasp the benefits of working with me'_.

"What happened?" came Eamon's next question.

"Denerim needs a new arl. And the regent needs a new lapdog" the Cousland youth declared plainly, his expression impassive, seemingly unconcerned at the impact of his statement. He wasn't lying, Anora knew. Cauthrien would never have stood aside willingly; she was too loyal to her father. If Arthur Cousland was before her, then Cauthrien was...

"It was kill or be killed" Arthur added sharply to Eamon's groan of frustration. "I think you'll agree that I considered my life of more value than that of Loghain's greatest toadies"

Anora sighed bitterly, then put her sorrow and regret to the back of her mind; there would be time to mourn later. Cauthrien would be sorely missed, but many had already died in this conflict and many more would likely perish before the civil war and the Blight had run their bloody course.

"Ser Cauthrien's death is...a waste, truly, though I suppose it couldn't be helped"

Arthur Cousland took one look at her, his expression hard to gauge, and then turned his attention back to Eamon. "Does having her here affect our plans for the Landsmeet?"

"_I_ fear" Anora interjected, heartily sick of them talking over her- it was far too akin to her father's treatment of her, of how he and Rendon Howe would lock themselves away, discussing their plans on what they felt best for Ferelden, without so much as a 'by-your-leave' to her- "that my escape will make matters worse. Now that he cannot use me to give legitimacy to his claim on Maric's throne, my father may resort to more drastic measures to stay in power"

"More drastic than murder, treason and regicide?" Teagan archly said from the far side of the room.

"I doubt he will say or do anything publicly, not until he has a better grasp of the situation" Anora asserted, ignoring Teagan's remark for the moment, though unsurprised at how quickly he'd dropped the courteous act "but we still have little time to stop him, particularly with the Landsmeet so close. We will need to work together and quickly". Anora took a deep breath before continuing, hating herself for having to say such words, but knowing they were necessary to convince these people to take her side. _'Once I've gotten what I need from them, they won't be necessary' _she assured herself.

"My father has gone mad. I didn't want to believe it at first, but he is in the grip of paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing reason. He saw me as a threat to his power, yet even now I am certain he will be telling the nobility you are dangerous murderers who have kidnapped and placed me under the influence of mind control" Anora allowed herself a sad sigh at this "He may even believe that fantasy"

"He can't still retain the throne without you; without your claim, his only authority is a usurped one" the old woman interjected.

"It _will_ be more difficult for him" Anora agreed "but my father will not accept defeat easily, and he still had plans. If he were to succeed in making the Grey Wardens into a common enemy, for example, many will believe it. He is, after all, a legend"

"It's true. Our position at the Landsmeet is not strong, and this debacle is going to do little to help us" Eamon reluctantly conceded to her point.

"At least that snake Howe is dead. With the influence he held over my father, his death can only benefit our cause" Anora added, though inwardly she was displeased in the manner of Howe's death; having him tried by the Landsmeet and executed publicly would have been more appropriate, not to mention less likely to cast a shadow over her return to the throne and improve her popularity with the common folk, many of whom loathed the Butcher of Denerim's brutality. She would shed no tears for Rendon Howe-few would, save his creditors, his Amaranthine toadies and a string of foolish whores he'd patronised- but his death and the fact it benefitted her would doubtless raise questions as to whether she had ordered it, a scandal her already weak hold on power could do without.

"That alone will not be enough, however; my father is committed to this path. You will need information for the Landsmeet, and there I can help. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar; many people in the city are angry or grieving. Strangely enough, the unrest is worst in the Alienage; few elves accompanied the army south, they should have little reason to be upset...which means Howe and my father have given them one. I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it"

"A useful lead, Anora" Eamon interjected, suspicion at the evidence clearly writ on his face "but you could have sent this information with your maid"

"That is true. I feared for my safety as Howe's prisoner, but to tell the truth, I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces. You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne." Anora straightened her back importantly. "You need me."

"We already have a candidate for the throne," Teagan cut in with a sneer in his voice, as if it weren't even open for debate.

"I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough," Anora pressed. "And decent. But even with his blood, he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party- and I am already queen."

"You are hardly neutral, Anora" Eamon countered sharply. "Queen Dowager, heir to the Teyrn of Gwaren-"

"Who do you truly think ruled this nation for the past five years, Cailan? I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who doesn't even want the throne! I can help you stop my father-"

"You've done a fine job of it so far" Teagan muttered, the contempt in his voice unmistakeable. Anora was about to make some equally barbed comment as to how Teagan's constant insults and insubordination had contributed as greatly to undermining Ferelden's efforts to repulse the darkspawn as her father's delusions, but to her surprise, it was Arthur Cousland who restored peace, helped by Eamon.

"Friends, please" the boy insisted "There is too much at stake for our potential alliance to be jeopardised by disagreements and harsh words spoken in the heat of the moment. I suggest we all allow ourselves to retire- it has been a long day after all- and come back to this tomorrow, rested and fresh"

"I agree" Eamon conceded. "Let us retire for the evening, and reconvene in the morning, when our minds will be fresh and better suited to setting out the terms of our alliance"

Putting aside her annoyance and frustration, Anora nodded and curtsied, the picture of courtesy once more.

"Very well. For the moment, I will retire to my quarters. I would ask that Arthur speaks to me at some time tomorrow, when there is time available" Anora requested in a courteous tone before turning on her heel and heading back to her guest quarters, Erlina trailing in her wake. She heard the door of Eamon's study close behind her, causing her to wonder briefly what was being said behind it.

'_For the sake of your friends, I would advise you come speak with me, Arthur. I can only hope you are not as opposed to me as your companions, lest you might find the ground on which you hope to stand at the Landsmeet may collapse under your feet'_

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The sound of horses' hooves clattering into the courtyard outside their room woke Arthur up from a pleasant dream, for once, devoid of the usual signs of darkspawn howling or the archdemon looming over him, hissing scorn and mockery into his ears or promising all manner of painful deaths. Granted, there'd still been some reminders of the taint's constant presence-mostly shadowy, pale-eyed figures at the corners of his vision and distant, whispering voices calling to him, but he'd been able to ignore them this time.

'_I have you to thank for that'_ he thought warmly, feeling the soft, warm weight curled up against his chest, the sensation of Leliana's hair tickling under his chin, smelling the scent of the perfume still clinging to her skin, hearing her steady breathing and watching the rise and fall of her chest as she did so. Leliana had spared no effort when they'd turned in that night; the moment the door to their private chamber had closed, she'd leapt on him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck. Even as she'd let the nightgown be torn off her, her own fingers had ripped open his shirt to expose his own chest, fingers running through the hair there, tracing the old battle scars and gently rubbing the bruises and cuts that Cauthrien, Howe and their ilk had inflicted. As one hand cupped her left breast, almost offering it to Arthur, who took the hint and placed his mouth to the taut peak, teasing and tugging the nipple to hardness, eliciting moan after moan of pleasure from Leliana, that only continued as he attended to her right, Leliana responded by clutching Arthur's head in her hands and lowering her mouth to the curve of his neck and shoulders, kissing and nipping gently with her teeth. Her ingenuity had shown as Leliana had brought a pomegranate into the proceedings- a great weakness of Arthur's- and cracked the fruit open, enticing her lover to lick the fruit's juices off her stomach and the seeds from her navel. Arthur indulged her, lapping the sweet stickiness off her taut stomach, hearing her breathing quicken as he did, before his tongue then moved lower, down her stomach and her hips to what lay beneath, between her legs. His mouth found its target, and Leliana gasped in ecstasy at the first touch of his tongue below. Her fingers ran through his hair, keeping his head pressed there as his mouth continued to work with pleasurable diligence, her moans growing more and more high-pitched and desperate the longer he continued. When the pleasure's intensity was almost too much, Leliana seized Arthur's head by the hair, green eyes boring into pale blue ones, and demanded that he take her there and then. With a wolfish grin, Arthur moved up, his mouth moving to hers, Leliana tasting herself on his tongue even as she felt his hand slip between her legs, easing them apart, easing himself into her, their bodies moving against each other with frenzied abandon until the climax washed over them both and he spent himself within her, both collapsing against each other, Arthur rolling to one side of the bed and allowing Leliana to curl up next to him, head pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as the pair drifted off into a contented sleep, a brief moment of calm after the turmoil of the day.

He knew full well the source of her passion was two-fold; one, out of relief that he'd come through the duel with Cauthrien more-or-less intact, for Arthur suspected the bard still felt guilty for having run while he fought, even though he'd told her to go, and second, to take his mind off the brutal manner in which Rendon Howe died by his hand, hacked down like an animal in his own home and the hateful spite he'd directed at the Couslands even with his last breath. In truth, Arthur had no intention of wasting any more thoughts on his old nemesis, the only thing he thought of in connection with Rendon Howe being hope that those who had been murdered in the name of Howe's unrelenting ambition could rest easier now at the Maker's side, now justice had been visited upon their killer.

"What's going on?" Leliana muttered groggily, blearily blinking the sleep out of her eyes as yet more sounds loudly intruded on them; the sounds of fists pounding on a door, of raised voices coming from the manor's main entrance. Arthur slipped out of bed, seizing a shirt and britches discarded in a corner of the room and quickly donning them, seizing the dagger from his belt, just in case. It was still raining heavily outside, the wind lashing the rain against the windows.

"I'll go check it out. Stay here, keep warm; I'll be back soon" he whispered, kissing her left cheek, before leaving the bard curled up beneath the blankets to investigate the disturbance. Their room was at the far end of the corridor, next to the guest quarters. As he passed by the door of the guest quarters where Anora now slept, Arthur mused on how much trouble the Queen's presence was going to cause them and whether it was truly worth the benefits an alliance, even temporary, with Anora would bring at the Landsmeet. Eamon and Teagan clearly didn't think so, if that discussion the three had had after Anora had retired for the evening was anything to go on.

"_Well, she's certainly...spirited" Eamon remarked in an amused, yet exasperated tone when Anora was out of earshot. "I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim; poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead, had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes". Another weary sigh escaped the arl as he continued "I cannot help but think she will be trouble-"_

_Teagan snorted. "She's a danger to us all, she should never have been brought here. Anora is her father's daughter; you mark my words, she will turn on us twice as quickly as Loghain did Cailan. You'd do well to remember that; you're about as safe dealing with Anora as you are throwing rocks at a nest of hornets" the Bann added sharply to Arthur._

"_That may be" Eamon conceded to his brother "but even so, I'd rather have her where we can watch her, than actively working with Loghain. Still" he added "be very careful how much trust you place in her; I don't for a moment think Anora means to surrender her power easily"_

"_You seem very opposed to Anora" Leliana remarked. "Not that I disagree, but why are you so determined to see Alistair take the throne? Just from an outsider's perspective?" she enquired, Arthur noticing that Zevran and Arabella were listening as well._

"_Anora was a capable administrator for Cailan's rule, but she has not a drop of royal blood in her. We did not fight the Orlesians all those years, all those Fereldan patriots did not give their lives just for us to lose our royal line in a single generation, not while there is a surviving son of the blood. Alistair's father was Maric Theirin, for whom we all risked our lives to put back on the throne, and he can trace his lineage back to Calenhad, the Silver Knight himself, who first united Ferelden. For more than four hundred years, Calenhad's descendants have ruled Ferelden; __**that**__ was the heritage we preserved from the Orlesians, and it is the heritage my House and many others will fight for so long as one of Maric's blood still lives. Without that to unite us, we could easily scatter back into warring terynirs. I only wish Maric had taken more time to instruct the lad in the politics of ruling; I did my best, but...we all hoped Cailan and Anora would ensure the succession"_

"_Maybe Alistair should marry this Anora?" Zevran put forward, an intriguing gleam in his eye . Alistair's expression of distaste made it clear what he thought of such a notion. Eamon rubbed his beard thoughtfully._

"_That would solve a lot of problems, and put forth the strongest case to remove Loghain from power. With Theirin blood on the throne and Anora's popularity and wisdom, Ferelden could present a united front against the Blight Unfortunately" he conceded sadly "the marriage will never take place unless they both agree to it. And I suspect it will take a great deal of persuading to get past her pride and his humility"_

Arthur put the memory to one side; Anora was a matter that could be dealt with in the morning, and he would have to be the one to ascertain just how great a threat she posed to their plans. '_Perhaps there is a way to get her on our side without actually having to give her what she wants. If I could convince her I'm on her side...I'll think on it more in the morning'_

Hearing noises from Eamon and Teagan's quarters that sounded like they too had been awakened by the disturbance, Arthur quickened his pace, heading down the stairs to the manor's ground floor, to see four rain-soaked figures, faces hidden behind hooded cloaks, stood in the atrium of the manor, Eamon's butler vainly trying to keep them from going further.

"I'm sorry, ser, but it is after midnight, and I very much doubt his Lordship will appreciate having his rest disturbed at so late an hour. If you wish to speak with him, please return in the morning-"

"Do you know who I am? I've ridden hard to get here from Highever, I know full well my brother is here and I'm not leaving until I've seen him!" one of the intruders, a man by the sound of his voice, retorted angrily to the butler's entreaties. As Arthur's feet scuffed against the stone flooring, the butler turned round, his expression one of desperation for assistance.

"I'm sorry, my lord, if this ruckus disturbed you, but I could use your assistance. I have informed these individuals that the Arl will not see them at this time of night, but they refuse to depart unless they speak with him or you-"

"Arthur!" the first speaker called out as he looked up and saw Arthur approaching. "By the Maker, they told me...but I couldn't quite believe you were alive, never mind all the things they said you've done"

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, and by way of an answer, the guests to the manor lowered the hoods of their cloaks.

Two of them had the look of Chasind Wilders, based on their appearance and garb, akin to those Arthur had seen on Chasind fleeing the Wilds following Ostagar; one man, one woman, both clad in leather armour, both dark skinned with jet black hair and brown eyes; they had to be brother and sister, based on the similarities of their appearance. The man was tall, in his late twenties, with his black hair braided and tied back behind his head, a curved sword taken from a darkspawn at his hip and a simple wooden shield painted with Chasind symbols hung from a strap over his shoulder. The woman looked barely out of her teens and leant on a long spear, the spearhead fashioned with curved barbs designed to tear and rip flesh. The third was an elf and a mage by the look of him, if the steel staff and the sopping wet green robes were anything to go on, his black hair tied back behind his head, pale green eyes scanning the room warily. As for the fourth...

'_I know your face'_ Arthur thought, the realisation striking him like a sword blow to the gut. His hair was longer and there was a beard where there hadn't been before, the man's face bore a few more scars and there was a hardness and anger to his expression that Arthur had never seen before, but the shape of the face, the nose and those dark brown eyes, just like their father's were unmistakeable...

"It can't be..." Arthur gasped, hope, shock and disbelief intermingled in his voice. "It's not possible..._Fergus?_"


	53. Chapter 51: Cutting Deals

_Ok, first off, let me apologise for how long this has taken; I've been up to my neck in work and other things to do for the last few weeks, so writing and other things have understandably fallen by the wayside. Have no fear, this story will get completed. I'm not sure how good this chapter is, but I could sit on it for weeks otherwise and it'll never get done, so here goes._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this; the knowledge that so many want the next instalment is a great impetus, so sorry for keeping you all waiting. Special thanks to __**MB18932, Theodur, MysticGohan88, KnightofHolyLight, bradw316**__ and __**SuperGravyMan**__ for your great reviews, and to __**Naruto20Akemi20, FortyFourReasons, mask211 and Lillwiggen**__ for adding this to favourites._

_Will try to have the next chapter up sooner; there's a lot of fun to be had in cracking Tevinter heads next time!_

_As always, '__**Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'**__._

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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Arthur hadn't returned to his bed that night; the realisation that his brother had survived everything fate had thrown at the pair of them. His brother no doubt had his share of scars-he couldn't imagine the things Fergus had had to do to survive and much of the late night had been spent relaying their tales of survival to one another. Fergus had grimaced, a gaunt, haunted look in his eyes as Arthur had told him of that dark night at Highever, of the bloody and brutal attack, of the deaths of their friends, their loved ones, of their parents' last moments of life; clearly it hurt Fergus to hear it as much as it hurt Arthur to relive it, but he deserved to hear it. Tears had appeared in his brother's hazel eyes when he heard Arthur describe what had happened to Oriana and Oren and Arthur, placing a comforting hand on his brother's, letting him master his grief until he was ready to go on. Arthur was most glad to hear that members of their own household had risked their lives at Highever to defy Howe and give their murdered family the proper funerary rites; they'd deserved that small measure of respect, at least.

His brother had marvelled at how Arthur had survived Ostagar, had gasped at his tales of battling werewolves beneath the boughs of the Brecilian Forest as their ancestors had done, had marvelled at the description of their battle with the High Dragon and scoffed at the idea his brother had entered the tomb of Andraste herself and he had gagged at the description of the broodmother and the other fetid horrors the darkspawn had concocted in the bowels of the earth. It felt good to hear his brother laugh and joke, more like the jovial scoundrel he'd been before, to know that like Arthur had experienced, there was hope that the gaping wounds left on Fergus by all the brothers had suffered might yet heal.

"I thought you were dead...what happened?" Arthur asked, when his story was finally told, motioning for Fergus to tell his.

"Loghain sent me and my men on a suicide mission; as soon as we got to Ostagar, he ordered us to scout a canyon in the Wilds that the darkspawn were said to be snooping around, looking for another approach to the fortress. He said it should be routine, but instead, we were ambushed; the darkspawn were lying in wait for us. They attacked the second we arrived; I lost many good men because of those soulless bastards and the ones who sent us for them to use for target practice. Had it not been for these two and their clan mates, I'd be among them"

"Yeah, I was wondering what they were doing here" Arthur added with a nod to the Chasind man and woman stood across the room, idly inspecting the various items within the room; the man, whom Fergus had introduced as Marek admiring a gilded goblet from a side table, while the woman seemed both intrigued and unnerved by the attention Edward was paying her; the Chasind clearly weren't used to mabari hounds being quite as soft and affectionate, most of their people have only encountered warhounds defending herds of livestock they were trying to rustle with tooth and claw.

"One of their hunting parties drove off the darkspawn long enough for those of us left to make a fighting retreat into the Wilds; Loghain had already tried to kill us once, so we didn't dare go back to Ostagar. Plus, I and most of my men were badly injured, in no state to go anywhere. Verona and Marek's clan, the Storm Crows, sheltered us at their camp; their clan's shaman tended our wounds, fed us and led us out of the Wilds when the darkspawn won at Ostagar. We fell in with other survivors and rebels up and down the Bannorn, spent as much time as we could harrying the darkspawn and undermining Loghain's attempts to subjugate Ferelden. It wasn't until a month or two ago we had enough of a force to consider anything more than hit-and-run attacks when we joined forces with Leonas Bryland and his army fleeing north from the ruins of South Reach; we marched north and hit Highever, put the garrison of lickspittles and toadies Howe had left behind to hold his stolen riches to the sword, including that dullard Thomas; I only wish I could have been here to see the look on Loghain and Howe's faces when my messenger threw Thomas's head at their feet...just as I wish I'd been there to help you kill him" Fergus spat venomously, staring at the blood-stained hessian sack in a corner of the room that held Rendon Howe's severed head, the bag crawling with black-bodied flies eager to feed on the traitor's eyes and lay their eggs in his dead flesh. With a wave of his hand, Arthur swatted the insects away, mentally noting to ask Morrigan later to apply a spell that would protect the skull from the onset of decay and the attention of scavengers. _'I don't want it to rot away to nothing before I can mount it with Loghain's on a spike above the city gates'_

"If it had been me, I'd have broken every bone in that old bastard's body then cut off his limbs one by one and made him eat them. I'd have fed him his children's hearts and forced their blood down his throat until he drowned. For what he did to my people, for what he did to _our family_, he deserved to suffer, to die screaming. A beheading was_ far_ too good for him. He could die a thousand times and it will still be less than he deserves" Fergus spat hatefully, glaring at the severed head.

"Did you know I was still alive?" Arthur asked, wanting to direct his brother's attention away from brooding on the deaths of his family and his desire to revenge himself on all responsible. He'd seen too many people brooding on wrongs done to them in his journey-Zathrian and Loghain, to name but two- and he did not want to see his brother walk that path to its end; only madness waited there.

"I did, we heard rumours of your survival at Ostagar, and when Loghain started putting ever-increasing prices on your head, it became apparent. We tried to get word to you, but you never stayed in one place for long; we lost track of you after you went to Orzammar and then when Eamon sent out his letter that all the nobility come and swear allegiance to the rightful king, Arl Bryland stopped me from trying to communicate with you, lest Loghain and Howe got word and tried to send assassins after us-"

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation; Arthur got to his feet to open the door and Arl Eamon strode into the room; the arl had been informed of Fergus's arrival in the early hours of the morning but this was the first meeting between the two for many years, not since Fergus had been a squire and ward at Redcliffe Castle.

"I am most glad to see you, Teyrn Cousland" the arl inclined his head respectfully. "First let me say that you have my most sincere condolences for your losses. I know what it is like to fear the loss of a loved one; to lose your wife and child is a horror I cannot imagine". Fergus merely accepted Eamon's words with a curt inclining of his head.

"Now, I must say to you that it is my considered opinion that we limit the number of people who have knowledge of your survival until we are in a better position to make use of it. It is my understanding that besides the occupants of the building, only Leonas Bryland and a handful of other Banns who fought with you know the truth of your survival?"

When Fergus nodded, Eamon continued "Good, it would be best to keep it that way; I will not present Loghain's assassins with another target. We can have my agents spread word of the truth about what happened at Highever- much of what the nobility have known has been hearsay and the claims parroted by Howe and Loghain- and when the rightful teyrn of Highever presents himself at the Landsmeet and denounces Loghain for the murderous usurper he is, it can only strengthen our position in the Landsmeet. I also understand you have a substantial army still garrisoned at Highever, as well as two of Rendon Howe's children prisoner?" the arl asked again.

"The army stands ready, and I know what you are about to ask; I have already taken steps on that front. I have been sending messages periodically to my men at Highever. If they do not receive word from me for a week, then the officers I left in command have orders to march on Denerim" Fergus explained, an explanation that sat well with Arthur- even if they lost the Landsmeet, with another fresh army bearing down on the city, Loghain wouldn't live long to enjoy his triumph. A knock on the door diverted his attention as Alistair poked his head around the door, causing Arthur to miss a portion of the discussion. Remembering he was needed elsewhere, with other tasks to fulfil, Arthur took his leave of his brother and the arl, but not before hearing a worrisome pledge from his brother.

"-death of Thomas Howe an unfortunate loss, but with Delilah a captive, she should be a useful hostage should Rendon's eldest- Nathan, Nigel, whatever his name- comes back with notions of avenging his father" Eamon advised.

"If Nathaniel is stupid enough to come back from whatever rat's nest in the Free Marches his father shipped him off to, I'll be waiting, and I'll make sure he joins his father, his brother, and if I have my way, his sister in Hell" Fergus swore hatefully. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll see every last Howe put into the ground, as my father should have done years ago!"

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At the same time as Arthur was discussing matters with his brother, Leliana was working on another portion of the epic saga she was writing, chronicling their endeavour to thwart the Blight and save Ferelden. At this point, she was up to the point where they'd confronted the broodmother, considering how best to describe the true horror of that monstrosity, the fetid reek it exuded, the terror she'd felt as those tentacles coiled around her thigh, clawed hands lifting her up...

'_No_' she thought sharply. '_That is one part of this story best left forgotten'._

"Silver for your thoughts?" a female voice enquired from behind her. Leliana looked round, expecting to see one of the estate's many servants in the doorway, but to her surprise, it was blonde female elf they'd rescued from Howe's estate stood in the doorway, staring at her with a curious intensity in those pale green eyes. She had conflicting thoughts about this elf; words of Marjolaine's came back to her unbidden...

'_Will you still want your handsome, chivalrous Grey Warden when I tell you how many elven serving girls and tavern wenches he's had?...You think you mean __**anything**____to him? T'is my understanding that you'll be nothing more than another notch on the bedpost...'. _It wasn't as if she couldn't see the attraction; this pretty elf with her eyes like emerald chips and blonde hair so pale it was almost silver. They said elves were supposed to have an exotic attraction for humans in spite of their differences, even she was aware of that; there had been a few pretty elf maids in Lady Cecile's household she'd always liked to watch going by. And to know that one of Arthur's old lovers was in close proximity to him... _'What if temptation comes to him?'_

Her thoughts might have been written on her face, because the elf took a seat beside her and patted her on the arm. "You've nothing to fear from me. I care for Arthur, but so much has happened and so many years have passed for anything that it's more the regard for two old friends. We were close once but time and circumstances have changed it too much for us to go back. Besides, I've seen the way he looks at you; if that's anything to go on, I'm pretty sure you're safe. Besides, I talked him out of making a stupid mistake for me once before; I'm pretty confident I can do it again"

"How so?"

"We were two teenagers; we were young, stupid and in love, three things that don't make for a good combination" Niamh explained.

"What happened?" Leliana asked, curious despite herself; her Warden had always seemed so composed, so certain what to do, what course of action to take. It was surprising, even a little amusing to find out that he was capable of acting without thinking, that even Arthur Cousland was rash. '_This war may make him a legend, but it is refreshing to know he is still a human'_. It was also intriguing to hear from someone who'd known him as a child, regardless of just _how_ they had known him.

"I was sixteen; my father wanted us to move to Denerim and arrange a marriage for me. Arthur and I...well, we were close by then; we'd been friends since childhood and we spent so much time together, it was sort of inevitable that we'd end up together. When he learned about my arranged marriage, well...he offered to elope and marry me"

"He did?" Leliana was stunned. "So what happened, why didn't he?"

"Common sense prevailed. I told him it could never work out, that it would only cause pain and misery for us both in the long run and he agreed, however reluctantly. I was on the road to Denerim the next morning and I haven't seen Arthur since, though we did correspond for a time, though the letters stopped a year ago. You cannot believe how glad I was to learn he's alright, well more or less, after word of Highever reached the Alienage. I had a friend who was in Highever when we heard about the massacre- Iona- and we've no idea whether she's alive or dead; she's got a little girl back in the Alienage frantically wondering where her mother is"

"I'm sure he's just as glad to see you as you were to see him. And we'll find out the truth about what happened to your friend" Leliana assured the elf, placing a hand on top of the other woman's; she'd found herself making a lot of promises to people she'd barely met since joining the Chantry and taking up with the Wardens, but it felt better to be trying to make a difference to the world, even if she had a strong suspicion what had happened to the elf's friend, one Arthur would no doubt confirm.

To her surprise, the elf's hand had closed over hers with surprising tightness.

"Just so you know, even if he and I are just friends now, he's still one of the best men I've ever met and he and his family always treated me and my people fairly. He's a good man and he's got enough on his plate fighting this damn war without the mess a heartbreak would cause him. If you hurt him or play him false, then I promise you, there is not a place in Thedas where you'll be safe from me!" the elf swore vehemently.

"I would rather die than let any harm come or be done to him. And

"Good. Now that's out of the way, we can move along. I'll make you a deal; you tell me all the embarrassing things he's gotten up to since you've met him and I'll regale you with some of the idiotic things he did as a child...of which there were many!" the elf laughed and Leliana allowed herself a thin smile at the prospect of having some embarrassing information with which to tease Arthur with later.

"Now, I need to go; I'm kind of hoping we'll get back into the Alienage before long; I've been hearing dark rumours about what's going on in there" Niamh added, her face "Besides, I'm not the one you need to worry about" the elf woman joked. "Have you seen the looks that dark-haired witch has been giving him? There's the one to worry about, if you ask me!"

Niamh Tabris's tone was jovial, her words meant to be joking, but it struck Leliana harder than expected. She had seen Morrigan ingratiating herself a lot more with Arthur ever since they'd committed matricide for that witch, talking in hushed tones, the longing for closeness that Morrigan had never exhibited before; it all spoke of working her way up to something, of trying to get something from him. Leliana didn't know what, but it left her with an uneasy feeling.

'_Arthur would never want that bitch, he loves me, I know that. Whatever that conniving wretch thinks she'll get from him, it will never happen' she _reassured herself.

##############

Exiting his brother's study to let Fergus and Eamon talk, Arthur found himself a little surprised and unnerved by Fergus's bloodthirsty rage and seething anger, though Arthur could not really blame him. _'There was once a time when I thought the same; had it not been for the company of good friends who brought me back from the edge of the abyss, I might have succumbed. Plus, I have lost only a fraction of what Fergus has; he must mourn the loss of the woman he loved and their first born child as well as our parents. They say time heals all wounds; maybe when this one is not so gaping, Fergus will begin to see things in a better light. It will take time, but better that than letting his hate and grief carry him into madness...'_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices talking from the nearby study; Arthur recognised Arabella's voice and the accented tones of Zevran, but it took Arthur a few moments to place the third voice; a man, who sounded cultured and refined, that impression added to by the Orlesian accent, but with a hardness to it...

'_Riordan? Maker's breath, I'd forgotten all about him!'_. The escape from Howe's estate, the terse discussion with Anora and the arrival of his brother, not to mention the fact the Orlesian Warden had not been in evidence upon their return had pushed their meeting from his mind. Arthur quickened his steps, wishing to speak with the senior Warden, knowing he might have information invaluable to their fight against the Blight...

"No one knows for certain how the Grey Wardens were founded" Riordan replied to Arabella, Zevran also listening with a curious expression on his face. "As best as we can tell, the Order began 1200 years with a group of Anders soldiers, veterans of countless battles with the darkspawn; apparently, they defected from their king's army, vowing that fighting the Blight was more important and travelled all the way to Tevinter, discovering along the way the Joining, how to ride the griffons of old and other secrets of our Order. They were the ones who finally managed to slay the archdemon Dumat, though none of those soldiers survived the Battle of Silent Fields. But by that point, they had picked up followers, and it was these men and women who formally founded the Order and attained recognition from the whole of Thedas" Riordan concluded, before looking up to see Arthur stood in the doorway and beckoned him to join them.

"I'm glad to see you made it safely away. And I hear Howe's death has brought no small amount of cheer to the city" Riordan chuckled. "I was just filling in our newest recruit on some of the Order's history, and she was telling me the most incredible stories about the things you've seen. Darkspawn necromancers? Drawing blood from a live archdemon to use in a makeshift Joining? I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen things just as strange in my own time as a Warden. Still, I'm glad it worked; Maker knows we will need all the Wardens we can get in this nation before this Blight has run its course..."

"Just how many Wardens are there across Thedas?" Arthur asked out of curiosity.

"Hard to be certain; only Weisshaupt itself holds the full records. The Anderfels alone are home to more than a thousand. It's almost like the archdemon chose Ferelden deliberately, knowing how undefended it is. I pray to the Maker that it is merely a quirk of fate, for archdemons are not stupid; if Urthemiel has learned just how weak and degraded our Order has become here...Maker's breath, I pray Loghain's racist insanity and paranoia have not infected the rest of this nation's nobility; mark my words, the Grey Wardens of Orlais are going to be sorely needed to confront and destroy the Blight" Riordan grimaced.

"Tell me something; it's been more than four hundred years since the last Blight, and that one ravaged Antiva and the Free Marches. Why is a new one only beginning now, and why Ferelden of all places?" Zevran asked, curiosity writ on his face. Arthur had to admit, it was a good question.

"Archdemons don't just awaken on their own, you know? It takes the darkspawn tunnelling for centuries at a time to find one, and without direction, it must be instinct or just pure chance that guides them. What's surprising isn't that it takes so long between Blights, what's surprising is that their efforts to start one succeed at all. But I imagine the Old Gods call to them, and it's that voice crying out in the darkness that drives them on through so many generations" Riordan finished on that chilling note, leaving an uneasy silence before Arthur cleared his throat regretfully.

"You'll have to excuse me, I must be off, there's a lot to be done yet, but we'll speak again"

"Wait, before you go, take this" Riordan said, pulling from a pouch at his belt a scrap of paper tied to a key. "This is the key to our Denerim vault; in it, we stockpiled weapons, armour and other supplies lest they were needed in defence of the city. Loghain and Howe tried to get its location out of me-no doubt, they thought we were hoarding valuable treasures, no doubt to help our 'Orlesian puppet masters' finance their invasion of this country" Riordan sneered at Loghain's delusion. "You may take what you find inside; I'm sure you could use the help. The vault is located in a warehouse behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern; that should get you past the lock. We shall speak again once the Landsmeet is done" Riordan assured him as Arthur made to leave.

#######################

It was late in the morning when Arthur, accompanied by Alistair, Wynne and Leliana entered the Gnawed Noble Tavern, already doing a roaring trade. Arthur was quick to notice as he approached the one person he wanted to speak to at the far corner of the bar room that the subject on everyone's lips was the sudden death of Rendon Howe, seemingly attributed to the 'mysterious fire that had torn apart the Arl of Denerim's estate'. Loghain clearly didn't want the truth of matters to become widely known until he could reclaim control of the situation.

"Will you be attending the funeral?" the dark haired young noblewoman asked of the man sat across the table from her.

"No" the Arl retorted sharply, the expression on his face one of incredulous annoyance, as if the question was a deep insult to him.

"No?" the Bann seemed shocked. "But you were friends. You served together in the same regiment under Maric"

"Rendon Howe was _no_ friend of mine!" Leonas Bryland snapped, his expression cold. "The boy I knew died at the Battle of White River"

"But I've heard his family won't even make the trip from Amaranthine. Would you let him go to the flames unmourned?" Alfstanna put forward, her expression one of surprise.

"That he did not die years ago is the only thing worth mourning!" the Arl scoffed vehemently. "If Bryce had any sense, he would have hanged Rendon along with his father when the Couslands took Harper's Ford!". However, further discussion of that intriguing theory to Arthur was stymied as he cleared his throat to draw their attention.

"May I help you?" Alfstanna asked curtly. By way of an answer, Arthur extended a hand and deposited the gold signet ring in the palm of her gloved hand. Alfstanna's expression was one of confusion before she recognised the ring, and then it became one of astonishment and anger. "Explain yourself! This is Irminric's, and my brother would no more part with this ring than with his head!"

"Your brother was a prisoner in Howe's estate-"

"What was he doing there-? Maker's breath, is he alright?" Alfstanna's eyes went wide with horror as she realised what her brother's proximity to the Arl of Denerim's estate meant in the wake of its destruction.

"Your brother is fine- we managed to help him escape-"

"What in the Maker's name was he doing there?" the Bann demanded.

"He was being held prisoner in Howe's dungeons on Loghain's orders. Their men abducted him while hunting a blood mage escapee from Kinloch Hold because Loghain wanted to use the apostate to poison Arl Eamon."

"What? _Why? _That is madness!"

"Yes, but..." Alistair insisted, "Loghain has gone mad."

"Where is he now? Is my brother alright?" Alfstanna pressed, her expression going from concerned to enraged as she added "If Loghain and Howe have harmed a hair on his head, I'll-"

"I recognised the symptoms; your brother is suffering from severe lyrium withdrawal, not to mention the side effects of severe torture" Wynne cut in. "I've done my best for him but..."

"I must go to him at once. Someone _will_ answer for this" the Bann swore, angrily fingering the handle of the axe at her waist. Getting to her feet, Alfstanna extended a hand to Arthur, who placed his lips to it, the picture of noble courtesy.

"I see there is more to you than that libertine boy my father and yours once wanted me to marry. Thank you, for my brother's sake. Is there anything you would ask of me in return for this deed? Nothing is too small in return for my brother's life"

"Waking Sea's support in the Landsmeet for the cause of Prince Alistair Theirin was my idea of a reward"

"And what if I asked for something in return?" Alfstanna replied, an impish look in her green eyes, staring interestedly at Alistair. "Perhaps a place at the side of the new king?"

"I'm-" Alistair seemed a bit flustered, particularly at the look of interest the noblewoman was showing him- clearly longer than most women had looked at him before, though it was clear he was not displeased by the attention she was paying him, though whether it was him or the prospect of the crown he offered the Bann was interested in was open for debate, since that tended to make women overlook many things about Alistair, his unseemly parentage for one- and managed to reply, albeit stuttering "Well, I'm, I'm sure we can discuss a-an arrangement...

"Indeed?" the Bann replied, looking a little amused at his nervousness, pulling a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear in an almost enticing manner, the look of interest in her green eyes still present as she extended a hand to Alistair. "Well, I look forward to discussing it further"

"As do I, my lady" Alistair replied with a fair amount of more confidence as he took the proferred hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, the Bann looking impressed by the courtesy as she withdrew it.

"Just, if you want to be a king, make sure you look the part come the Landsmeet, though I'm sure you can work on that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go" Alfstanna bluntly asserted, all business once more.

"Where?"

"To the Chantry. You mark my words, the Grand Cleric will hear of Loghain's blasphemy" Bann Alfstanna promised as she took her leave of them and Leonas Bryland, storming towards the Gnawed Noble's exit with clear purpose. With their business done, Arthur and his companions made a functionary exchange of courtesy to Leonas Bryland, the Arl making a few comments about Fergus's arrival in the city and advising Arthur to take care of his brother, the tone suggesting that Bryland was acquainted with Fergus's newfound severity, before departing on his own business. But as they made to exit the tavern, another noble sat at a table close to the door got up from his seat and made towards them. The companions all kept. Arthur had just enough time to recognise the noble as Bann Sighard before the big man pulled him into a crushing bear hug.

"Oswyn described his rescuer in great detail, but he omitted the fact it was a Cousland! I owe you his life!"

When the Bann released him and Arthur had finished massaging feeling back his ribs, he assured Sighard "I would _never_ leave anyone behind to suffer at Rendon Howe's hands. Not after what I went through because of that bastard..." the Bann's face darkening angrily at the mention of Howe's name.

"When I saw my boy's legs...I only wished Howe still lived that I might tear him apart myself! I would raise troops against the rest of his family, but Oswyn tells me Thomas, Nathaniel and Delilah had no part in their father's depravity"

'_In any case, Thomas rots in a shallow grave, Delilah in a Highever dungeon, and judging from what my brother had to say, if Nathaniel has even a crumb of sense, he'll never show his face in Ferelden again!'_

"Is there anything you would ask as a reward for saving Oswyn's life? If it is within my power to grant, it is yours" Sighard changed tact abruptly, the vengeful look in his eyes replaced by a more agreeable look.

"Only your support in the Landsmeet to put an end to Howe's master. Did your son tell you what he knew?" Arthur asked. When Bann Sighard nodded in agreement, Arthur went on "Then you must know why Loghain would have given Howe free rein on your son that he wanted to suppress the truth about his actions at Ostagar, the truth your son suffered and his friend died for. Howe would never have dared lay a finger on Oswyn without Loghain's say-so". Sighard nodded in agreement with this declaration, the pieces fitting as much in his mind as they did Arthur's, before seizing Arthur's hand and wringing it repeatedly.

"Know that I will stand behind you at the Landsmeet with all the support I can muster. As a matter of fact" the Bann added as the thought came to him "I'm having dinner this evening with Bann Reginalda of White River; you may rest assured she'll hear of this outrage. Her lands have suffered at both the hands of Loghain's thugs and the darkspawn, I'm sure she'll agree to support you" the Bann promised as he exited the tavern.

'_Not bad for a morning's work. Two powerful nobles have agreed to support us, with the promise of more noble support and even that of the clergy to come, and I think Alistair may have had an encounter with his future queen. She should be a good match for him, if I do say so myself'_

###################

Upon their return to Arl Eamon's estate, they were accosted by Erlina the moment they walked in.

"Lord Cousland, my mistress is taking her luncheon in her room. She requests your presence there as soon as you are able"

Arthur waited until Erlina was out of earshot before letting out a groan of exasperation. "Daddy really installed fine manners into her, didn't he? Expects us to come running when she snaps her fingers like trained mabari, doesn't she?"

"You can't put her off forever" Wynne put forward fairly. "Like it or not, she is an invaluable source of information on her father's plans and allies, so it would be a good idea to keep her happy and on our side...at least until we have what we need from her"

"What are you suggesting?" Alistair asked, his expression one of astonishment.

"Suggesting? Nothing" Wynne replied innocently. "I'm merely stating my belief that a monarch who believes themselves entitled to their position, who puts their power and their desires above their people's needs is not the sort of person I'd want ruling a nation in a time of crisis"

'Nor I' Arthur thought. _'My opinion of Anora is not very high, considering what she has allowed her father to get away with. Let's hear what she has to say for herself, and if there is anything redeeming she can offer that doesn't make me believe she is as completely corrupted by power as her father'_

"Grab a bite to eat yourselves and then get ready to leave, and tell Niamh and Soris they're coming as well. We're going into the Alienage, I want to see if there's any truth to what Anora told us about something going on there" Arthur asked as he made to follow the elven maid to her mistress's lair.

####################

Anora looked up from her plate, popping a plump grape into her mouth as the door to her room opened and Erlina entered, bowing low and ushering Arthur Cousland into the chamber. The long table laid out before her was laden with food and drink of the highest quality; Eamon had many flaws, but she couldn't fault the cook he'd hired for his estate.

"My lady, Arthur Cousland, as you requested"

"Thank you, Erlina" Anora nodded, motioning for the Warden to take a seat opposite her. "Is there anything she may bring you? And please, help yourself; I couldn't possibly finish all this" the Queen added with a smile, motioning to the opulent spread before her, carving the leg off a roast duck as she spoke.

"No thank you" the young man shook his head, a little too curt for her liking, but Anora didn't let it show; she needed to get this boy on her side. Instead, she plastered a gracious smile on her lips and accepted his response, making herself the image of the regal and courteous monarch she'd cultivated for years, letting none of them see her true thoughts. 'Courtesy was a lady's armour' as they said, and Anora intended to be very well protected.

"Thank you, Erlina, you may retire until I have need of you again" Anora commanded, the elven maid bowing low and slipping out of the door, closing it behind her. Anora turned her attention back to Arthur, smiling ingratiatingly as she poured them each a goblet of Orlesian white wine.

"First, let me say I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me and what Howe did was..._unforgiveable_. How fitting he died by your hand"

It was something of a lie; she and Eleanor Cousland had never exchanged more than a few words at court, and Anora was certain the Teyrna was another noble who looked down on her as an up-jumped commoner, but Eleanor's son didn't need to know that. Nor did he need to know the queen's true thoughts. '_Namely that it's a great pity some of my most loyal subjects had to die for the sake of your revenge'_ she thought inwardly. Some of her finest royal guard had gone to their deaths trying to stop Arthur Cousland from escaping Howe's estate; it would probably take years to replace them with men of the same skill, calibre and loyalty to her when she retook her throne. Some, like Cauthrien, would probably prove irreplaceable.

'_One thing at a time'_ Anora thought. She could indulge in putting those who sought to undermine her in their place once she retook the throne. For now, she had to make sure she did.

"I thank you for your kind words, and you have my condolences for the loss of your husband, our King, but with respect, Your Majesty, you did not ask me here to exchange pleasantries. You're a smart woman; I'm sure you know we both have little time to waste" Arthur replied curtly.

'_Straight to business. Smart lad'._

"Very well. You're a direct man, so I shall be equally blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in the coming days; it is to you Eamon listens, and with good reason. My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. Therefore, I would welcome your support for my claim to the throne"

"You propose an alliance" was the youth's blunt reply.

"Exactly. When the time comes, I support you in the Landsmeet against my father, and in turn, you support my bid to remain on the throne. You will be seen as my father's enemy, but you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden, rather than solely those of the Grey Wardens"

"I think in the wake of all that has happened, I would require more than just your support. A _great deal_ more"

'_Typical of the nobility. Always out for what they can get, insisting on a better deal, never thinking of doing anything for the good of the nation, only for their own benefits. Evidently, for all their talk of duty to the realm and honour, even the high-and-mighty Couslands aren't above such'_ Anora seethed inwardly.

In public, she put a charming smile on her lips and assured the youth in a honeyed voice "Once I am Queen, I will be in a position to grant you anything you wish, and I shall. This is in addition to the Terynir of Highever being properly restored to your family; that goes without saying. Alistair might offer you the same, but I ask you which is better; the gratitude of a weak King or a strong Queen?"

"What makes you so certain Alistair will be detrimental to Ferelden? You do not know him as I do-"

"Cailan knew of Alistair" Anora cut across Cousland's protest; this was not something she wished to linger on, lest he get ideas. "It was Eamon who kept Alistair away from court, as Maric had wished. I do not doubt many will follow Alistair out of respect for his Theirin blood, but I assure you, a great many more will see this simply as Eamon making a grab for power. Who else will Alistair turn to for aid in ruling? Sooner or later, the nobility will return to the old days of constantly squabbling and warring on each other, and Alistair's weakness will destroy everything Maric built"

"And if you had a strong King beside you?". Anora's eyebrows rose, intrigued by such a prospect. The boy would not raise many complaints from nobles, given his high birth and his status as Bryce Cousland's heir. And while Grey Wardens weren't supposed to hold land or titles, that could be worked around...it was surprising Cousland would suggest such a notion, considering his affection for the Orlesian. _'I guess his ambitions are more to him than his heart...smart boy'_

"Tempting. You are of Cousland blood, it's true, even if you are a Grey Warden. It would be unprecedented, but...is this what you seek? My hand for your support?"

Anora suddenly felt a deep regret for speaking the notion out loud, as she saw the shadow that passed over Arthur Cousland's face, his expression becoming cold, a darkness creeping into those pale eyes that spoke of a deep annoyance.

"I have no aspirations to the throne, nor should you be so quick to try and bribe me with the crown. I was referring to Alistair. I deeply disagree with your assessment that he would be unsuitable; Ferelden could benefit a great deal from a gentler hand on the tiller"

'_My, my, Eamon has taught this pup well to bark on command'._

"Ignoring the fact that he so closely resembles Cailan-my late husband, if you'll recall- my main concern is that he will govern like Cailan as well". Cailan's light-handed touch on the reins of power, his easy going nature, his boyish attitude to rule, while making him popular with the people, had had such detrimental effects to the balance of power; much of the nobility had seen him as weak and unsuitable, to say nothing of what must have been thought of Cailan in the rest of Thedas- it was only thanks to her efforts the nation had functioned and retained strength-Cailan's disinterest in governance had at least worked to her advantage, allowing her free rein. Seeing the expression on Arthur's face, however, forced her to consider the compromise.

"But it is true Alistair has Theirin blood; for many, that is more important than any practical consideration. A union could be considered a compromise, but is this something Alistair even wants?"

"Alistair's wants are unimportant-"

"And by extension, what _I_ want isn't, either?" Anora demanded angrily. Cousland's expression rapidly became conciliatory.

"Forgive me, that was a poor choice of words. I meant that Alistair is willing to put aside his dislike for such a situation if it is in Ferelden's best interests. Are you saying that you would balk from doing the same, after what you just claimed?"

'He has me there' Anora cursed mentally. She couldn't very well assert she wanted what was in Ferelden's best interests and then backtrack on her claims. As much as she was loath to admit it, an alliance by marriage would be to her advantage; it would allow Ferelden to benefit from her competence and leadership, while keeping a descendant of Calenhad's bloodline on the throne to placate those ardent royalists who believed it imperative to keep the Theirin royal line alive.

"If he is willing to stand aside and allow me to continue ruling, then I am willing to have Alistair as my king. From what I gather, governance doesn't not appeal to him; if so, it is a compromise I can live with". It was not one she liked, but it was one she could live with. _'Besides, who's to say Alistair will even survive this Blight? If he dies a hero fighting the darkspawn, it will be to my benefit, and if he survives, well...I can find ways to keep him in his place'_

"Are we done?" she asked, more than eager to be rid of Cousland's presence until it was needed again.

"No. There is one more matter to discuss"

"Oh?" Anora replied, caught by surprise. "I thought we'd covered pretty much everything. I will support you at the Landsmeet; in return, you persuade Alistair to let me retain my throne at his side. What more is there to talk about?"

"Your father" was the sharp reply and Anora felt her heart skip several beats; it had completely slipped her mind. "If you retain the throne, what happens to him?"

"He is my father, as well as a great general who has served his nation faithfully until now. If there is a way for him to live, I would prefer it". The frown that twisted Arthur Cousland's mouth made it clear what he thought of that idea.

"You ask a great deal, your Majesty. In the eyes of this nation, your father is a murderer, regicide, usurper and a traitor to his country; many of my strongest allies want his head on a spike"

'_Eamon and Teagan, no doubt'_ Anora thought viciously. _'And Leonas Bryland has been quite vocal in his denunciations of my father...I will make sure to repay them for this when I return to my throne'_

"Showing Loghain even a measure of clemency is likely to destroy the support of my allies. And I cannot say my feelings towards him are more ambivalent, especially considering I have reason to believe him complicit in the murder of my own family. His trust in Rendon Howe is certainly suspicious-"

"Trust is, perhaps, too strong a word for it" Anora protested, deciding to nip this in the bud; Howe had been the agent of his own destruction, but she would not allow him to be that of her father's. "My father knew full well what Howe was, and while I despised the man, I know that my father relied heavily on his political mind. I can only assume that my father thought himself above being influenced by that vicious little snake; I wonder how many of my father's actions stemmed from Howe and not him at all...we may never know".

'_Though perhaps I shall find out'_ Anora mused. '_A scapegoat is a good thing to have, and Rendon Howe was little loved by all; he could carry the blame for all that has gone wrong and few would leap to his defence...'_

Arthur Cousland was still not placated, however. "There is still plenty of blood on your father's hands, your Majesty, even if you prove my family's is not among it; Cailan's, my fellows in the Order of the Grey and the many thousands of Fereldan soldiers that your father abandoned to their deaths that night"

'_Ostagar. That is going to be a stain on my father's name that he will never escape, no matter what he may do to try and absolve it'_

"Would you care to provide an explanation for why your father saw fit to desert his king, your husband, the son of his best friend, to say nothing of the countless other men and women your father left to die?"

Anora bit her lip. She'd heard her father give explanations for his actions many times, most of which involved trying to curb the damage caused by Cailan's idiocy in believing the lies Duncan and those other traitorous Wardens had fed him to get him to risk his neck in the frontline, but she'd long ago learned not to take anything at face value, and as more and more information about what had happened from others who'd fought there, too many and too credible for Loghain to discount, Anora had been forced to accept that her father was lying; he _had_ betrayed Cailan. The only question she couldn't fathom was why; there were too many potential answers for just one to be true.

"Cailan was always so..._idealistic_; the world was his storybook and he was the hero. My father is different; he is an idealist too, but he knows what idealism costs. They often clashed, but never seriously, never for long; Cailan always came round to Father's way of thinking in the end...but then the Blight came..."

'_And everything fell apart'_ her inner voice added bitterly.

"Cailan dreamed of uniting every nation in Thedas against the darkspawn; it rapidly became a dream he would not surrender. All that my father saw, however, was the boy he'd swaddled inviting Orlesian soldiers back into the land he'd fought to free of them...and for once, my poor, foolish husband would not back down. I had no notion of my father's plan until Cailan was already dead. I would like to believe my father merely planned for the worst, but didn't truly decide Cailan was a lost cause until that very moment at Ostagar. The alternative is...difficult to imagine"

'_That being that this was something he planned months, or even years in advance'._

"That still doesn't excuse his actions" Cousland retorted sharply.

"My father...my father honestly believes he is in the right, Arthur. He believes himself the only one who can see Ferelden out of his current crisis, even if it is one he helped to engineer. My father is capable of remarkable blindness, but it all stems from his love of Ferelden. That is the saddest thing of all" Anora trailed off, waiting for his decision. _'For his sake, I hope it is the right one; it would be a great shame for all our time spent negotiating to have been wasted, particularly after all his talk about the necessity of compromise, if he insists on having vengeance..._'

After an interminable amount of time, Cousland made a noise somewhere between a groan and a snarl of exasperation and nodded reluctantly. "Fine, he may keep his life, but that is not to say he will escape punishment. I will grant you your conditions, but these are mine; at your urging, the Landsmeet will strip Loghain of his title as Teyrn of Gwaren and imprison him in Fort Drakon until the Blight is done".

"He is a fine general. My father has his faults, Arthur, but he's far from common; you'd be a fool to waste his talents-"Anora protested.

"Given what I've seen of his tactics so far, in addition to his antipathy towards my Order and me personally, I am certainly not going to trust your father with command of any military force of significant size, nor will I suffer his insubordination or have him present on any battlefield on which I am; I do not want your father anywhere in my sight, lest his delusions of Orlesian conspiracy resurface" Cousland countered, raising a hand to silence her. "Furthermore, once the Blight is defeated, another Landsmeet will be called, at which you will support a motion for your father to be stripped of all honours, condemned as a usurper, traitor and murderer and that he be banished from Ferelden on pain of death"

'_Banishment..._' Anora thought in shock. _'To a man who loves Ferelden as much as my father...such punishment would kill him as surely as a headsman's axe'_

"You ask a great deal-"she began.

"No more than you have. I have been required to make serious conciliations to you for our alliance; I ask only the same in return" Cousland's voice was sharp, his tone stating clearly he wouldn't brook refusal. "These are my conditions, your Majesty. If you will not meet them, then there will be no alliance. I will rescind my offer of support for you, I will put Alistair forward as the sole candidate to the throne, and I will do my utmost to ensure your father dies a traitor's death on the gallows".

'_I need him'_ Anora knew. Arthur Cousland's popularity with the common folk, his status as Bryce Cousland's heir would give great legitimacy to her claim on the throne._ 'In any case, I and my father still have allies at court. I'm sure I can convince them to ensure whatever punishment my father must endure is less than what this boy wants; imprisonment, or maybe exile from court for a few years'._

"Then this is how it must be" she sighed bitterly. "I will always be my father's daughter, but even I cannot deny he must face punishment for his crimes. Such thoughts do not gladden me, however"

He would keep his end of the bargain; Bryce Cousland was a man of honour who kept his agreements to the letter, and the boy was his father's son. The boy clearly had no like for her, but he didn't seem the type to renege on bargains struck; the Couslands had always prided themselves on their honour and duty, one of their strengths and their weakness, as this had shown. But Anora would not forget this.

'_When this is over, I'll be watching you very carefully. I very much doubt you and I will ever be more than allies of necessity, never friends, and the moment we become enemies, I'll be waiting. I won't let you and your allies jeopardise my power, nor will I have you trying to influence your would-be king against me'_.

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Arthur left Anora's room without a backward glance. He didn't know what he was more disgusted with; the Queen herself, for being so in love with her power that she would stoop to anything, even bribing him with the crown, to retain it, or with himself, for having even considering such a proposal for half a second. He couldn't deny the notion had tempted him; King Arthur, not the last of a dead house but the beginning of a new Fereldan dynasty, but to do so would necessitate him betraying his principles, abandoning the woman he loved, forswearing an oath his father had sworn that none of their bloodline would ever aspire to the crown, and force him to take to wife a woman for who now he felt nothing but contempt.

'_For all her talks about wanting to act in Ferelden's best interests, she is as corrupted by power, as in love with it as her father. She has spent so long on the throne, she thinks it is her right; it would not surprise me to learn that she was as much a part in the plan to be rid of Cailan as Loghain; I very much doubt she would be willing to give up her power and her crown to Celene'_.

Arthur thought back on their discussion; there was no sign on Anora's face, no hint that she suspected what he was about to do. She thought she had gotten what she wanted from him; her father's life and the right to stay on the throne. It rankled Arthur to do something so dishonourable, but he had no intention of leaving a power-hungry over-reaching potential tyrant in charge of Ferelden.

'_Eamon was right; you are far too dangerous and unsuitable to be left to rule. You are a tool to be used to further our agenda, nothing more. Once you have given us the support we needed and destroyed your father's power and support beyond any hope of recovery, I will cast you aside with the same ease I would a broken sword. In this game of power, I plan to win'_


	54. Chapter 52: Breaker of Chains

_Right, well this has taken longer than expected, but it's done now. I think it's a bit weak in places, but I needed to get it done else it would sit here for weeks, so here goes._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes; special thanks to __**Theodur, SuperGravyMan, MB18932, MysticGohan88, KnightofHolyLight **__and __**deadpool626 **__for your great reviews and to __**Blitzwolf94, swanboy,**__**halomasterchief**__, DLA12, II27241 for adding this to favourites; it's a great motivator, knowing so many want the next instalment._

_Will try to get the next chapter (which should be a short one which wraps up this one and sets the scene for the Landsmeet) and the following which covers the Landsmeet in one go and I'll try to have them up soon, so hopefully this part of the story will come to its end and we can move to the final battle and the conclusion._

_As always, '__**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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Arthur had been in the Highever Alienage quite a few times in his life, so he was aware of the hard, vicious, even squalid conditions in which the elves were forced to live, but what he saw in regards to the Denerim alienage was stunning. _'That people are forced to live in these conditions daily and no one does anything to change it...it's beyond abhorrent'_ Arthur raged inwardly. Set on an island in the middle of the River Drakon as it flowed through the city, accessible only by two stone bridges at either end and ringed on all sides by a palisade fence that formed a wall around the island's banks and prevented entry or escape by the river, the Alienage was well and truly segregated from the rest of the city. Several of the buildings Arthur could see as they crossed the bridge, conspicuously devoid of guards, looked to have been gutted by fire while others had had their doors and windows boarded up- evidence of Rendon Howe's purge to avenge Vaughn Kendalls' death and teach the knife-ears their place. Other houses were marked on the door with white crosses- a clear sign that plague was running rampant in the Alienage. Calling the place squalid would be generous; the Alienage was barely a few steps above a hovel, and Arthur felt a great rage that good, proud people should be forced to endure such hardship.

'_Not that anyone else cares'_ Arthur thought bitterly. _'So long as it doesn't affect them, no one in this accursed city notices if a few elves sicken and die'_. Though his opinion seemed to change at the sight of the look of outrage on Alistair's face that the powerful of Denerim allowed such inequity, such decay to occur, yet did nothing about it.

"If I become king, I _will_ tear these walls down and build _proper_ houses for this community to live in. These people have suffered enough" Alistair promised angrily. Niamh and Soris looked at him askance, as if expecting him to prove his words, but in the end, they stayed silent, clearly choosing to let actions speak over words.

Niamh and Soris led the party- composed of Arthur, Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, Sten and Zevran with Edward trotting at their heels- through the Alienage gates. Arthur hadn't wanted to take anyone who'd gone with him into Howe's estate, lest they be recognised, but Leliana had insisted, arguing that her time as a bard had sent her into several alienages and she had experience at dealing with recalcitrant elves, so Arthur had conceded. Arthur had wanted to bring Oghren along- a fearsome warrior to scare off any who wanted to cause trouble when a group of shems walked into the alienage- but the dwarf was passed out when the Warden last saw him, having found his way into Eamon's wine cellar and taken a great liking to its contents. So Arthur had been forced to draft Sten instead, though he had to admit the eight-foot tall giant was far more likely to scare off troublemakers than a dwarf with a hangover. Zev was an obvious one to bring along, while Wynne provided magical support, filling in for Morrigan and Arabella, still resting after the spell they'd cast that had torn apart Howe's manor, which had taken a great deal out of them.

Eamon had protested vehemently when Alistair had declared his intent to go with them, but Alistair had insisted that he was tired of hiding inside the estate and letting others fight the battles for him, that if they wanted him to be king, he should see the plight of his people and endeavour to understand what they suffered so he would know how to improve their lot in life, as a king was meant to do. Even Eamon couldn't find a response to that argument and in any case, Alistair would have come anyway, so Arthur had agreed.

"My father's house is just up this way," Niamh said as they crossed over the bridge and entered the Alienage itself, curiously devoid of guards outside its gates or the bridge- though Arthur guessed that Loghain had more important matters on his plate and with the rumours of plague and the growing tension between the human and elven populations of the capital, he doubted few city guardsmen would want to linger around- and headed towards one of the ramshackle buildings close to the gate. But the look of relief on the faces of the elven cousins at coming home quickly evaporated as they saw the state of their house; several of the windows looked to have been smashed or boarded up and there were scorch marks and other signs of fire damage around the door, which was ajar.

"It's been ransacked!" the blonde elf cried, as she raced over to the door. "The whole place... iwhat happened?" Niamh wailed as she tore open the house's door and stormed inside, her expression frantic. "Father? Are you in here? Father!"

"Uncle Cyrion? Shianni?" Soris called out, but a quick sweep on the one room apartment made it clear the place was empty, though there were signs of inhabitation- an unmade bed, signs of meals being cooked, but the people responsible were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are they? What happened?"

"It happened during the purge, after the wedding." A brunette female elf sat in the doorframe of an abandoned house next door murmured.

"Nessa? Is that you?" Niamh asked worriedly, but the elf didn't seem to hear her, staring without seeing into the distance.

"The arl's men...they torched _my _house...after they pinned me and my mother down, forced us to...my father...they killed him when he tried to stop them"

"Oh, Nessa, I'm so sorry" Niamh whispered, embracing the poor girl, a surprising look of guilt and regret on her face.

"And then those men came...the mages. From Tevinter, they said. When the plague broke out. Said they were here to help us, but my mother... when she got sick, they just took her and...It's been four weeks and they _still_ won't let me see her!" the girl sobbed.

"Took her where?" Niamh demanded.

"You'll see. In the square, by the tree. You'll find it; your cousin's there every day, screaming at them"

"Soris, will you take her inside? She really shouldn't be out here" Arthur asked of the young man.

"Of course. I'll stay here and try to put this place back in order" Soris said as he made to head back into the house. "You guys go ahead and see if you can find Shianni. Come on, Nessa, you look like you could use some rest and a good meal" he added sympathetically as he helped Nessa hobble inside and shut the door. Niamh watched them go, the look of guilt on her face surprisingly pronounced, drawing concerned looks from all present.

"She and her family wanted to go to Highever" the elf explained. "Their landlord was threatening to throw them out unless they got the money...I gave it to them and they stayed. All that happened was because they stayed...because I made it so. It's _my_ fault..." Niamh whimpered, her voice sounding perilously close to a sob, until Arthur hastily reached out and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You did what you thought the right thing You didn't burn that poor girl's house down, you didn't kill or abduct her family, and I think I speak for us all when I say we intend to make sure the bastards who did this pay" Wynne cut in and assured her. "Now come on, let's go and see what she was saying about Tevinters and this plague"

"How will we find your cousin?" Alistair asked.

"You can't miss her" Niamh assured them. "Just look for the angriest woman in the Alienage"

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"Tevinter mages helping Fereldan elves out of the goodness of their hearts?" Arthur remarked. "Call me prejudiced, but I don't buy it. Something smells very fishy around here"

"That might just be the people" Zevran chuckled, nodding towards the large mob of people gathered outside the large storehouse to the left of the village square they'd just entered. Dozens of tall, dilapidated buildings lined the edges of the square and in its centre stood something that did a little to dispel the decrepit look of the alienage: a magnificent tree, towering maybe forty feet in height, all of its branches adorned with a leafy crown of bright green leaves, fed by the plentiful summer rain.

"That is the "tree of the people," I believe," Leliana whispered in a soft, awed voice. "The vhenadahl. They are always beautiful. In every alienage I have visited, even the ones where the vhenadahl is not so well tended, it is magnificent."

"I've got _children_ at home, I can't wait out here for another day!" a shout by a woman across the square from them interrupted the reverie.

A large group of elves were milling about outside the largest building in the Alienage square, which looked to have been a repurposed warehouse. Outside stood three men dressed in robes of green, gold and black silk that marked them, along with their accented voices, as natives of the Tevinter Imperium. Behind them, flanking the door were two burly thugs clad in leather armour over chainmail shirts marked on the breast with an Imperial insignia, glowering at the crowd, hands on the hilts of the curved swords sheathed at their waists.

"So go home! The best thing you can do for your children is not trust these charlatans!" A tall, slender elven woman with pale skin and flaming spiky red hair cut in the same fashion as Niamh's, along with the same nose and bright green eyes, shouted at the crowd from beside the great tree.

"Everyone, remain calm" The human mage at the front of the Tevinter party, a gaunt figure with long brown hair oiled back with a neatly trimmed beard stepped forward, speaking in an unctuous tone meant to reassure the agitated crowd. "We'll help as many as we can today, so long as we can do this in an _orderly_ fashion."

"Ohhh, you're _helping_ us, are you, shem?" The redhead elf sneered, the accusation in her voice unmistakable. "Like Valendrian and my uncle Cyrion? Like you helped them, didn't you? Helped them never to be seen again!"

"We've explained this to you before, girl!" the head Tevinter groaned with a roll of his eyes, this argument clearly one that had been had many times before. "More whining will not persuade us to let you into the quarantine to carry plague back out to the alienage."

"Quit trying to get us all killed, Shianni!" another elf snapped waspishly at the red haired woman. "Some of _us_ still have things to live for!"

"If this spell of theirs works, why are half the people they quarantine perfectly healthy?"

"What's going on here?"

With a dark look, the red head spun round to face Arthur, a disdainful look in those bright green eyes. "What's wrong, shem? Did you get bored and decide to come watch the elves die of plague?" But before Arthur could say a word in his defence, the woman's eyes flicked to the side. "Wait, _Niamh_?"

"Shianni!" The blonde wrapped her arms around her cousin, the two women clinging tightly to one another. "This is Arthur...you know, _my_ Arthur, the one I told you about. He and these friends of his helped Soris and me escape from Howe's dungeons..."

"I thought you were both dead... I hadn't dared hope..." Shianni grasped at her cousin once again, tears glistening unshed in her eyes. "Your father...he'd been so melancholy and sad...he was sure you'd ended up like your mother...he'll be overjoyed to see you...,assuming we can find him" she finished, her expression darkening.

"What are you talking about?" Niamh demanded, seizing her cousin's shoulders.

"They took him in there four days ago, wouldn't take no for an answer" Shianni replied, jerking her head at the Tevinter building. "These foreigners say they're here to help with our outbreak of plague... Funny thing, though, Niamh, is that the ones they help disappear"

"That's not true, Shianni!" another elf from the crowd interrupted. "Both my sisters got the Tevinter spell cast on them and they're fine!"

By way of an answer, Shianni hurled a stone at the elf woman who'd spoke. "Where's your niece, then? And my uncle Cyrion? And Valendrian?" she snapped before turning her attention back to Niamh.

"Your father...Cyrion _wasn't _sick, I swear it" Shianni insisted. "There's something going on here, they just won't let anyone in..."

Arthur surveyed the building, his eyes resting on the large barred doors and the thugs on guard outside. "And this is the quarantined area?"

Shianni glanced over her shoulder at the imposing structure. "It's the largest building in the Alienage, so they converted it into a quarantine zone for the plague victims. It's supposedly an infirmary, too, to cure them with their spell." She said the last bit with a thick layer of sarcasm.

"Did they mention where the plague started from?" Wynne enquired, the healer looking rather suspiciously at the Tevinters.

"From the Blight, you know, coming up from the south." Shianni shrugged. "That's what they _say_, anyway. People started getting it after the refugees showed up from Ostagar, so I guess that makes sense. These men from Tevinter say their magic will prevent people from catching it. But it doesn't work if you're already ill. So they set up a quarantine."

"Something is very wrong. Quarantine won't work, there is _no_ cure for the Blight, magical or otherwise. Even the Joining only slows it down" Arthur muttered, looking to Wynne for another perspective.

"It's true. The Circles across Thedas have collaborated with the Grey Wardens on several occasions to look into this, but as far as I know, such research never bore fruit; the Blight remains incurable"

"I knew it, they had to be lying!" Shianni cut in angrily. "They've been taking people I know for a fact _weren't_ sick!" Shianni pursed her lips in agitation, throwing the large building another distrustful look. "One of them was our hahren, Valendrian. I don't know what we're going to do if we don't get him back."

"Have you spoken to anyone about this?"

"The city guard have to know; the hahren complained to them and so did I. They just don't care...or worse"

'_Namely that they've been paid to look the other way. And knowing what use Tevinters have for elves, I've a good idea why'_.

"I think we should take a look inside this 'hospice," Arthur declared.

Shianni scoffed, as if Arthur were being purposefully foolhardy. "Those mages aren't just going to let you in"

"I wasn't planning to ask" Arthur retorted sharply, drawing his sword partway from its scabbard and letting her see the blade, his meaning clear. The elf's pale green eyes went wide at the implication, but Zevran cut in.

"Perhaps we could be a bit more subtle, no? The direct approach is all well and good, but I'm sure we'd like our snooping to go unnoticed for as long as possible, no? As soon as we start removing heads, word will get out and it won't be long before Loghain's men come running, which I'm sure we don't want, not when he's looking for any excuse to kill us"

There was a long pause, where the outspoken elven woman appeared thoughtful. "There _is_ another entrance in the alley... There's no crowd watching, no mages, and only one guard." She shrugged. "You could try it, at least." She lowered her voice, leaning in towards Arthur and Niamh. "Be careful though. Those guards mean business." With a final nod to the group, Shianni drifted away again.

"We'll split into two groups; Niamh, Zev, Leli, you go around the back and see if you can get in through this side door. The rest of us will go round the front and keep the Tevinters busy, so they don't notice what you're doing" Arthur quickly commanded and the three broke off towards the side alley. Once they'd disappeared around the corner, Arthur made a show of barging his way through to the front of the crowd, thus keeping the eyes of the Tevinters firmly on him and not on the three trying to break in on whatever they were hiding.

"I ask you to stand back, ser" one of the mages said in a unctuous tone "It is not safe for you to be here; many of these elves are sick with the plague"

"And you aren't worried about contracting it yourself?" Alistair retorted, an eyebrow raised.

"If we did not know how to cure the plague, we would not be here" the mage responded in that same oily voice, though tinged with annoyance at being contradicted.

"And what School of Magic does this spell belong to?" Wynne demanded angrily, the disbelief in her voice plain to hear. "Our Circle knows of none that fully prevents the spread of plague"

The mage leader, the one who'd argued with Shianni, shook his head solemnly. "You'll have to forgive us, good woman, but we are not at liberty to divulge the secrets of the Minrathous Circle-"

"You can't tell us your secret because there isn't one to tell" Arthur interrupted with a derisive snort. "This is all a lie"

"And who are _you_ to insult us?" the Tevinter leader demanded hotly.

"Someone who knows a lot more about this than you" came the sharp retort. "Word to the wise, if you're going to make up fanciful claims you've found a cure for the Blight, best not do it in earshot of a Grey Warden". The Tevinter's eyes went wide with shock at the accusation, before something else replaced it in those dark, shifty eyes; recognition.

'_Someone's told you about me' _Arthur knew.

"_You..._!" the mage cursed, hand seizing his staff, mouth opening to incant a spell...when there came a loud crack of wood as the hospice door was kicked open from the inside. "What's going on?" the mage yelled as he spun round...just in time to take Zevran's sword in the gut. The mage doubled over, staring in shock at Zev, his amber-coloured eyes narrowed and his normal easy-going expression a mask of fury. The assassin twisted the blade and then tore it free, leaving the mage on his hands and knees, vomiting blood until Zev seized the man's head by the ponytail, pulled it back and slit the mage's throat for good measure. The crowd of elves scattered, scurrying away like rats in all directions.

The guards by the door were dead, one lying with his hand around one of Leliana's arrows buried in his throat, Niamh having tackled the other and stabbed him repeatedly in the back of the head. The two other mages were slain just as quickly; the unctuous toady who'd encouraged them to leave opened his mouth to shout an incantation, and Leliana put in an arrow in it, the mage sinking to the floor with the bloodied arrowhead protruding from the back of his head. The last mage also tried to cast a spell, but with a whistle and a motion of his master's hand, Edward lunged, and the mage's chanting turned into screams as he went down with eight stone of snarling, snapping mabari atop him, hooked claws tearing through silk and linen into flesh and serrated teeth shredding meat and crushing the bones of the mage's arms. The hound's snapping jaws found and closed over the Tevinter's throat, the mage's screams becoming choking gurgles as Edward's head wrenched back, taking half the man's throat with him.

"What was that you were saying about the subtle approach?" Arthur tried to make a joke, but the look of fury on Zevran's face silenced any further attempt at humour.

"You were right; damn Tevinters had dozens of elves locked in cages- men, women, children even- seeing it all reminded me of the reason I always enjoyed assassinations in the Imperium-" he added while promptly kicking one of the mages in the head "when you see scum like these treating people as chattels-"

"What happened?" a high-pitched voice interjected; in all the commotion, none of them had seen Shianni come running up.

"I saw a bunch of elves run out, but I didn't recognise any of them! Where are all the others?"

"Those were the only ones in there" Zev replied with a shrug of the shoulders. Shianni's expression was one of utter disbelief.

"How is that possible? They've taken _dozens_ of people in there!"

"Perhaps this might provide an answer?" Leliana put forward, holding out a slip of parchment which the elf woman seized and swiftly read, Arthur and the others who'd remained outside looking over her shoulder.

Only a sentence of text had been scrawled onto the parchment: _**'Bring six males and eight females for the next shipment'.**_

"What does this mean?" Shianni demanded. "They can't be shipping people, can they? Shipping them _where?"_

"I think why would be the better question" Arthur replied. _'Though I think we already know the answer'_

"I don't care why, I just want to find all those missing!" Shianni insisted. Before her cousin could rant further, Niamh held up a hand, holding up a simple iron key. "We found this as well. Looks like it belongs to one of those apartment buildings around the corner. I'd suggest we take a look there, see what else we can turn up" she swiftly added in suggestion to the party.

"Alright, if you find anything, let me know" Shianni insisted, calling out after them as Niamh led them in the direction of the apartments. "I refuse to believe they're simply all gone"

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The apartment building was deserted, but they only had to go through a few of the rooms to know it hadn't always been that way. Tables and chairs still set for dinner, food left on the table, embers still burning in fireplaces, all signs that the place had been fully occupied not so long ago. '_This building could have housed over a hundred people and I very much doubt they all upped and left as one...'_

The desertion of a building that should have been packed to the rafters with inhabitants was not the only sign that something was amiss-, items discarded as if dropped or cast aside, a broken vase, its edges stained with blood as if used as a weapon, bloody boot prints and smears of blood along the walls and floor, the signs of struggle involving weapons...

'_These people didn't leave...they were taken against their will'_ Arthur knew instinctively.

A scrabbling sound from down the corridor caught all their attention; initially assuming it to be a rat or some other, the group turned the corner to see a male elf, likely a looter, scrabbling around amidst a pile of detritus. By the time the looter realised he was not alone and surrounded by a group of heavily armed individuals, all of whom had their weapons levelled at him, it was too late to try and slip away.

"Where are all the people who lived here?" Arthur demanded.

"I dunno, I don't live here" the elf replied with a blasé shrug. Quick as a flash, the looter was slammed against the wall, one of Zevran's daggers bobbing an inch from his throat.

"Wrong answer" the Crow snarled. "Now you've got a choice; tell us what you know and you might get out of this with your worthless hide intact" making a small cut in the skin of the looter's neck for emphasis.

"They took 'em all" the looter blabbered swiftly. "Dragged 'em out of their beds-Maker, the little ones crying" the elf's whimpering voice sobbed desperately, clearly having experienced a multitude of death threats over the past few days, so his ability to stand up to such was nonexistent.

"Where did they take the people?"

"Through the landlord's old office! They go through there, they never come back!" the looter whimpered, sinking to the floor as Zevran released him with a look of utter disgust and curling up in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably

"This worm's silence allowed these bastards to get away with abducting so many" the Crow muttered coldly. "I say kill him"

"Leave him. Believe me, when the community finds out he stayed silent about all this, he _will_ be begging for the kindness of a quick end" Niamh assured Zev, spitting on the looter in contempt before storming past.

"We need to find the missing people _now._ Don't stop and kill anyone who gets in our way" Arthur commanded bluntly, before kicking down the door.

"What's going on? We weren't expecting another shipment-"

Arthur stabbed the Tevinter through the heart without bothering to answer. "Nor will there be" he muttered as he stepped over the corpse.

#################

"What is the meaning of this?" A haughty female voice demanded the second Arthur and company stormed into the building, a plate-booted foot having kicked the door down, soaked from head to toe in the blood of two dozen Tevinter mercenaries who'd tried to stand in their way. Another half-dozen Tevinter thugs drew their arms as their leader- a pale female elf clad in studded leather armour, her long face framed by frizzy black hair-pushed her way to the front, a longbow and quiver on her back and two of the distinctive curved Tevinter swords sheathed at her hips, glaring at the intruders.

"We were told there would be no interference from the authorities!"

"Do we look like we're with the damn authorities to you, knife-ear?" Arthur snarled, spitting at her feet and levelling his sword at the elf's chest. He normally hated such racist slurs but for scum like those before him, he had no such qualms in using such slander.

"Oh, an errant bunch of do-gooders then?" the elf sneered. "You will regret this, you know; believe it or not, we've been given dispensation to conduct our business here. You Fereldans all talk about how very wrong slavery is, but isn't it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcomes such ideals?"

'_Not all, but I think I know which one in particular...and he will be held accountable. You first, though'._

"You can't just take people from their homes and sell them!" Leliana snapped, her expression one of outrage, one mirrored on the faces of all present as they levelled their weapons at the enemy. The Tevinter soldiers looked apprehensive, perhaps realising they wouldn't be walking out alive, but if their elven ringleader felt any trepidation, she gave no sign.

"So I'm expected to feel kinship with these sheep?" the Tevinter elf sneered. "Don't be fools, I am Tevinter first and an agent of the Minrathous Circle second; _that _is what matters. And now, I am here to halt your slaughter, nothing more" the elf snapped icily, hands resting on the hilt of the swords at her hip, clearly expecting the group to be intimidated.

"Tell me, knife-ear, have you heard of Rendon Howe, or the knight Cauthrien?"

"No. I care nothing for names amongst you dog-worshipping savages"

"They said similar when their paths crossed with mine. Be sure to ask them about it when you meet in hell" Arthur snarled as he waved the others to attack. "Take the elf alive. Kill the others"

A volley of arrows and spells flew over his head and four of the Tevinter soldiers dropped dead where they stood, the elf's contemptuous scowl dissolving into one of shock. The two remaining soldiers lunged forward to protect their leader, who swiftly pulled the longbow off her back, notching an arrow to the string. Arthur's shield caught the missile as it loosed, then with a roared war cry, he hurled himself forward, sword slashing out at the elf's upper chest. The elf's bow was drawn, another arrow notched to the string, when Arthur's sword connected and turned the fine weapon into little more than kindling as the dragonbone blade carved it in half. Casting the broken bits of wood aside, the elf tore her swords free and stabbed out at Arthur's chest. Jumping back, Arthur blocked two high cuts aimed at his head with his shield and slashed out; even as the Tevinter's swords parried, the crude iron shattered against the dragonbone, leaving the elf holding two worthless hilts, bearing useless spikes of broken metal. Before she could recover, Arthur's riposte sheared off both the elf's hands at the wrist. The elf stared at the bleeding stumps for a second before she fell to her knees, screaming and desperately trying to staunch the blood flow. Distracted by the screams of their wounded leader, Alistair and Zevran finished off the two remaining Tevinters while Arthur seized the elf by her hair and dragged her over to a nearby brazier, before nodding to Sten and the pair shoved both of the elf's bleeding wrists into the flames to cauterise the wounds, ignoring the elf's almost pitiful moaning. Leliana and Wynne looked like they were about to say something, but one look from Arthur silenced any protests they might have made; he was in no mood to have the virtues of clemency and compassion extolled to him, particularly for scum like the slaver who deserved neither. When the process was done, filling the room with the stink of charred flesh, Arthur seized the elf by her hair as she lay on the floor cradling her mutilated arms against her chest and forced her head up to look him in the eye, so she could see there was no patience, pity or mercy for her in those ice-blue orbs, only loathing and murder.

"Now, I would _love_ to draw out this whole process of interrogation, making this long and slow and intricate, experiment with all kinds of ways to make you talk but the truth is, I don't have time for it and neither do you. So tell me what I want to know and I'll let you get to a healer before the shock and blood loss kills you. Oh, they won't put your hands back on-why bother for a knife-ear?- but you'll be able to scrape a living as a beggar...if you live that long in this city"

"And once I've told you everything, _you'll_ kill me" the elf spat. "I want your word that you'll let me go, that if I tell you then you'll let me walk out of here with my life!"

"You have my word, as a lord and a knight that you will not die by my hand" Arthur said simply and the elf blurted out her secrets, pausing as she fought to stay conscious, knowing telling them all she knew before she passed out was her only chance of escaping with her life. "The slaves...in a warehouse on the far side of the Alienage, by the river. Our leader...he's there...next shipment not due until the next full moon, two weeks time...all we've taken still there..._please_! I told you all you wanted, help me!"

"Thank you" Arthur replied courteously, before turning to Sten, his expression glacially cold. "Kill her"

The elf's face went white with betrayed horror. "You gave your word!" she screamed. "You said you'd let me go-!

"I said you wouldn't die by _my_ hand, slaver" Arthur replied innocently, a predatory smile on his lips. "I never said anything about them"

The elf tried to protest, but Sten seized her by the shoulder, grabbed her head with a soft intonation of "Ebost isala, Tevinter vashedan" and twisted; the elf's neck snapped with an audible crack. Arthur spat on the corpse once more for good measure, then stepped over it without a backward glance as he led the party in the direction of the Tevinter slavers' warehouse.

###############

"I am Caladrius" the bald man at the centre of the group intoned as the party stormed into the warehouse, the meagre handful of thugs defending the passageways leading to the central room once more proving unable to stop them, mercenary hirelings no match against righteous fury "and _you_, one assumes, are the infamous Grey Warden I've been hearing so much about"

"You know of me?" Arthur replied coldly, his eyes darting around the room, looking for any signs of traps or reinforcements on their way. To his relief, there was nothing, just the remaining half-dozen guards, the pompous mage whose attitude, clothing, whose very bearing all screamed the word 'Egotist' at them...and the long cages at the back of the room packed to the brim with elven men, women and children. Niamh let out a gasp of horror at the sight of friends, family locked up like cattle, before she made to start down the flight of stairs to the lower floor where the Tevinters were gathered, knives raised until Arthur put a hand out to stop her.

"He dies, but when I say the word" Arthur whispered urgently. Fortunately, the slavers' ringleader was too busy with his monologue to notice the exchange.

Caladrius tittered "One can scarcely get a word out of the regent besides 'Warden' these days; it's surpassed even 'gold' in popularity"

"Then you know what I can do. You know you should fear my presence here" was the curt response.

"Now, now, is that how we begin, with bluster? I was hoping for civility" the mage pouted in a patronising manner.

"As civilised as slavery, scum?"

"Business is business, my dear Warden-" Caladrius began, only to leap aside in mid-speech as a thrown dagger hurtled towards him, the point burying itself in the wood of a crate an inch or two from his left temple. His guards all raised their weapons, levelling swords and loaded crossbows at Arthur but Caladrius waved them down, though his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

"Address me as if we are friends again, Tevinter vermin, and I'll put the next one between your eyes!" Arthur snarled warningly.

"Your point is made, Warden" Caladrius replied bluntly, cured of his cavalier attitude...for the moment. "You do frighten me" the mage conceded, before an avaricious look appeared in those dark, shifty eyes "But you also intrigue me. I've heard you're trying to erode Loghain's support. Must be a difficult task, like trying to wash away a mountain" the mage added with another titter. "Perhaps you could use some help?"

"Oh, this should be good!" Arthur sneered, drawing a scowl from the Tevinter.

"Sarcasm is beneath us both, Warden!" Caladrius snapped petulantly, before taking a deep breath and continuing in his oily, persuasive tone "Truth be told, there was always a limit to how long we were going to be able to operate here. We've paid for a great many of Loghain's troops, but once the Landsmeet is done, we become...inconvenient" Caladrius remarked, no doubt aware that Loghain would have him and his men bumped off the second their usefulness was over, before the regent's allies discovered their allegiance had been brought with blood money.

"So, my offer to you is this; one hundred gold sovereigns from you for a letter with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren upon it, implicating him in all this. Then we leave with our profits and slaves a few days earlier than planned...unharmed" he finished, clearly believing he had just given a fantastic business pitch to convince a group of people who'd just killed most of his men to let him walk out with a ridiculous amount of money, dozens of slaves and his life.

"I have a counter offer..." Arthur snapped the second Caladrius had shut his mouth, unwilling to waste further words bargaining.

"Interesting..." Caladrius replied, an avaricious gleam in his eyes, the businessman in him too caught up by the thought of profit to realise his life and those of his men were measured in seconds, to realise he was talking to a man who had no intention of letting him walk out of the room, let alone the city, with his life.

"Now!" Arthur yelled and Leliana, Niamh and Wynne loosed two arrows and a spell that dropped three of the Tevinter thugs, including one stood by Caladrius's right shoulder. Caladrius's eyes looked about ready to pop out of their sockets as he watched the man beside him thrash and buck in his death throes with an arrow in his throat, before turning his attention back to the Warden, sword raised and murder in his eyes.

"Here is my new offer" Arthur said, giving the stunned mage a predatory grin "We kill you and take everything you have for free"

The Tevinters loosed a volley of crossbow bolts at Arthur, but with a shout of rage, Wynne cast another spell, conjuring a shield of arcane energy that the missiles clattered off uselessly. Leliana and Wynne returned fire, their shots more effective as a third Tevinter fell, dropping to his knees clutching an arrow in his stomach before a fist-sized chunk of magically conjured stone crushed his skull. By that time, Arthur, Alistair, Zevran and Niamh had charged down the stairs and a vicious melee had ensued. Niamh ducked under the curved blade of one Tevinter and the warrior was forced to parry an attack by the charging Zevran, but Niamh wasn't done; both of her daggers slashed out and the thug screamed as his hamstrung legs gave out from under him. Zevran's sword buried itself in the man's throat. With a scream, Caladrius's magic lashed out, draining the blood from the two men Arthur and Alistair were fighting and channelling it into a torrent of flame that forced the attackers to retreat a few steps, but the Tevinter's expression of triumph evaporated as Wynne conjured a jet of ice that pushed the enemy mage back, putting out the flames he was conjuring. Both fire and ice dissipated suddenly as Alistair's templar training once more proved its use, silencing the raging magics and leaving Caladrius helpless.

With a roar, Arthur slammed his shield into the mage's gut, unbalancing him and knocking Caladrius on his arse in an undignified heap. Before the mage could recover, Duncan's sword descended and for the second time that day, another Tevinter screamed as Arthur severed their hand at the wrist; Caladrius whimpered at the sight of his severed right hand, still closed around the silver haft of his staff. Before the mage could recover, Alistair let loose another burst of templar anti-magic and a burst of flame darted from Wynne's staff cauterised the wound, silencing any chance of Caladrius using his injury to turn the situation back in his favour. Arthur pulled back his sword for a decapitating blow, the elves in the cages lining the walls cheering and hooting with gleeful anticipation at the sight of the source of their misery about to die...

"Enough, enough!" Caladrius screamed, thrusting out his remaining hand in a desperate entreaty for mercy. "Well, it seems your reputation is a...accurate one. I surrender!"

"Surrender? I don't think so!" Arthur snarled, seizing Caladrius by the throat and forcing him up against one of the cages, the Tevinter wailing with fright as the elves within clawed, punched, bit and kicked him through the bars.

"Perhaps I should leave you to the mercy of these elves?"

"Wait, _please! _Hear me out, kind ser, I beg you!" the mage whimpered. "Were I to use the life force of these remaining slaves, I could-!"

But Caladrius never got the chance to finish his last business proposition. With an almost cat-like hiss of fury, Niamh stormed over, seized Caladrius by the throat and slammed his bald skull against the bars of the cage. Futile pleas for mercy went unheeded as the elf slammed the mage's head against the metal bars with surprising strength until Caladrius was dead, his skull a caved-in red ruin. Niamh kicked the corpse twice for good measure and spat on the mage's remains as she looted the body, looking for the cage keys.

"Sorry, but there was no way I was letting him finish-"

"It's kinder than he deserved" Arthur opined as he brought Duncan's sword down on the lock of the closest cage, shattering it with ease.

"You don't look like a Tevinter, not that that means much" a venerable, white-haired male elf opined as Arthur helped him out of the cage. Niamh, Leliana and Wynne took over from him, attending to the captive elves, unlocking the cage doors and manacles and treating the signs of malnutrition, torture and abuse the poor souls had suffered at the hands of their captors.

"Are you one of them? What happens to us now?...Wait, Niamh? Niamh Tabris, is that you?"

"It's me, hahren" Niamh assured him as she helped another older elven man who, judging by their resemblance, had to be her father. "Shianni set us to looking for you-"

"_Shianni_? She sent you? Oh, praise the Maker!" Valendrian cried joyfully."Well, we'll not take up more of your time. Come, let's all go home" the hahren cried out to widespread cheers.

"Wait, I have...I have a request to ask of you. Two, in fact"

"For the man who saved us from slavery, anything!" one elf cried out.

"First, go into the Alienage. Tell your friends and your families the truth about this, about what was done to you and who allowed it to be done" Arthur asked.

"And the second?"

"Loot these scum of their weapons, lock the gates of the Alienage and leave no Tevinter alive within its walls. I swear to you, the only way those scum are going back to Minrathous is in a box!" Arthur swore to the elves, who let out another cheer, though this time it was one of feral rage, before the elves seized any weapon to hand and raced out of the warehouse, vengeance clearly on their minds.

'_Like every tyrant, Loghain has forgotten the people he rules. He thinks that they exist only to serve his whims and further his agenda and that he can do as he pleases to them without consequence, but that is about to change. I will break the chains with which you would keep the people of Ferelden bound, as you tried with these elves, and when they are free, free to use their hatred and contempt for you, free to take their vengeance on the tyrant who would keep them under his boot, I will use them to destroy you!'_


	55. Chapter 53: A Plan Comes Together

_Righto, well first off, let me apologise for not getting this up sooner; I've just been so very busy of late, running round like a blue-arsed fly looking for jobs and trying to sort out various other projects of mine, so I'll hope you'll forgive the lateness of this; hopefully two chapters in one go makes up a bit for that. As always, I promise I'll try and have some more up a bit faster._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work. Special thanks to **MB18932, bradw316** (in answer to your question, when I finally get this done, I'll probably do an Awakening adaptation, along with a few other bits- I've kinda got a full story of Arthur from where he is now until his Calling, finding the time to write it's the only trouble!), **4master, MysticGohan88, Theodur** as always, **Dylan** (thank you for your praise) and **supergravyman**. Also thanks to** GMan82, Kenshiro2008, Virusgod, Infinity Comes To An End, wejx89**, **HollowReaper45** and **dustywalker** for subscribing; as always, the urge to satisfy your desire for the next chapter is a great motivation._

_Also just want to leave a quick message to thank those who read and reviewed my short story **'Swan Song'**, my attempt at writing fiction set in the Mass Effect universe; thanks to **Theodur, Aaron W, tamarah122** and **poison1234** for your reviews, and to the **Sunflowers Bloom, Tys 1990, legionary prime, BloodIronAngel** and **Stackerwlf,** thank you for reading and enjoying that drabble._

_Glad to see everyone enjoyed the brutal violence: of all the characters in Origins, Caladrius and his lackeys are among those I hate the most, thus I and Arthur have no compunction about turning them into bloody smears on the Alienage walls. Of all the outrageous acts Loghain commits in his regency, endorsing slavery is the one I find the most unforgivable (as you'll see in the next chapter). On that note, as well as the next chapter, next time I'll try to have up a short story I've been working on at the same time as this set between this chapter and the next that delves into Loghain's state of mind as he broods on the probability of failure the night before the Landsmeet. I'd wanted to have it up with this, but time got away from me._

_Just a quick note on the next chapter; yes I know the quotation at the top is a cliche, but it's the most appropriate I could find. And another character in this story has been demanding some screen time, so I've decided to indulge him, just so you know._

_As ever, **'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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The sounds of screams and pleas for mercy could still be heard in the distance; any Tevinter still within the Alienage's walls would not live to see the sunrise. Arthur felt no sympathy for any still left, listening to the screams as he waited outside the house's door, hearing the elves exact swift and brutal retribution for what had been done to them; those who preyed on the misfortune of others deserved no such consideration.

"Come in, come in, welcome!" Valendrian gushed as he welcomed Arthur into his house, Niamh following in behind. It was about half an hour after their raid on the Tevinter warehouse and Arthur and company had helped the elves left in the cages back to their homes, after finishing off any wounded thugs and ferreting around for anything of value. In addition to the little coin and other valuables on the bodies of the slain, in a wooden chest they'd found more than a dozen sovereigns-likely the payment to Loghain for another consignment of slaves- and a large collection of paperwork detailing the names of every elf that had been taken since the whole sorry slaving business had begun; it was only by the grace of the Maker that all told, only thirty elves had been taken in total.

'_Remind me to show this to Alistair when he takes over; we'll need to find anyone who knew about this yet turned a blind eye and make a few examples- I swear heads will roll for this. Oh, and I'll be sure to bring this to the attention of the Imperium's ambassador here and tell him it's within his best interests to assist in recovering those people, lest he wants Ferelden to boycott all Tevinter trade and his career to end in a dungeon beneath Fort Drakon!'_. Despite the detente between the Chantry and its Imperial counterpart, there were several lucrative trading partnerships between the Imperium and other nations, particularly in the sale of magical weapons, armour, artefacts and other enchanted supplies fashioned in the seat of magical power. The threat of one severing all ties was not one that Tevinter, a broken husk of its former power, desperate for gold to finance its losing war with the qunari, could not afford.

Word of what the so-called 'healers' had actually been doing had spread quickly from the captives, and armed with weapons taken from those already slain, an elven lynch mob had quickly formed, hunting down any of Caladrius's lackeys still alive. Since Loghain would not shelter them, considering harbouring Tevinter slavers would only damage his already failing cause further, the few still surviving were trying to hide within the Alienage. It was not working; periodically, Arthur heard a distant howl of triumph, accompanied by a scream as the elven mob found another victim to vent its fury on. Arthur felt no pity; the Tevinters deserved everything they got.

"Tell me, how is Duncan?" Valendrian asked as he motioned for Arthur to take a seat in one of the few chairs inside his house- a somewhat more opulent house than the standard tenements most of the Alienage's denizens dwelled in – distracting Arthur from his musing on the fate of the Tevinters and their captives.

"You knew Duncan?" Arthur asked, surprised at the revelation. Valendrian gave a

"He's been a friend of mine for many years...though I take it from the look on your face that the news is bad" Valendrian's face fell at the sight of Arthur's sombre expression.

"I'm sorry, I thought everyone knew..."

"I knew the Wardens suffered heavy losses at Ostagar, but I'd heard some had escaped; I'd hoped Duncan might be among them" the hahren sighed bitterly, clearly disappointed by the knowledge of one more thing the Blight had taken.

"What will you do now?" Arthur broached.

"We've endured outbreaks of pestilence before, during the war with Orlais. We'll endure" the hahren assured him. An uneasy silence fell over the proceedings before Arthur pressed ahead with the main reason he'd lingered behind; a promise to be kept.

"There is just one more thing" Arthur added, looking out the house's window into the Alienage square, where a group of elves were gathered around Wynne, Alistair and Leliana. The rest of the party had already gone back to Eamon's estate, but those three had remained behind while he attended to business with the elder. Wynne was surrounded by a crowd of elves who looked ill or injured, doing her best to heal what she could, Leliana was up in the branches of the vhenadal keeping a lookout- it was too much to hope that Loghain wouldn't find out his Tevinter allies had been lynched by an angry elven mob and Arthur wanted to be long gone when the regent's men came to investigate- and Alistair was surrounded by a group of elven children, likely the offspring of those Wynne was tending to, no doubt fascinated to have a Grey Warden step out of their stories and into their midst. As Arthur watched, Alistair drew his sword and held it out to the awed young elves, all of them clamouring and trying to touch the sword's blade and gilded, jewel-studded hilt. As Arthur watched, a little girl asked Alistair a question; Arthur couldn't hear what, but whatever it was, Alistair laughed and then reversed the sword, holding it out hilt-first to the girl, who took the sword and tried to hold it up, even though it was almost as heavy as her. As the girl turned around to show off to her friends, Arthur caught a glimpse of her face, pale-skinned, with violet eyes and blonde hair so pale it was almost white, instantly recognisable features...

"The girl there...Amethyne, her name is, I believe?" Arthur asked, already knowing the answer. When he received a nod from the elder, Arthur went on, explaining what had happened to the girl's mother, the maid Iona, that night at Highever, how she had been caught up in the fighting, died taking a blow meant for him and how he'd made an oath as the elven woman lay dying that he would do all in his power to ensure her daughter was looked after.

"She is one of our people, and we will look after her" Niamh assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Iona was a good friend of mine; I would _never_ leave her daughter to a life of destitution and poverty. I will take care of her, as will my father, Soris and Shianni, you have my word on that"

Arthur looked out the window, wondering. Part of him felt obliged to go and speak to the girl, but the other part dismissed it as madness. '_What would you say to her_?' the rational part of his mind asserted. _'Hello, sweetie, you don't know me, but I was the last person to see your mummy alive. I slept with her and then she died about thirty seconds after leaving my bed'._ Even to his ears, it sounded idiotic.

Thumbing through the coin pouch at his belt, Arthur retrieved the sovereigns retrieved from the slavers' den and handed them over to Niamh, telling her "Use this to feed and keep her well; if you ever need more, merely send word to me or my brother and I swear to you it will be yours"

At that moment, a whistling call came from the treetops; the signal from Leliana that enemies were approaching. Evidently Loghain or the city guard were coming to investigate the reports of disturbance and violence in the Alienage; they would have to get out fast before the teyrn arrived and discovered they were behind the disturbance, to say nothing of his dead allies.

"You tell that girl that there will _always_ be a place for her in my household; that as long as I lives and as long as she desires, there will always be food, a place to sleep and a roof over her head in Highever" Arthur assured Niamh and Valendrian, leaving out the caveat _'If I survive'_. Exiting the house and seeing Amethyne still toying with Maric's sword, lopping off the head of some imaginary hurlock, Arthur smiled softly and turned back to the two elves in the doorway.

"And if the day ever comes when she decides she wants to use a sword rather than just hold one, you let me know" Arthur insisted. All that had happened in the Alienage proved that the ridiculous laws forbidding elves to bear weapons to be done away with; had these people known how to defend themselves, the Tevinters would never have dared prey on them.

After receiving assurances from Niamh and Valendrian that they would, and with thanks for all they'd done for the Alienage's inhabitants and good luck and prayers for their victory in the Landsmeet, Arthur and his companions fled the scene, hooded cloaks over their face, exiting the Alienage from its opposite end, hearing the sounds of a fearsome altercation in the distance behind them.

################

"_Slavery_?" Eamon repeated, scanning over the parchments Arthur had deposited on his desk with a look of incredulity. "Loghain was in cahoots with Tevinter slavers? Maker's breath!"

"He's done our work for us" Teagan gave a mad laugh of jubilation at the sight of the papers and Loghain's seal and signature on them. "The damn fool has dug his own grave and now all we need do is fill it in! There is no way he can justify this; with this single piece of paper, we have proof Loghain has betrayed everything he stood for; there's no way he can maintain any support now! Well done, Arthur, very well done indeed"

"I can see you're all shocked" Arthur dryly said and Teagan's face fell a little. The Bann's brother came to his rescue however.

"You must forgive my brother his fervour. You may rest assured we are both appalled by this outrage; our seeming excitement is merely satisfaction at the fact we can implicate Loghain. This is proof of an inexcusable crime, proof that Loghain has been irredeemably corrupted by his position and his power". The Arl let out a deep breath and then spoke in an insistent voice "We _must_ end this, or the Blight will destroy what little politics does not.

"The last of our allies have arrived in the city; we can delay no longer. I have called for the Landsmeet to begin, and so it shall. Tomorrow at midday" Eamon declared and Teagan nodded in agreement, while Fergus slipped into the room with his ubiquitous Chasind companions. Arthur gave his brother a nod of recognition, making a note to speak to Fergus further after tomorrow- there was still a lot to discuss, for a start whether they could bring the rebel army Fergus had garrisoned at Highever into play against the darkspawn, still a threat to be dealt with..._'They won't wait forever while we play politics...'_

"No one leaves this house now unless it is absolutely necessary, and even so, no one leaves the estate without a detachment of my guards; Loghain has already tried to kill us more than once in these last few months, I will not give him another chance to succeed, not when we are so close to success" Eamon insisted.

"Tomorrow, I will go ahead first, along with Teagan and Teyrn Fergus- we will lay out our demands to the Landsmeet and ensure there are no traps laid for us. Once that is certain, we will send word for you, Alistair and Anora to join us. I would suggest you not delay, lest Loghain deal with us before you arrive. I suggest you all get some rest" the Arl declared. "Tomorrow is probably going to be the longest day of our lives..."

##############

"I know that look...you have something on your mind, don't you?"

Arthur looked down at the beautiful woman laid beside him, idly running a hand down from her neck, along the curve of her back, coming to rest with a playful pat on her buttocks, both of their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat brought about by their exertions. Driven on by the knowledge that, if everything went wrong, it could be their last night alive, their lovemaking had had a frenzied urgency to it, a need to show how much they cared for each other in case it was the last time. Not that they were the only ones; the noises coming from Zev and Arabella's room next door were beyond description.

Arthur had taken her in every way a man can take a woman and Leliana had shown a few tricks of her own, teasing him to hardness with her fingers and her mouth. Before he could succumb to her pleasurable skill, the bard had pulled her mouth away and the rest of her body had come into play, Arthur running his hands down her back as he rolled her onto her front and took her, the pair of them rolling and tossing in their bed, first one atop then the other, teasing and stroking, straddling and thrusting, writhing and gasping until finally the climax washed over them both and they collapsed insensate against one another.

Having spent himself within her, Leliana had rolled off to lie beside him, staring up at her lover, idly running her fingers over his muscles, seemingly amused by the effect they had on his thoughts.

"Just thinking..."

"Oh? Do share" Leliana asked.

"Thinking how much that bastard Loghain deserves a slow, agonising death, to be hung by his arms from the branches of the vhenedal and disembowelled one nerve at a time by every elf in the Alienage for what he did to them and-OW!" his tirade was abruptly cut short as Leliana yanked another hank of hair off his chest.

"_Ouch!_ You keep doing that and I'm gonna have a bald spot!" he griped.

"When I asked what you were thinking, I didn't want to _actually_ _know_ what you were thinking. I wanted you to tell me you're thinking you want to hold me, kiss me, tell me how beautiful I am and how much you love me" the bard teased, playfully waving the hank of hair in front of his face to underscore the point that he should tell her what she wanted to hear.

"After all we've been through, all we've done, does it _really_ need to be said again?"

"Maybe not, but I still want to hear it" she replied with an impish grin. Arthur pulled her closed and pressed his lips to Leliana's forehead. "You know that I love you more than anything I ever have" Arthur assured her, though his response was somewhat muffled as the bard gnawed at his lower lip, moaning as one of his hands cupped her breasts and the other slapped her buttocks in mock admonishment for the missing hair.

"That's better" Leliana's cat-like grin widened, before a more serious look took its place. "Now, what were _you_ thinking?"

"I'm worried..."

"You? Impossible!" she laughed but Arthur didn't share her amusement. Sensing he was in no mood, she ran a hand through his hair. "We've beaten the odds before. No one expected you to survive Ostagar; no one expected you would raise the armies you have, love. You seem to be making a habit of achieving the impossible..."

"If we lose...we could all die tomorrow, my love. Loghain is not known for showing mercy to his enemies; some say he doesn't know the meaning of the word. The things you suffered in that Orlesian dungeon because of Marjolaine while waiting for death...I would rather die than let Loghain's men abuse you and the others like that before dragging you to die with a noose around your neck"

"If all goes well, then the Maker will favour our cause and convey us to victory over our foes. He knows our cause is righteous and he will grant us the victory" Leliana assured him, her faith that they would triumph unwavering, and Arthur could not help but be impressed by such strength of will, and yet also envy it.

"But if we fail..." Arthur tried to protest, but the bard would not hear of it.

"Then we will fight to the bitter end against all odds, and either climb to victory over the corpses of our enemies, or walk to the Maker's side and he will judge us fairly" she assured him again, showing no fear at the prospect of looking upon the face of her god and facing his judgement perhaps on the morrow.

"How can you be so calm?" Arthur asked.

"I've faced certain death many times in my life. I stopped it a long time ago" Leliana explained, and Arthur had to admit the constant subterfuge and trickery one maintained while serving as a bard, ingratiating with people powerful enough to have you killed without a second thought, to ingratiate oneself, to pry away their secrets without them ever becoming suspicious, would lead one staring to certain death. Indeed, Leliana had looked into that abyss when Marjolaine betrayed her and survived, so it made sense that the prospect of the end held no fear for her. _'Nor should it for you'_ his mind chided him. '_You survived Ostagar twice, battles with High Dragons, armies of men, demons and darkspawn, and triumphed over an ancient and powerful abomination of Fereldan mythology. You survived worse, surely you can survive this. And if not...well, everything dies. Tomorrow or thirty years from now in the darkness beneath the world, sooner or later everything comes to an end. And if I must die tomorrow...at least I'll see my family again, and I'll go out in the company of some of the finest people I've ever known. Friends, companions, brothers and sisters-in-arms_

Before he could say more however, Leliana's hands slid down to his groin, stroking and caressing him back to hardness, moving to straddle his hips, taking his hands by the wrist and placing them on her breasts, urging him on to fondle and caress, to pleasure her as she sheathed him within herself to reciprocate for him.

"What tomorrow brings, we cannot know. What tonight holds...is for us to decide" she whispered, pressing her mouth to his as she bent down over him, the touch of her skin, the feel of her body, the very scent of her washing away all the fear, the doubt, the uncertainty, the anger, all the turmoil the day had heaped upon them and the pair took full advantage of each other to bring themselves what could be their last moments of calm before the storm to come.


	56. Chapter 54: You Win or You Die

'_**When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground' -**__ Cersei Lannister, A Game of Thrones._

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The doors to the main hall of the Royal Palace where the Landsmeet was being conducted were not defended; no ambush or guards waiting to bar them entry. Arthur couldn't help but wonder whether Loghain didn't have the men to spare on yet another assassination attempt, because he feared trying to kill them outside the Landsmeet hall would prove detrimental to his cause if it failed, or because he was so arrogantly confident that he could achieve victory here that he didn't feel it necessary. '_Not that it matters. One way or another, this ends today'_.

Shoving the doors open, Arthur strode into the main hall. Alistair was behind him, Leliana strode elegantly beside him to the left, while Wynne advanced with him on the right. The rest of their party- Sten, Zevran and Arabella, Morrigan, Oghren, Shale and Edward-dispersed into the crowd, waiting for Arthur's signal in case any trouble should arise. Arthur doubted that Loghain would be stupid enough to try anything in the gathered presence of Ferelden's nobility, but then, no one had expected he would abandon the King to his death and try to seize the throne for himself. _'Better to be safe than sorry'_ Arthur mused.

He and the three accompanying him pushed their way through the crowd of minor nobles, retainers and on-lookers who had crowded the chamber to witness the momentous events that would unfold. As they did so, Arthur could hear Eamon, stood at the front of the hall along with his brother, Fergus in full armour and a helm concealing his identity until the right moment and a detachment of his personal guard, the Arl concluding his introductory speech to the Landsmeet just as he had said: having gone through the necessary pleasantries, it was time to get to the serious matter, the reason they had all gathered.

"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of _FEAR!_ He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in _his _hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?"

This drew a round of polite, supportive applause from the assembled Banns and Arls: the actions undertaken by Loghain during the civil war had not won him many supporters, along with the fact he expected them to surrender so many of the liberties that had been established after the rebellion simply because he claimed it was for the greater good, yet gave no proof to substantiate it. But the light applause was interrupted by another sound; the clank of armour and the slow clapping of hands, a mocking and ironic sound.

'_Talk of the devil and he's bound to appear' _Arthur mused as he followed the sound to its source; entering the hall from a side chamber, flanked by a detachment of his personal guard, was Loghain, clapping sarcastically at Eamon as he advanced. "A fine..._performance_, Eamon" Loghain sneered derisively at Eamon, who scowled at his adversary in answer as the teyrn gestured to the crowd at large "but _no one_ here is taken in by it! You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne, and every soul here knows it. The _better_ question is who will pull the strings?"

Loghain began to scan the crowd and Arthur's suspicions as to what he was looking for were confirmed as he and his companions reached the front of the crowd and stood opposite Eamon. Loghain's cold, azure eyes widened with a triumphant gleam and his sneering mouth split into a smug grin as he gestured to Arthur and bellowed "Ah! And here we have the puppeteer!"

The two men locked eyes again, and once more they could see in the other's eyes the understanding, as they had at Eamon's estate, that this was the endgame. Only one would win this day...and only one of them would see the next.

Loghain began to pace back and forth, waving his hands like an orator, and it didn't surprise Arthur that the first verbal assault from Loghain was the rhetoric he'd been pounding for so long. "Tell us Warden, how will the Orlesians take our nation from us?". At this, Arthur saw Loghain flick a disdainful glare in the direction of Leliana. His meaning could not have been clearer; '_The traitor to his homeland and the Orlesian slut who corrupted him. No doubt he thinks this is all the evidence he needs to make his point!_'.

Loghain continued his paranoid spiel, shouting with all the fanaticism of a zealot "Will they deign to send troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? What did they offer you and your kin to sell out your homeland, traitor's son? How much is the price of Ferelden honour now!"

'_Is this the only song he knows?'_ Arthur thought disgustedly. '_He thinks he can justify his tyranny, the atrocities he has committed out of fear of an enemy gone for three decades?'_

Fortunately, as Arthur scanned the halls, he could see looks of astonishment or even outrage on the faces of some of the nobles; clearly most of them recognised that, despite Loghain's assertions, the most dire threat to Ferelden was not coming from the west, but from the south, and it was this point he decided to make use of as he bellowed back "The honour of Ferelden means little weighed against its survival. Unlike you, I and everyone else here have not forgotten that the Blight is the true threat to this nation, not Orlais!"

This drew a smattering of applause from the surrounding nobles; Arthur noticed in particular that Leonas Bryland, the Arl of South Reach, was clapping particularly loudly, and Gallagher Wulff, Arl of West Hills, despite his earlier dismissal of Arthur, seemed to approve of this argument. Arthur smiled; he knew Bryland and his father had been old friends, having fought together at and survived White River, and Bryland would have never believed the accusations Loghain and Howe had made about his father. In addition, Arthur knew South Reach and West Hills had been hit particularly hard by the darkspawn: '_They're less likely to be convinced by Loghain's paranoid assertions chevaliers are just waiting to swarm the border the moment we let our guard drop when there's a more immediate threat on their doorsteps!'_

Bann Alfstanna piped up at this point, acknowledging Arthur with a nod as she added "There are enough refugees in my Bannorn now to make _that _abundantly clear! Despite your claims, Loghain, we have seen no evidence whatsoever of Celene trying to seize our lands, and while you prattle on about a non-existent threat from the west, you have thrown away men and resources desperately needed to contain the real danger in the south!"

Arl Wulff rose from his chair and shouted across the hall "Alfstanna makes a fair point. The south has fallen, Loghain! Will you let the darkspawn take the whole country for _your _fear of Orlais?"

If Loghain was perturbed that this early portion of the debate had gone against him, he gave no sign; he merely shrugged his shoulders and replied "The Blight is indeed real, Wulff; I do not doubt that"

Arthur gave a derisive snort at that and Loghain whirled round, his eyes ablaze with fury, and continued, the contempt in his voice unmistakeable. "What I doubt is whether we really need the Grey Wardens to fight it! This boy's order claims that they _alone_ can defeat the Blight, yet they failed _spectacularly_ against the darkspawn at Ostagar! And they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers! And once we open our borders to the chevaliers, can we really expect them to return from whence they came?" Loghain demanded, the disbelief in his voice, infused with hatred born from decades under the iron fist of Meghren's Chevalier enforcers, plain to hear.

"But of course, you've sought other allies, haven't you?" Arthur sneered angrily. "After all, you were selling free citizens of Ferelden, the people you so claim to love, into slavery for Tevinter blood money to line your own pockets and fund your illegal war against this nation's nobility!"

There was a collective gasp of outrage at this. Bann Ceorlic leapt up from his chair and disdainfully shouted "How dare you pedal such lies and false accusations in this sanctified hall, you cur! Loghain Mac Tir would never stoop to such a betrayal of all he fought for!"

"Silence, lapdog!" Bryland yelled back across the hall. "The Landsmeet does not require further proof of how firmly your mouth is pressed to Loghain's arse, Ceorlic! Continue, young Cousland; I would hear you give support to these accusations" he finished with a supportive nod to Arthur.

Arthur returned the gesture, and then pulled out the documents he'd retrieved from the body of the Tevinter slaver ringleader and declared "I have here documents, signed by and marked with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren, confirming that Teyrn Loghain was in cahoots with a Tevinter slaving operation. These documents confirm that the regent was not only aware, but approved the selling of elves from Denerim's alienage-our own people- into slavery for his own ends! You may see the documents, if you doubt their authenticity..."

At this, Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak gestured to Arthur, who handed the documents to him with a flourish. The Bann quickly scanned down the documents, his face growing redder and redder the more he saw. When Sighard finally put down the documents so that another might examine them, his face was beetroot red with fury as he shouted at Loghain "What is the meaning of this? There is _NO_ slavery in Ferelden! EXPLAIN YOURSELF, LOGHAIN!"

Loghain's answer was in a flat voice, devoid of any sense of guilt or remorse. "There is no saving the Alienage" he replied simply, as if that alone was justification. The remainder of what he said was drowned out under a cacophony of furious shouts and demands for explanation of such an atrocity that Arthur and his companions had to strain to hear it.

"Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired! There are still bodies rotting in their homes! It is not a place I would send even my worst enemy. There is_ no _chance of holding it if the Blight comes!"

"Oh, well why didn't you say so?" Arthur sneered sarcastically. "Of course, we should've all seen that! You were selling the elves into slavery for _their own good! _How could I have been so stupid not to figure_ that_ out? Oh I'm sure all the poor souls shipped out to Minrathous must be _so_ grateful for what you've done for them!" he finished with a derisive snarl. His blood was boiling, just as it had been at the Tevinter warehouse, to see the elves so brutalised, so broken, so hurt...and to know this bastard had allowed it, had..._approved_ of it. The memory of Valendrian, Cyrion and all those other elven men, women and children suffering in pain and misery in that _evil_ place and the fact the teyrn actually thought he could justify it only intensified Arthur's anger at Loghain; it was all he could do not to throw himself at the regent and split him from chin to crotch. '_How _dare_ you think of people- free, living, thinking people- as just chattels, cattle to be bought and sold because it suits you? I'll see your head on a spike for that, if nothing else!'_

"Dress it up whatever way you like to help you sleep at night, slavery is still slavery! Your status as a war hero _does not _give you the right to play god with the lives of our people! Right now, there is an angry mob of elves gathered behind the gates of the Alienage, baying for _your_ blood! Are you so stupid, so blind to reality that you think they'll believe you when you say selling them into slavery was in their best interests? "

Loghain was clearly bristling at his tone of voice and the accusations being thrown at him, and snapped in a curt voice "Despite what you may think of me, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden!"

'_Regrets?'_ Arthur thought hatefully. _'Everything you've done only proves you don't know the meaning of the word!'_

"For the good of Ferelden?" Arthur repeated furiously. "You claim spitting on the memory of the Night Elves and selling their children and grandchildren into slavery was for the good of Ferelden? No doubt, you'll also tell us letting your cat's-paw Rendon Howe torture and murder people guilty of no greater crime than having the temerity to question you was for the good of Ferelden as well!"

This drew another angry outcry from the crowd; clearly they'd not known just how far Howe had sunk in his depravity, or how complicit Loghain was in such brutality. For a moment, Arthur wondered if he should bring up the matter of Howe's attack on Highever, but the thought was driven from his mind as Bann Sighard again leapt to his feet, red with anger, and shouted "Arthur Cousland speaks the truth! My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him...some of them are beyond any healer's skill!"

Loghain reacted more quickly to the accusations this time: the teyrn had clearly known for a long time Howe was a loose cannon, and Loghain seemingly wasn't going to let the late Arl drag the regent down with him. "Rendon Howe was responsible for himself, and he will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life, as will we all. But then you would know that, Cousland. After all, _you _were the one who murdered him!"

To Loghain's surprise and Arthur's delight, the reaction to this was not what they expected: applause at the identity of Howe's executioner. Arthur allowed himself a smile at the thought. '_Clearly, they hated Howe-and respected my father-more than I thought; they only dare to show it now, when the tide is turning against the tyrant!'_

Loghain's face only paled with fury at this as he doggedly continued "Whatever Howe _may_ have done, he _should_ have been brought before the seneschal! There is no justice in butchering a man in his home!"

Loghain's use of the word 'may' caused Arthur's bile to rise; as though Loghain were simply trying to suggest the truth of the lengthy catalogue of atrocities Howe had committed-the lengthy catalogue Arthur suspected Loghain had ordered him to commit, not least the murder of his family-were just rumours. It was with this fury suffusing his voice that he bellowed back at Loghain "What do YOU know of _justice?_ Rendon Howe was a guest in my father's house and he murdered my family and our household in their beds! I was lucky to escape with my life and instead of doing your damn _duty_ and making Howe place his neck on the headsman's block, you gave him the lands and titles of the man he murdered as a reward! Is that _justice?"_

"Yes!" Loghain retorted. "Your father was a traitor, conspiring to sell out his homeland, his people for Orlesian gold! Howe did nothing more than his duty as a true son of Ferelden and expunged such treachery!"

"His duty?" Arthur snarled venomously. "His scum butchered my father's household in their beds! Do you expect us to believe my sister in law was smuggling Fereldan state secrets in the hem of her dresses? That my nephew was corresponding with Celene when not at play? Do you really expect the Landsmeet to believe the cold-blooded murders of a six-year old boy and an unarmed woman, not to mention countless others for fabrications of treason in which they played no part is an apt and just reaction?" Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Fergus tense up at the mention of his wife and son's murders.

Loghain looked a little discomforted at this condemnation, not to mention the angry ripple of murmurs that went through the hall, but he still pressed on doggedly "Howe's actions at Highever were all his own. I grant he should have taken Bryce Cousland into custody, but i am no more responsible for what he did there than I am for his conduct in his tenure as Arl of Denerim!"

"Liar!" Arthur roared. "The blood of my family, of everyone Howe has murdered and tortured is on _your _hands as much as his, considering he would never have dared commit such atrocities without your blessing and the promise of your protection!

A thought occurred to him, and a triumphant smile crossed his lips as he replied "You're very quick to condemn my actions, but perhaps you would care to explain to the Landsmeet if the thought of not invading another man's home and committing murder there occurred to you when you sent a maleficar to poison Arl Eamon?"

Loghain's eyes went wide at this, but he recovered before anyone else but the Warden saw it, laughing uproariously and smiling to the crowd as though he thought the accusation ridiculous, and were inviting them to share in the joke. "Listen to the fantastical nonsense this boy spouts! But let me assure you of something, Warden_; if_ I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers! I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate!"

'_Is that so_?' Arthur thought, allowing himself a wolf-like smirk. Loghain's triumphant sneer faltered a little at the sight of it, and it fell away completely when Bann Alfstanna, her fair face a mask of rage, got to her feet and shouted across the chamber "Indeed? My brother tells a very different tale. Irminric says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice! _Coincidence_?" she finished with a sneer, clearly relishing Loghain's look of utter dismay.

'_Oh, she is __**very **__good. Alistair will do well with her, I think'_

Arthur pulled another sheet of parchment from a pouch at his belt and shouted "I also have received this missive today, sent from Kinloch Hold, confirming Ser Irminric's accusations. It is the maleficar's confession, authenticated by First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir, in which the blood mage confesses he attempted to assassinate Arl Eamon on _your_ orders, Teyrn Loghain. He also insists that you ordered your men to arrest, imprison and even murder the templars who apprehended him outside of Redcliffe, so as to prevent word from reaching the Chantry!"

A murmur of astonishment and outrage rippled through the crowd, and it only intensified when, at the front of the hall, a figure who had been silent so far, merely watching the proceedings, stood up to speak; a severe-looking old woman, her haggard, pinched features heavy with age, her grey hair pulled into two buns at the back of her head, her frail form clad in a thick, opulent crimson and gold robe marked with the sun emblem of the Chantry at its hem and breast.

Arthur felt his mouth go dry: '_The Grand Cleric herself!_'. Arthur had completely forgotten that the head of the Chantry in Ferelden often arbitrated such important events as the Landsmeet, and it was well known that a candidate with the Grand Cleric's support would have their chances of victory in the Landsmeet increase significantly, since the position of the Grand Cleric was, ipso facto, the position of the Chantry itself.

So it was with great delight that Arthur watched as the Grand Cleric got to her feet, her face white with anger, and pointing an accusing finger at Loghain, spoke damningly in a soft voice more resonant with menace than any shout "Do not think the Chantry will overlook this _sacrilege_, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a templar's sacred duties is an offence against the Maker, and such brazen heresy will not go unpunished, in this world _or_ the next!" she concluded furiously.

A lesser man would have quailed under the cold, merciless stare the Grand Cleric glowered down at Loghain with, but to Arthur's surprise, the teyrn held her gaze, and replied in a soft, but firm voice "Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter!" turning his gaze back to Arthur and pointing an accusing finger.

'_So it's come to this. No doubt he thinks, in spite of everything he's done, this will turn it all back in his favour. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Loghain, but this won't save your hide. I promised to destroy your world, and I think this should finish the job quite nicely'_ Arthur thought hatefully as he coldly retorted:

"What have I done? I have _protected_ her from _you_!"

A ripple of curious and uncertain murmurs ran through the Landsmeet hall at this, the nobility talking among themselves, unsure as to his meaning. Loghain's face blanched white with anger at the accusation, and he shouted back in an outraged tone "You took _my daughter_, _our queen_ by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live!"

"I believe I can speak for myself!" a clear, strident voice called out. The gathered crowd gasped in shock as they recognised its source; emerging from a side chamber to the left, looking immaculate and regal, was Anora, looking calm and detached as she strode in. In spite of feeling no fear as he had torn down Loghain's support and condemned him as a tyrant, he felt a great sense of unease as he watched the queen enter. '_Will she keep her side of the bargain?_' he wondered. '_In spite of all he's done, he's still her father'_. Anora and Arthur's gazes met briefly, and he gave her a look that clearly said '_Remember our agreement'_. So long as she kept her part, that was what mattered.

Loghain smiled gleefully as he saw her enter, and spread his arms wide in welcome "Ah, Anora, at last! Now, tell us all the truth of matters! Tell the Landsmeet all I have done, and all that this _wretch_" he spat hatefully at Arthur "has done! ". Arthur felt a great satisfaction in watching Loghain's smile falter as he saw the aggrieved expression on Anora's face, the sorrow in her eyes, becoming a suspicious frown as Loghain saw his daughter mouth two words at him that shattered his confidence in her..."I'm sorry".

Looking away from her father, Anora turned to face the members of the Landsmeet and spoke in a clear, calm voice devoid of uncertainty or regret "Lords and ladies of Ferelden hear me! My father is no longer the man you knew. This man is _not_ the hero of River Dane!"

"Anora, what are you doing?" Loghain protested, his eyes wide with shocked horror, but she continued without pause.

"This man turned his troops aside, and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold, and locked _me _away so I could not reveal his treachery!" At this, she gestured to Arthur with an approving nod, giving a speech that made Arthur almost feel ashamed for what he was about to do "I would have already been killed, if not for the efforts of Arthur Cousland. Despite all we have shamefully allowed to be done to him, his family and his Order, he has not shirked in his duty to protect Ferelden, and I trust fully in his abilities to save us from the coming danger!"

There was a round of approving applause at this, but Arthur ignored it, focusing on one thing; Loghain. Of all that had happened to him in the hall, Anora's forsaking of him had cut the deepest. His eyes were downcast to the floor, his triumphant smirk utterly gone, a look of hurt disbelief on his face. For a moment, Arthur almost felt pity for him, but then he crushed it, remembering the sight of Oren and Oriana hacked apart in their bedroom, the sight of Cailan's crucified corpse at the ruins of Ostagar, the memory of the broodmother's chamber in the Deep Roads and the fear so many whom Loghain had abandoned in that battle had suffered similar fates, the sight of the elves crammed like animals into cages...all because of this man and his cursed pride, fear and ambition. _'He showed them no pity, he deserves none from me!' _Arthur mused coldly as he watched Loghain look up and stare Anora in the eye, an expression of pained regret on his face as he quietly intoned "So, the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora. I wanted to protect you from this..."

'_Even now, he still refuses to admit he's wrong! Why anyone listened to this petulant fool is beyond me!'_

A single tear rolled down Anora's cheek as she whispered regretfully, in a low voice only her father and Arthur could hear "Why can't you see what you were doing went against everything you fought for? You let your stubbornness and your fear of an enemy that no longer poses a threat rule you, and you forced everyone to suffer so you could do what you thought was best to protect us from a fear only you have. Your stubborn pride and your stupidity could have destroyed us all; for all we know, it still might! I'm sorry, Father, but you...you left me no choice"

Loghain's face hardened at this, and he turned away from his daughter with a disdainful sneer, facing the nobility and addressing them "My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It's been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting! We Fereldans have _proven_ that we will never truly be conquered, so long as we are united! We _must not_ let ourselves be divided now! Stand with me, and we shall defeat EVEN THE BLIGHT ITSELF!" Loghain screamed, his voice thick with fanatical zeal, driven on by a last effort to salvage his reputation, to force people to believe, in spite of everything, he still deserved to lead.

But the Landsmeet wasn't listening. They'd suffered enough of Loghain's tyranny, his paranoia, his demands that they kowtow mindlessly to his every whim, and the evidence of his atrocities, of just how far he would go to keep his hands on a throne he had no right to, had been the final straw for most. As one, the nobility rose from their chairs to cast their votes.

Leonas Bryland was first, and his answer was swift and blunt. "I've heard and seen enough of what will happen if we stand with you, Loghain. Arthur Cousland's evidence speaks reams; if we ally with you, we sign Ferelden's death warrant. No more. South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!" Arthur nodded gratefully at this.

Next was Bann Loren. He stood and said "The Warden helped me personally in a 'family' matter. I stand with the Grey Wardens!" he finished, with a nod towards someone in the crowd. Arthur followed the man's gaze and saw he was looking at Zevran.

Bann Alfstanna stood next. She gave Arthur a broad smile and curtsied to Alistair as she spoke calmly "Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens".

Bann Sighard leapt to his feet and bellowed "Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!" the second she had finished. Arthur smiled in satisfaction at the Bann's zeal, grateful to have such a forceful ally on his side. '_I should thank you, Howe, for handing me such a useful ally. I'm sure he'll be most helpful in ensuring your legacy is erased from history"._

Arl Wulff of West Hills stood next, and a look of indecision was on his face. Arthur could well understand his uncertainty: Wulff had come to Loghain for help, so clearly they had been allies. But Arthur also knew Loghain hadn't given Wulff the help he needed to push back the darkspawn; Wulff knew full well the danger the horde posed, having lost much to it, and he'd clearly had enough, along with everyone, of Loghain's unending rhetoric that Orlais would seize Ferelden the moment they looked away. With a resigned sigh, Wulff solemnly muttered "The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Grey Wardens, Maker help us!"

Bann Ceorlic was next, and his answer was exactly what Arthur expected; in a sycophantic whimper, he cried "I stand by Loghain! We've no hope of victory, otherwise!". Arthur snorted disdainfully and made a note of Ceorlic's declaration. _'Mark my words, my lord, when this is done, you will be eating those badly chosen words!'_

At this point the Grand Cleric added "Teyrn Loghain has shown that he thinks himself above man's laws and the Maker's. Conspiring with blood mages, imprisoning and murdering templars, consorting with Tevinter magisters; these are _not_ the actions of a true son of Ferelden. The Chantry pledges its support to the Grey Wardens, in the hope they can stave off the evil we face now!"

"Redcliffe stands with the Grey Wardens!" Eamon declared.

"As does Rainsefere" Teagan chorused to his brother's cry.

"And so does Highever!" Fergus bellowed as he ripped the helm from his head and made his presence known. An wave of astonished murmuring, a mixture of shock, outrage and joy at the survival of both heirs to House Cousland plain in the voices speaking, while Loghain could not have looked more stunned if Maric himself had risen from the dead in their midst and started juggling cheese wheels.

One of the minor nobles piped up at that moment, crying out "I stand with the Wardens! The Blight is coming; we _need_ the Grey Wardens!" gaining a round of enthusiastic applause from the other lesser nobles gathered about the hall. Soon more and more added their voices to the cry, and the outcome became inevitable.

"It is done. The Landsmeet votes in favour of Arthur, second son of House Cousland, and soldier of the Order of the Grey Wardens. It is thus the decision of this Landsmeet that Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir is hereby ordered to resign the regency immediately, and submit himself to investigation regarding his part in the events of Ostagar and the actions of his allies and face charges of murder, regicide, desertion, genocide, collaboration in slavery and treason"

Arthur smiled triumphantly and bowed gratefully to the gathered nobility. "I knew the people of Ferelden would do the right thing".

"TRAITORS!" Loghain howled in outrage, and Arthur had to again suppress the urge to draw his sword and drive it through the teyrn's throat to silence his paranoid, self-obsessed bleating for good. _'Andraste's arse, _when_ will he admit defeat? Maker's Blood, this is no hero, no great leader but a spoiled, petulant child throwing a tantrum because he can't get his own way! '_

"Which of _**YOU**_ stood against the Orlesian Emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives? You fought with us once, Eamon! You cared about this land once, before you got too old and fat and content to see what you risk!"

Eamon's lack of reaction only seemed to incense Loghain further, and he continued to rant.

"NONE of you _deserve_ a say in what happens here! None of you have shed blood for this land the way I have! HOW DARE YOU JUDGE ME!"

"Your time is over, traitor" Arthur hissed in a cold, deadly voice. "Stand down and face justice"

"Never!" Loghain bellowed. "I did not bend my knee to the Emperor of Orlais, and nor will I do so for a worthless stripling like you!"

"Well, since you are clearly incapable of doing what's right, I suppose we will have to settle this the old fashioned way". With that, Arthur slid the silverite gauntlet off his left hand and threw it to the floor at Loghain's feet. "If you have _any_ scrap of honour left, call off your men, and we will settle this, once and for all!" There was a gasp of shock from the surrounding nobility and he vaguely heard Alistair, Anora and Leliana voice objections to his proposal, but Arthur brushed them aside. This was the only way.

Loghain's mouth contorted into an evil smile, clearly confident of victory, and he picked up the gauntlet. "Then let us end this! I suppose we both knew it would come to this. I would not have thought so when we first met at Ostagar...but Ostagar seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else" Loghain concluded, an uneasy look on his face. The old teyrn looked thoughtful as he mused "A man is made by the quality of his enemies". Maric told me that once". A disparaging laugh passed his lips as he opined "I'm not sure if it's more a compliment to you or me!"

"You" Arthur replied without hesitation, letting Loghain riddle out the insult.

"Enough" he retorted sharply. "Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel"

"It shall be fought in accordance with the old traditions" the Grand Cleric intoned. "A test of arms, in single combat until one party yields. And those assembled here shall abide by the outcome"

"Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?" Loghain demanded.

"I will fight you myself. I want the tactile pleasure of removing your scheming head from your shoulders!" Arthur spat back. Loghain knew who the architect of his downfall really was, and Arthur felt an overwhelming need to complete the pledge he had made so long ago in Lothering. He had taken everything Loghain had held dear- his power, his support, the love of the people of the nation he'd put above everything- and now Arthur intended to utterly destroy the man who was ultimately responsible for taking everything he'd ever cared for.

"It is you or me the men will follow. So let us fight for it. Prepare yourself" Loghain spat as he stormed over to one of his retainers, who began to arm the teyrn for battle, belting a sword to his master's waist and holding out a silverite kite shield emblazoned with the wyvern sigil of Gwaren, Loghain sliding his left arm into the shield's straps. Arthur did likewise, drawing his sword and shield, hearing cries of encouragement from among the crowd, words of support from Alistair and Wynne, hearing Leliana whisper "Good luck" in his ear and press her lips to his cheek as she tied a scrap of blue fabric around the hilt of his sword- a maiden's favour to bring her champion victory in the coming battle. _'Not quite what I'm used to'_ Arthur mused, remembering the elaborate and more finely adorned favours the daughters and women of the nobility tried to ply him with during the tourneys he'd participated in during his youth, but it was a symbol, no matter how simple, of her faith that he would succeed, and Arthur had no intention of failing, knowing what would happen if he did; the stakes were too high.

With their preparations for battle made, Loghain and Arthur waited as the Grand Cleric intoned a prayer, imploring the Maker to illuminate the truth of matters and guide to victory the one whose cause was righteous before stepping back to the edge of the room as both men drew their swords and began to circle each other like lions fighting for control of the pride, waiting for any opening to strike.

"It's not too late to surrender, boy" Loghain sneered, a mocking smile on his face.

"By all means, feel free!" Arthur spat back and the regent's grin evaporated, his ruddy face reddening angrily.

"I've been fighting and killing better men than you for years before your whore mother spread her legs for your traitor father to put you in her belly. For thirty years, Maric chose me to defend Ferelden and in all that time, I never failed him. What makes you think you can prevail against the skill and experience of a man far your greater, whelp?"

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and _DO-NOT-FALTER!"_ Arthur roared in answer as he surged to the attack with a high cut at Loghain's head. Loghain's shield caught the blow and the teyrn retaliated with a stab at Arthur's stomach; the Warden leapt back and attacked again, but Loghain's shield caught the blow again. Before Arthur could recover, the shield connected with his head as the teyrn swung out, sending the youth sprawling to the floor dazed.

Loghain's sword swung down, aiming for his neck, but Arthur rolled aside in time and the sword bit into the hall's floor where his head had been. Rolling back to his feet as quick as possible in plate armour, Arthur swung out with his own blade at Loghain's right leg, but the teyrn saw the threat and lowered his shield to cover the opening, and Duncan's sword again clanged off the silverite instead of severing Loghain's foot. But the teyrn was slow to recover, and Arthur slashed out at his enemy's head. He was rewarded by a cry of pain and a round of cheers and applause from his supporters as the sword's tip caught flesh, raking a deep gash in Loghain's right temple and severing one of the idiotic braids of hair that hung on either side of the teyrn's face. Loghain staggered back, trying to staunch the blood flow.

"If I have to" Arthur snarled, spearing the lock of hair on the tip of his sword and holding it up for Loghain to see "I will take you piece by piece!"

With a roar of berserk fury, Loghain charged and Arthur caught another shield bash to the face, the force of the blow this time knocking Arthur's helmet from his head. Dazed, he staggered back, and Loghain pressed his advantage, stabbing out with his sword and finding the gap between breastplate and pauldron. Arthur let out a gasp of pain as he felt the sword bit through the gambeson to flesh and bone. Loghain grinned as he pulled his sword free and admired the tip, stained red with blood.

Arthur leapt aside from another attack and just managed to get his shield up to block another, keeping himself moving away from the attacking Loghain; he was hoping to tire the older man down, tire him into making a mistake or leaving an opening the Warden could exploit, the only way to counter Loghain's greater experience by playing on his age. Several swings of the teyrn's sword arm carved through air as Arthur evaded Loghain's attacks, making periodic cuts of his own, not designed to kill, merely to prick and bleed his foe, to annoy and goad Loghain into making mistakes. An interminable amount of time passed- it could have been hours or minutes, Arthur lost track- in a repeated fashion, a pattern of slash, parry, hack, parry, stab, dodge, each fighter breathing hard and bleeding, tiring but still determined to prevail. But Arthur, emboldened to try and end it, charged, seeking to finally bring an end to the duel, hacking at Loghain's head. But the teyrn got his sword up in time to parry, and before Arthur could back away, Loghain slammed his shield with the force of a battering ram into Arthur's chest, sending the Warden staggering back. Before Arthur could recover, Loghain's sword swept out and bit into the back of Arthur's right leg, sending him toppling to the floor. The teyrn was on him like a wolf on a fallen deer, a foot placed on the centre of Arthur's chest to pin him down, kicking Arthur's sword out of his grasp and away from his reach.

"It's over, boy. Surrender, and I promise you it'll be quick" Loghain snarled in a guttural voice, his grimacing face a blood-stained mask of exhaustion, his own sword hovering an inch from Arthur's throat. "At least quicker than your pretender and those traitors Eamon, Teagan, your brother and the rest will get, to say nothing of that Orlesian slut you've been fucking, turncoat!"

The naked threat to his friends, his companions, to his brother, to _her_ fanned the flames of Arthur's fury, flooding his veins with new energy and giving him purpose to fight on. He just had to find an opening to use it...

"Tell me something, did you give up this easily when you were fighting against Meghren? Would you yield so swiftly if our positions were reversed?" Arthur snarled as he summoned his strength and hatefully spat a wad of bloody froth into Loghain's face, hitting the teyrn in the left eye. Loghain snorted and made to wipe it aside, no doubt amused by his foe's last act of defiance...and then he stiffened and let out a scream of horrified agony as Avernus's research paid off again and the tainted blood reacted like acid and burned the skin and flesh of his face, along with his left eye.

"Well let's find out!" the Warden roared as he batted Loghain's sword away from his head, the teyrn too distracted by pain to stop him, rolling out of Loghain's reach, his own hand closing around the hilt of Duncan's sword, Arthur letting loose a bestial war cry as he raised and brought the sword down in a two-handed blow...

Loghain's stricken screams reached a new crescendo as the teyrn staggered back, his right hand, still clutched around his sword, now lying on the floor, severed cleanly at the wrist. Loghain's remaining hand moved from trying to save his ruined eye to staunching the blood spurting from his maimed arm, trying to stop the bleeding enough to give him respite from shock enough to fight on. Not that Arthur was about to give him a chance, because now back on his feet, the Cousland youth went on the attack without pause or mercy. Another fighter might have felt misgivings about attacking a maimed foe, but not Arthur. He'd been on enough hunts and in enough fights, seen enough men gored by wounded animals or killed by injured foes to be moved to pity. This was no time for mercy, but to go in for the kill.

Hammering the broken man with repeated heavy blows of his sword, Arthur forced Loghain to one knee, the teyrn barely managing to get his shield up in time to defend himself. After three successive attacks of his were blocked, Arthur gave a roar of fury and seized the rim of Loghain's shield – Loghain desperately tried to hold on to it, but weakened by blood loss and exhaustion, he was unable to keep Arthur from wrenching his shield out of his grasp and tossing it out of his reach. Before he could try to get past his foe to reclaim either sword or shield, a gauntleted fist connected with his jaw, and Loghain toppled to the floor like an upturned turtle, spitting blood and broken teeth. As the teyrn lay writhing, pain stricken and blinded on the floor, his supporters shouting at him to get up, his rivals shouting abuse and curses at him, Arthur stalked round his fallen foe like a panther, planted a plate booted foot on Loghain's chest, hearing cries for mercy and shouts urging him to kill echoing from all corners, seeing his friends watching, applauding his victory and decided to end it. The Warden raised his sword over his head, about to bring it stabbing down into Loghain's heart...

"WAIT!" the teyrn cried out desperately, thrusting out his remaining hand in an entreaty for mercy and Arthur halted the plunge of his sword an inch from his enemy's chest. Lamed, blinded in one eye and cradling the maimed stump of his sword arm to his chest, Loghain stared up at Arthur, and the expression in his eyes was not one of contempt but grudging respect.

"I underestimated you, Arthur. I thought you were like Cailan; a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong. There's a strength in you I've not seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield".

But as Loghain tried to get back on his feet, Arthur's left hand swung in a vicious backhand, connecting with Loghain's cheek and sending the unsuspecting man sprawling on his back. '_Does he really think this changes __**anything**_**?**'

"And now you die" Arthur spat, pulling his sword back for a decapitating blow. "This is for all the lives you've ruined, for all the people who've suffered and died because of _**YOU**_!" With a scream of hate and rage, Arthur slashed at Loghain's neck. A few screams and outcries echoed from the surrounding crowd, but Arthur ignored them; justice had to be done.

"WAIT!" A rich voice called out simultaneously with a loud crash as the dragonbone blade was blocked inches from removing Loghain's head from his shoulders, a silverite longsword having intercepted its strike. Looking up, furious at being interrupted, Arthur glared at the speaker, surprised and displeased to recognise the intruder in the proceedings.

"Riordan, I trust you have a _very_ good reason for this interruption?"

"There is another option. The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining".

"You...you want to make him a Grey Warden?" Arthur angrily sputtered, astounded and outraged that Riordan would _dare_ suggest they allow this _traitor_, who had as good as murdered the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, into joining their ranks. "No, that's...that's insane! I will not allow it!"

"There are too few of us" Riordan insisted firmly. "It's not a matter of what we like; it's a matter of what we must do. We aren't judges; traitors, rebels, blood mages, carta thugs, common bandits- anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us. There are only four of us in all of Ferelden, and there are..._compelling reasons_ to have as many Grey Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon". For a moment, Arthur was tempted to demand what possible reasons could be so compelling to merit sparing the life of a devious, unworthy, traitorous bastard like Loghain, but the look on Riordan's face suggested that such things were better said in private.

At this point, Anora piped up, clearly in an effort to try and coerce him, thinking she still had his loyalty, or that he could still be bought. "The Joining itself is often fatal, so I've heard? If he survives, you gain a general; if not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?" she asked, her hopeful expression faltering a little when Arthur refused to acknowledge her.

"NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Alistair roared angrily. "Riordan, this man abandoned-no, he _**murdered**_ our brothers and so many more besides and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals! He tortured _you_! How can we simply forget that?"

Anora's lip curled as if she were outraged the bastard should dare interrupt his betters, but Alistair wasn't done. Unsatisfied with Riordan's platitudinous answer about doing what was needed, Alistair turned to another Warden for support. "Arthur, you know Loghain as good as admitted to unleashing Howe on your family, to authorising their murders! Do you intend to let him get away with that? Don't the memories of your father, your mother, your kinsmen deserve vengeance? Deserve justice? Don't all those who died at Ostagar because of his craven acts deserve justice? What of the elves of the Alienage?"

"Alistair is right" Arthur replied with a solemn nod. "Loghain has committed heinous atrocities against Ferelden, has betrayed all he fought for under Maric and sullied _every_ honour he won long ago. For all his crimes, there can be only one punishment; death. And I will sooner put a hurlock through the Joining than this traitorous bastard, for he deserves no chance at honour or redemption battling the Blight. No, Loghain Mac Tir's story ends here. For all the misery he has caused, for all those who have suffered and perished because of his ambition, greed and paranoia, Loghain must be held to account for his crimes. He must die"

The crowd of sycophants and bootlickers who'd stood by the traitor to the bitter end angrily protested this, along with the one who had brought this about. "You can't do this!" Anora angrily yelled, seizing Arthur by the arm and forcing him to look at her, her gaze wide with betrayed outrage. "My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people!"

"Then more fool them!" Arthur snarled in a voice so low only she heard it, shrugging off her grip and glaring at her with such venom that Anora took several steps back in horror. Surprisingly, the one Arthur had expected to challenge the decree said not a word against it.

"Anora, hush. It's over"

"Stop treating me like a child!" the Queen angrily turned on her father. "This is serious!"

"Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pig tails and skinned knees forever". Loghain smiled sadly at his child before turning to look Arthur straight in the eye, no defiance or venom left in him, just a grim acceptance of his fate. "Just make it quick, Warden. I can face the Maker, knowing Ferelden is in your hands".

"No, you die as what you are. On your knees, traitor" Arthur spat hatefully. Loghain stood upright, staunchly refusing to bend, but Arthur had had enough; with a nod, Fergus and Bann Teagan both seized the usurper by his shoulders and forced Loghain to his knees as the crowd, divided in opinion, began to shout, some calling for Loghain's head, others pleading for mercy. Arthur had to raise his voice over the cacophony to be heard.

"Alistair, you should be the one to do this". The decision was clearly a shock to all, but Arthur stood by it. Alistair had lost far more than he had thanks to Loghain's machinations- his friends, his brothers, the only true home he had ever known and the closest thing to a father he'd ever known. Arthur had gotten closure for himself when he slew Howe; now Alistair needed the same.

"I will" his fellow Warden agreed vehemently, drawing Maric's sword, the rasp of the blade emerging from its scabbard silencing all other noise. "I owe that to Duncan and all the others" Alistair intoned as he advanced on the kneeling Loghain, his sword raised and a look of cold fury on his face.

"Perhaps I was wrong about you" Loghain conceded. "There is something of Maric in you after all. Good". No doubt in Loghain's warped mind, that was meant as a compliment, but Alistair did not take it as such, spitting in the teyrn's face as he raised the sword for the deathblow.

"Maric _wasn't_ my father. You killed the closest thing to a father I ever had. _This_ is for Duncan" Alistair spat angrily as he lashed out. Maric's blade flicked out, swift as an adder's tongue, cleaving through flesh and bone with ease.

A cry of shock rang out through the hall as the regent's body collapsed. Loghain's death was a clean one, Maric's sword needing only a single stroke to behead him, though even that was a mercy Arthur begrudged the traitor. Alistair seized the severed head by its hair and raised the grisly trophy aloft. At the same time, Morrigan moved forward and handed over the blood-stained canvas sack she'd been holding; Arthur took it and opened it. Another gasp of shock rang out from the nobility as he held up the sack's contents for them all to see: the severed heads of Rendon Howe and Cauthrien.

"_This_" Arthur roared, gesturing at the three heads "is the fate of all who think their deeds and station grant them the freedom to do as they please, to dismiss whatever laws they see fit to satisfy their own demands and ambitions. So long as I live, treasons like their will never go unforgotten, and they will _never_ go unpunished!"

Tossing the severed heads to several of the men-at-arms Eamon had brought, Arthur commanded "I want those mounted on spikes within the hour. Anyone who dares to try and take them down will answer to me with their life!"

"I will see it done" Fergus assured his brother, before directing the men at arms to follow him out, along with his Chasind escorts and ensure the skulls of the traitors received their proper fate, though judging from the black look on his brother's face, Rendon Howe's face would likely be even worse-looking by the time the crows got it, a thought that worried Arthur, though he hoped it would allow Fergus to unleash his grief and anger as it was needed. As for Loghain himself, the traitor's body was dragged out of the room by several servants, using ropes and hooks to drag the body from the hall, fated to be dumped on a trash heap outside the city for the wolves to pick over...an ignominious end for such a man, and everything he deserved.

Anora and her followers tried to call for a brief recess out of respect so that the queen might clear her mind and recover herself, but thanks to Eamon and Teagan, to say nothing of Bryland and their other allies, their petition was overridden. '_We've cut off the hydra's head; now we need to cauterise the stump before it grows back!_' Arthur knew. Given time to recover and gather her thoughts, still in shock after what had just happened, and now she knew she was to be discarded, Anora would be as big a threat, if not greater than her father. They had to crush her now, while she was distracted and weakened.

"So it is decided; Alistair will take his father's throne!" Eamon declared. Alistair, who'd been staring intently at the spot where Loghain had died before him, lost in his own thoughts, was suddenly jerked back to reality by that pronouncement.

"What? When did this get decided? No one's decided this...have they?"

Arthur cursed as Anora's eyes lit up, and she lunged on the opportunity like a wolf shown its prey's throat.

"He refuses the throne, everyone heard him! I think it's clear, he abdicates in favour of me!" she cried delightedly. But Eamon was not about to concede defeat.

"I hardly think _you_ are the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora" Eamon snapped coldly. "In any case, by all the laws of Ferelden, as the victor of the Landsmeet's duel, Arthur is the one who has the right to decide". The look of horrified astonishment in Anora's eyes as she realised she was beaten was one Arthur savoured as he made his declaration.

"Alistair. The Mac Tirs have proven, by their ambition, apathy and tyranny they are unfit to hold power. Once more, a scion of the Theirin bloodline will take his place on the rightful throne".

Shock, horror, outrage, loathing and hatred mingled in Anora's eyes at this betrayal, but Arthur was beyond caring. _'If you had looked closely, you would have seen this coming, but you were blind to all but retaining your power. All you cared to see was an open path to your throne'_

"Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our new king and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs" Eamon declared, barely managing to hide the note of triumph in his voice.

Anora very much looked like she wanted to spit in Eamon's face, but instead she merely let out a disparaging laugh and sneered "If you think I am going to swear that oath, Eamon, then you know nothing of me!"

"Refusal is counted as treason" Teagan added sharply.

"Alistair, you will want to do something about her" Arthur added and Alistair nodded in agreement, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war" Eamon intoned. "We must have unity, and if she will not renounce her claim to the throne and swear fealty to you, Alistair, then she is a threat to us all"

"Have her head off and be done with it; put it on a spike next to her father's" Teagan asserted but Alistair held up a hand to silence the gathering and spoke in a resolute voice.

"Put her in the tower for now. If I fall against the Blight, she can have her throne. If not...then we'll see".

"You would give me a chance at the throne, after all this?" Anora asked, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

"I said _if_ I fall" Alistair replied sharply, the warning note unmistakeable. "_If_ I fall, the throne falls to you. I won't kill you when there's a chance of that; someone has to take this Blight seriously"

"How uncharacteristically wise of you" Anora opined, her lip curling in disdain.

"Yes, well keep it to yourself" Alistair replied dryly. "I have a reputation to uphold"

"Guards, take her away!" Eamon commanded and several of his men-at-arms escorted Anora from the room. As she was led away, Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding; he couldn't quite believe it. In spite of all the odds against them surviving this long, they'd gathered their armies, challenged Loghain in the seat of his power and defeated him and set up a new king, a good man who could breathe new life and the promise of a better future for their nation. There were still many loose ends to be tied up- the look in Anora's eyes as she was led out had been one of pure murder, directed at him and Eamon, and contrary to what Alistair had proclaimed, he, Eamon and Teagan had to know the deposed queen was too dangerous to be allowed to live. Loghain's meagre collection of allies would also have to be dealt with, either by bringing them into the fold, or by reducing their power so they could do no damage to the new king's budding reign, to say nothing of the legions of darkspawn still amassing in the south, but in spite of it all, of all that was yet to be done, Arthur allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, feeling triumphant at having beaten the odds to accomplish what they had today.

In the aftermath of the Landsmeet, no one noticed a crow that had been perched on a rafter, its beady eyes fixed on the proceedings below, almost as if it were watching the debate, suddenly stiffen and fall from the rafters to the floor. No one paid the slightest attention to the bird's shrivelled corpse, ignoring the pale white eyes and the scrofulous, bald patches on its body that, had they looked, would have revealed it to have been tainted.

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**A section of the Deep Roads below Ostagar**

"_**NOOOOOOOO!"**_

Urthemiel screamed telepathically, the mental blast of rage and disappointment painful for any tainted being in the vicinity to bear as the Old God's fury reverberated in their minds. Miles away, the tainted crow through whose eyes Urthemiel had watched the slayers' triumph fell dead, its synapses burned out and its mind torn asunder by the archdemon's fury, but He did not care, His fury and disappointment at being thwarted too powerful to be denied.

"_The fool tyrant was supposed to destroy the slayers!"_ the archdemon raged to no one in particular. Had the fool killed the slayers, then His war would have been as good as won; the Dark Children would have marched on the capital within a matter of days. The armies the slayers had gathered would be on the other side of the nation, in no position to stop Him, and by the time the fool realised the severity of the threat he was facing, it would be too late to do anything but fall to his knees and beg for the mercy of death.

'_No matter. Plans change. He has failed. We will find another way'_

"Come, come to me" Urthemiel's voice willed through the taint, summoning four of His most powerful servants to his side. They came before Him with great alacrity; two hurlocks, one bedecked in the armour of an alpha, clutching a brutal-looking axe in its claws, the other carrying the staff, and bearing the robes and head crest of an emissary. Behind them, two genlocks also bedecked in the robes and fetishes of emissaries slunk into the cavernous chamber where the dragon had made its lair, all four sinking to their knees in a pleasingly obsequious display of obedience.

"You two shall go south, to the place the mortals call 'Red Cliff' with a significant force" Urthemiel commanded, whispering in His husky, seductive voice into the minds of the two genlocks, compelling obedience. "Slay, burn, destroy; do what you will but keep the eyes of the slayers fixed on you and away from _my _work" Urthemiel commanded.

"We obey the will of Urthemiel!" the genlocks replied immediately and with their master's leave, slunk out of the cavern to begin mustering a force to obey His command, but the Old God put them from His mind, turning His attention to the hurlocks.

"The rest shall march on the human capital. By the time the Slayers learn of our true goal, it will be too late to stop us; their city will be an ash-covered ruin, inhabited by only the tainted and corpses".

"Who shall lead this assault, Master?" the emissary requested, speaking directly into the god's mind, drawing a growl and a look of annoyance from the alpha. Urthemiel seethed at the sight of this, His anger causing a flash of pain to go through both of their minds. The God was more than aware of the propensity of the alphas and emissaries, the most advanced of his servants, to fight amongst themselves for His favour and while Urthemiel welcomed such-it ensured the weak died and the strong prevailed- the darkspawn should have had the sense not to do so in his presence. It added all the more relevance to the following pronouncement Urthemiel asserted into their skulls.

"I shall direct this personally' Urthemiel declared. 'The failures of your ilk have stymied and hindered the completion of our conquest. I will tolerate no further delays; I will lead our armies to the victory that your kin have not accomplished, now or in centuries. Go, muster my forces; we march at the fall of night!"

"We obey the will of Urthemiel!" the hurlocks prated before exiting the Old God's presence to begin mustering the legions. Urthemiel sank down to rest; there were thousands of all the breeds to be brought to the surface for the assault, and the Old God would need all his strength and power to complete the conquest of this mortal nation.

'_Enjoy your triumph while it lasts, stripling, for soon, it and you will be nothing but a memory. And when that moment comes , I will look back to this moment, think upon your arrogance and certainty of your victory, and then I will stand over your corpse and laugh'_


	57. Chapter 55: That Which Must Be Done

_Right, first off, sorry this has taken so long, but I've been up to my eyes in other things, hence the slow update. I'll try to have another one up next week setting the scene for the final battle. Sorry if this one seems a bit weaker, but it's taken so long I thought I had to get it done, otherwise it'll linger forever._

_Glad to know everyone enjoyed the Landsmeet last chapter-it's always been one of my favourite parts of DA: Origins, and I'm glad to see you all think I did it justice. Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to my work, particularly __**Theodur, MB18932, ArtanisRose, Tempest86, bradw316, karthik9, knightofholylight, MysticGohan88, SuperGravyMan, Zivon96 **__and__** feenux11 **__for your reviews and to __**jedimaster01, Benskiis, Anduren, sirwalterbeck, jnybot **__for adding this to favourites; it's been a great motivation knowing so many want the next instalment of this!_

_Just so you know, I'm taking a brief hiatus from this throughout August (for the first three weeks in August, I'm going to be on holiday and pursuing other projects, plus I won't have easy access to the Internet, and towards the end of August, I'll be otherwise distracted-you can blame that on the release of Darksiders II- so updates will slow a bit then) but I'll be back to work by early September (rest assured, I never leave something unfinished!)_

_As always, __**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

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'_**Sometimes duty must be cast aside, to do what must be done'- **__War, Darksiders._

_############_

'_The Landsmeet held in the spring of the thirty-first year of the Dragon Age marked a new beginning for Ferelden. Alistair, son of Maric, was named King by popular acclaim, restoring a scion of the Theirin line to the throne. Many at the time were doubtful of just how effective so untried a youth could be, but with the aid of wise and prudent counsel from trusted advisors-men who would become as synonymous with the foundation of the golden age as the young King himself- and displays of his own good judgement, courage and compassion, Alistair Theirin would attain the goodwill and popularity of his people as much for his just and benevolent hand at ruling as for the victories he won in defence of the realm against its foes._

_Others, however, are not so well remembered. For the crimes of treason, desertion, regicide, murder and many other heinous acts that were an insult to everything he fought for under King Maric during the rebellion against Orlais, the traitor Loghain Mac Tir was deposed, stripped of all titles and honours and finally put to death on the orders of King Alistair, who wielded the executioner's blade himself. _

_His daughter, the former Queen and briefly Teyrna of Gwaren, Lady Anora Mac Tir, King Alistair spared in his mercy, despite the insistence of many of his closest allies that she be executed as well for fear she and her father's allies would incite rebellion against the new king's budding reign. He had intended to name her as his temporary heir were he to be slain battling the darkspawn, but such plans, both by those who wanted Anora spared and those who wanted her dead, were rendered moot when Anora was found dead in her custodial quarters at Fort Drakon. Some of King Alistair's enemies accused him of having had the lady murdered to end the threat she posed, but after three independent __chirurgeons and two of the Circle of Magi's finest healers conducted post-mortems, they concluded that the fatal injury-a single stab wound to the lower abdomen- had been self-inflicted, and the common consensus became that Lady Anora, unable to bear the loss of her father, whose death she bore considerable guilt for, and her crown, committed suicide in despair._

_The king remained in Denerim for just about a week, trying to put the beginning touches of starting to heal the nation his tyrannical predecessor had all but destroyed but as word from the south came of a greater evil moving against the nation, the young king prepared to confront the first great threat to his rule..._

_**An excerpt from Brother Ferdinand Genetivi's 'An Account of the Fifth Blight', published spring 9:32 Dragon Age**_

Eamon Guerrin closed the chapter he'd been reading and set the book down on his study's desk. Four years had passed since that Landsmeet, since the history of Ferelden had been rewritten, with old characters leaving the stage and new ones taking their place, but Eamon still found himself musing on what had happened, how only a handful of people knew the truth of it.

'_That is how history remembers it'_ Eamon thought, running a hand over the book's leather bound cover '_but the truth is something else entirely'_

##############

_**Denerim, Spring 9:31 Dragon**_

"Hail to the king!"

The atmosphere in Arl Eamon's Denerim estate was one of triumph that night, jubilant after their victory at the Landsmeet. A celebration in the Royal Palace might have been more appropriate but there was still much to be done, the banners bearing the wyvern sigil of Gwaren to be torn down and replaced with the Theirin family emblem, the remnants of the palace staff with any loyalty to Anora or Loghain, lest they display their old loyalties by trying to assassinate Alistair, new royal guards and councillors to be appointed and all other manner of royal-related business to be dealt with in the coming days. '_That can be dealt with though. There is something else to be done now'_.

Arthur chanced a quick look around the room to ensure no one was watching except for those who needed to know; much to his relief, the others seemed distracted. Alistair was sat at the top of the table, looking a little drunk, a wine glass in one hand, speaking to Banns Alfstanna and Sighard-the pair no doubt discussing suitable rewards for their support to the new king-Arthur anticipated that the handing over of lands, large amounts of coin and titles were going to be in the offing and doubtless Alfstanna would be angling for a formal engagement- Wynne and Arabella were in the corner with Leonas Bryland who seemed to be deeply enthralled by Shale, no doubt envisioning using the golem and the two mages to great effect when the time came to reclaim South Reach from the darkspawn. The others were milling around somewhere, but Arthur couldn't see them; his eyes were seeking out the ones needed-Eamon stood at Alistair's shoulder, Teagan and Fergus in a corner talking to several nobles left disaffected by Loghain's brutality, no doubt discussing compensation for their suffering at the regent's hands. Receiving a tacit nod from all three men, Arthur made his way towards the door.

"Going somewhere?" Leliana asked, appearing out of nowhere at his shoulder. Inwardly, Arthur cursed; he should have known the bard would have noticed he was up to something, she had a knack for observing and seeing things without being seen herself; she'd probably seen the exchanges between himself and the others. Outwardly, he grinned at Leliana and waved away her question.

"Just some business to attend to. Some minor nobles wanted to speak with me; asked if I'd get them an audience with Alistair, but they didn't want to disturb our celebration, so they asked if I'd meet them in the Gnawed Noble"

"I'll come with you" the bard offered, but Arthur shook his head; there were enough sins on Leliana's soul, he would not burden her with this. _'I know what is going to happen and I will bear the consequences of it. No one else need do so'._

"No, no need to trouble yourself. I won't be gone long, I promise" Arthur promised. Leliana still looked a little suspicious, but fortunately, Alistair called her and she moved away, allowing Arthur to make his way out before she could return.

The light summer rain that had been falling most of the week was falling again as Arthur slipped out of the manor and made the short journey to the Gnawed Noble Tavern. The atmosphere was packed, much to Arthur's liking-there was less chance of being overheard when the others arrived- the tavern full of people either celebrating the choosing of a new king and the end of the civil war, or discussing the more solemn of the day's events.

"Loghain's not dead" one of the tavern's patrons by the bar was insisting "It can't be true..._can it?"_

"My sister said it was" the barmaid he was talking to answered, gnawing her lip "unless it wasn't him. Maybe it was some magic trick..."

"It _was_ him" another patron insisted as he set down his tankard "I was in the market square when a bunch of knights and some lordling from Highever rode through with Loghain's head on a spear, along with those of that blighted old bastard Howe and that she-wolf knight of Loghain's, Catherine or Caterina or whatever her name was. The noble gave the whole 'these are the heads of traitors' speech' and then rode off with them. I followed, as did most of the crowd- saw them sticking those heads on spikes above the city gates for the crows to pick over"

"Makes you wonder if all those things they said about him were true..." the first drinker remarked as the barman refilled his stein and that of the other, as well as handing the barmaid a whiskey and speaking plainly.

"It's in the Maker's hands now. If Loghain was truly as evil as they say, then the Maker will judge him in the end"

'_I'll drink to that'_ Arthur thought darkly. '_And to the hope that there's a special place in Hell waiting for that bastard' _as he motioned for another barmaid to bring him something while he waited. The others would be along shortly, he knew that; it had been arranged. All four of them had agreed all of them leaving at once from the party at the estate would arouse suspicion, and for what they were planning, that would be the last thing they needed. So they'd agreed to leave in dribs and drabs, leaving enough time between their departures so as not to look conspicuous.

One by one, the others slipped into the tavern; Fergus arrived five minutes after his own, lingering by the door instead of heading straight to his brother. Teagan entered a short time later, with Eamon following behind. Once all four had arrived, one by one they slipped into one of the Gnawed Noble's siderooms, which although still bustling with people toasting the new king, was quiet enough to talk, yet not enough to be overheard.

"We all know why we're here. Because there's less chance of what we need to say being overheard, and because we all know what needs to be done. We all know what kind of threat Anora poses to us, to Alistair alive. She is a standard around which her father's allies and anyone who becomes dissatisfied with anything Alistair decides or any part of his rule can rally to, and you saw the look in her face; she'll never be satisfied until she wedges her arse on that throne once more" Arthur insisted, Teagan, Fergus and Eamon all nodding in agreement.

"We cannot try her for complicity in her father's crimes, much as it would be appropriate; Anora will use it as a platform to rally support to her cause. I _will_ _have_ not have Loghain's spoilt brat inciting another civil war, not after all we have been through to end this last one" Eamon spat angrily. "Anora _must_ die, and we must ensure it seems either a natural death or by her own hand; this must never be traced back to us or allow knowledge of it to ever be used against Alistair; at this stage, his reign will not survive such a scandal"

"You forget; among my companions is a hired blade who has been trained since childhood to turn killing into an art form. Give him a target and he can ensure not only that they die, but in what manner and when. I'm sure he can ensure an assassination looks like a suicide...isn't that right, Zevran?" Arthur smiled at the figure who'd sidled over to their table as they'd been talking, the wry grin on the elf's face indicating he'd heard every word. '_Seems Leliana isn't the only one with a talent for eavesdropping. I wonder what she would make of this_?' Arthur thought to himself. Certainly she would have had suspicions of such a course of action but did she know...

Once Eamon, Teagan and Fergus had gotten over their shock at the sight of the elf, the discovery he was a former Crow was enough to assuage their worries, and after a bit of haggling over rewards-apparently Zev wasn't willing to do the job purely out of a sense of loyalty or civic duty, demanding a suitable amount of payment and a promise of safe passage out of Ferelden whenever he should need it- the contract was made.

"You're sure you can get this done?" Eamon insisted. "It must be final"

"Please" Zev retorted with a snort and a nod at Arthur "you wouldn't ask _him_ if he knew how to kill darkspawn, would you? I can assure you, in little more than a few hours, your problem will be solved..."

##################

The suite near to the summit of Fort Drakon were suitable enough; once upon a time, they'd served as a home for Tevinter and Orlesian nobility when they'd ruled Ferelden. But as Anora knew, a gilded cage is still a cage. No matter how fine her surroundings, she was still a prisoner in them.

'_I am Queen! How dare they treat me like a common criminal!_' Anora inwardly raged. Granted, she'd expected them to drag her from the hall and behead her like her father-given the rabid looks on the faces of Teagan, Eamon and Arthur Cousland, they'd wanted her dead- but Alistair had made the first mistake of his reign in ordering her spared. Certainly, he'd made a show of it being a display of generous mercy and wisdom to have an heir apparent in case he did not survive the coming conflict –so there was no way it could be his own thought; more likely, it was something Eamon had whispered in his ear to make the boy seem magnanimous in victory- and no doubt, it would cozen some into supporting Alistair, but most, particularly those who'd supported her father to the bitter end, would see through it, would see Maric's bastard as nothing but a puppet dancing to the tune of Eamon and his allies.

'_This will end in disaster for Maric's bastard. He'll dance to the tune of others, and that will infuriate those who suffer as Eamon, Cousland and the others secure their power. This nation will tear itself apart and when that comes, I will be waiting in the wings. I still have friends in this city-with the promise of sufficient reward, I could escape from Ferelden, to the Free Marches or, Maker forbid, Orlais, wait for the darkspawn to be defeated and the inevitable civil war, then return to retake what is mine. After a few months under this incompetent boy's rule, the people will probably be clamouring for my return...'_

It was not a perfect plan, and it hinged much on the charity of her dwindling faction, but it was better than languishing in this prison, wondering how long it would be before Alistair's advisors convinced him to do away with her. And there were better things she wanted to brood on than the lingering possibility of her death...such as revenge.

'_They will pay. They will all pay for this; that bastard of Maric, Eamon, Teagan, Arthur Cousland and all those so-called nobles who betrayed my father simply because he was no longer of use; they will all suffer for this'_ Anora swore to herself._ 'I don't know how, I don't know when, but I will find a way to repay them for what they have done if it takes me forever and a day. I will restore myself to the throne, I will restore honour to my father's memory and bring this nation back from whatever damage that stupid boy does to it'_

Staring down at her hands, she noted flakes of blood crumbling away from her skin. This was her last real reminder of her father and as she remembered that Cousland had commanded he be dumped on a trash heap, honoured with neither funeral pyre or last rites, his body nothing more than meat for the scavengers, human and animal, to fight over, his head mounted on a spike looking over the city he'd once given everything to defend, at least until the crows pecked out his eyes, his soul left to wander the Fade for all eternity with no hope of rest...once it was gone, no trace of her father would remain. It was more than she could bear, combined with the knowledge that she was, in no small part, responsible for what had happened. Remembering her father's last moments, his pale blue eyes unafraid, his voice and expression tinged only with peace at the end of his tale, perhaps relief that the burden he'd taken upon himself to carry was lifted, bereft of the anger and viciousness that had marred all their previous exchanges since Ostagar, no sense of reproach or anger in him for what she had done, almost forgiveness...

A knock on the door mercifully interrupted her brooding before her thoughts gave more fodder to her nightmares. Anora found herself wondering who it could be; there was no way Erlina could be back from her errand so soon. The elf had been sent with a message to those of her father's vassals, seeing how many she could count on to support her when the time came.

The visitor was _not_ Erlina. Indeed, she had no idea who the visitor was, their entire form hidden by a hooded black cloak that made them almost blend perfectly into the shadow.

"Who in Andraste's name are you?" Anora demanded, her imperious manner somewhat influenced by her shabby treatment over the day.

"I have a message for you...from a friend" the figure spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, in a voice that was clearly male "and I must be swift, Your Majesty; we were only able to pay the guards enough to give us a quarter of an hour"

"What is it?" Anora demanded, in no mood for games. The hooded figure looked around and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper "The walls have ears. Best not to speak so loud, eh?". Anora rolled her eyes in annoyance, but nodded and quickly opened the door for the visitor to enter, quietly closing it behind him.

"Well, your message?" Anora demanded, her face an inch from the man's as she turned to face him...and then she felt a sudden sharp pain in her abdomen. Looking down, Anora saw a dagger buried to the hilt in her stomach, blood welling up from around the blade's edges, accompanied by another stab of pain as the intruder twisted the knife. Anora's hands darted out, trying to seize her killer's head, fingers catching the rim of the cloak's hood and knocking it back, revealing the face of that Antivan elf her father had hired (against her wishes and nearly emptying the treasury in the process) to kill the surviving Grey Wardens. Evidently, Cousland had made him a better offer than her father.

"Arthur Cousland sends his regards" the elf replied with a predatory grin as Anora stared in horror at him. "I'm not native, so personally I don't give a damn if you live or die, but I recognise their reasons for wanting you dead. Besides, I get a fair amount of gold and safe passage and amnesty from this nation whenever I ask it of them, so I suppose you could argue I do . Oh, and one more thing; my employers ask you to give your father their regards when you meet in Hell...presuming he wants to speak with you, of course. I can't imagine his feelings for you are that warm after what you helped us accomplish"

"Where's-where's Erlina?" Anora choked out as the elf lowered her to the floor, placing her in the centre of the room and the dagger in her right hand.

"Your maid?" the Antivan replied with a sad look, though his eyes gleamed wickedly. "Ah such diligence, trying to attend to her mistress's desires with all due haste, but such speed on these old, worn staircases...well, _anyone_ might have fallen and broken their neck"

A pang of regret tore through Anora, almost as physical as the pain in her side, at the discovery; the elf had been with her so long, a loyal subject and dedicated to her cause, even when all had seemed lost. "You'll...you'll never get away with this..." Anora spat, trying to project confident certainty even as strength left her. "Someone will...will know the truth of this-!"

"And who will say so even if they do?" the elf countered. "History is written by the victors, your Majesty" the assassin sneered, making the title an insult "and I assure you, it's already being done. If the powers that be say that the former queen, guilt-ridden by her part in her father's execution, took her own life out of despair, who will say otherwise? Now, be a good girl and die, would you? It'll help so much"

The sound of footsteps receding came as the elf let himself out of the room and left Anora to slowly bleed out the last moments of her life. The guards had been bought off-by Eamon no doubt- so by the time they realised what happened, it would be too late...assuming the arl hadn't also paid them to finish the job. Anora tried to think of some way to slow the bleeding, to save enough strength to get away, to save herself, to accomplish what she'd promised...but nothing came. The woman who'd spent so many years thinking of ways to save her country from her husband's economic and political mismanagement could now think of no way to prolong her life.

'_I'm sorry, father. I'm so sorry'_ was all Anora could think as the last strength ebbed out of her and the last scion of House Mac Tir joined in hell the father she'd help send there.

####################

Three days had passed since the Landsmeet, and while there had been no official coronation, there were some urgent matters of business to be attended to-positions to be filled, replacements to be made and rewards for support to be given out- so much to his chagrin, Alistair had been requested to make some decisions as to who was to replace those of Loghain's regime now either dead or stripped of their positions, not to mention what he was going to who as rewards for their support, so a session of court had been necessary.

A herald stood at the foot of the dais unfurled a scroll written with painstaking care and attention to detail by Alistair over the past few days, with the aid of Eamon and the rest of his noble entourage and began to recite:

"This session of court is called to order. All hail his Majesty, Alistair, son of Maric, lord of House Theirin, King of Ferelden, blood of the line of Calenhad, Protector of the Realm and Defender of the Faith"

Alistair took his place upon the throne as the collected nobles bowed and murmured words of fealty, some doing so more grudgingly than others, and then motioned for the herald to continue.

"It is the wish of his Majesty that in place of the traitor Rendon Howe, his loyal subject, Eamon, Lord of House Guerrin and Arl of Redcliffe, is hereby named Arl of Denerim, and that this title be held by his heirs and their heirs until the end of days"

Eamon bowed low, making a show of gratitude and praising Alistair for his generosity, even thought it was plain to all this decision had been made long ago. Still, Arthur couldn't fault it; Eamon was a competent and able politician and ruler who'd do well to repair the damage Howe's brutal and self-serving tenure as Arl had caused.

"It is also his Majesty's wish that in place of the traitor Rendon Howe, Fergus Cousland is hereby restored to the rightful terynir of Highever and that all accusations of treason on the part of his family are hence declared null and void. It is also his Majesty's wish that control of the Arling of Amaranthine be ceded to Teyrn Cousland as well, and that the remaining progeny of Rendon Howe be submitted to interrogation to ascertain their guilt in the massacre of House Cousland in the autumn of 9:30 of the Dragon Age"

"I cannot restore your loved ones to you, but I can give you a measure of justice for the wrong you have suffered" Alistair spoke as Fergus bowed before the throne to thank the king. "If there is any other boon you would ask of me, name it and it will be yours. Your family's loyal service to Ferelden in this dark time, in spite of your own troubles, will not be soon forgotten" Alistair insisted as Fergus inclined his head in thanks, before motioning for the herald to continue.

"His Majesty also decrees that in light of the treacheries of Houses Mac Tir and Howe, it is his wish that their members are hereby stripped of all titles and honours, all properties and wealth are forfeited to the Crown and all surviving members of these houses are to be banished from Ferelden on pain of death. It is also his Majesty's command that in light of their support to these wretched traitors, several noble houses are to be fined and stripped of lands and titles, to be divided amongst his loyal supporters. These houses are-"

"Your Majesty! I must speak with the King!" a voice from the far end of the hall yelled; all present whirled round to see the guards barring the passage of a man in riding clothes desperately trying to enter. "Let him through" Alistair commanded and the man raced to the front of the hall, kneeling before the throne as he related his message.

"I bring urgent news from Redcliffe; the arling is under attack! The village itself is under attack and the castle under siege; the castellan Arl Eamon left to hold it in his absence and the Grey Wardens' armies are holding the darkspawn at bay for the moment..."

Alistair raised a hand to silence the messenger and got to his feet, a hushed silence falling across the chamber as the new king made to give his command, all waiting with baited breath to hear what he would say.

"My lords and ladies, return to your lands and gather your forces and await my call to arms. It shall take all of Ferelden's strength to defeat this Blight...but we _will_ face it and we _will_ defeat it!"


	58. Chapter 56: The Price to Be Paid

_Ok, first things first; I know you've all been waiting patiently for this and I'm sorry to keep you waiting- it's just been one thing after another recently. Since coming back from holiday, I've been running around from place to place (Cork, Edinburgh, Nottingham, etc) and it's somewhat sapped me of time and inclination to write. Still, after a long needed break, here's the next installment of _

_As ever, thank you everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes: special thanks to **karthik9, Theodur, The Phoenix King, KnightofHolyLight **(don't worry, Arthur and Teagan will be rewarded in time, and I have a plan for Fergus in the coming final battle)**, MB18932, MysticGohan88, gamguy20100 **and **SuperGravyMan** for your great reviews, and to **BlackBoxInc, forrestedgar, UltimateDoctorN7, mjonar2, juraijin1, raven37713, jbots, black-cat-9288 a**nd** captprice **for adding this to favourites and/or following this story: believe me, it's been a great impetus to keep going!_

_Story Note: The 'Sign of the Sword' I mention in this chapter is, in this universe, the Thedosian equivalent of making the sign of the Cross, since I've always viewed the Chantry as analogous to the Roman Catholic Church._

_Author's Note: Thanks to the 'marvels' of technology, there's likely to be a delay in the publishing of the next chapter as my latop is currently being repaired. Hopefully it won't take too long (and hopefully everything on my hard drive hasn't been blown to kingdom come!). Still, considering what it is, I'll try and get it up soon, as well as make it **very** good!_

_'**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And above all else, as always, enjoy!_

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Arthur spurred his horse after the fleeing hurlock, the stallion easily catching up to the monster, Arthur riding just ahead of his target and slashing his sword back into the foe's face. The hurlock fell with a shriek, its skull split by a deep gouge through its face. Directly ahead of him, another hurlock was trying to beat in Edward's head with a mace, the mabari's jaws firmly clamped around the darkspawn's left knee, crushing armour and flesh. Before the hurlock could fatally injure his hound, Arthur drove his sword through the brute's back before his horse trampled the darkspawn underfoot.

Seeing the darkspawn fall, Arthur wheeled his horse, seeking another target only to find none in his immediate range. A few darkspawn lay about dead or dying, ridden down by fellow cavalrymen or their backs riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, but most of those that had been in the village had fled as the Fereldan fleet had sailed into Lake Calenhad and beached on the lake shore, depositing troops of the royal army to engage the enemy. The cavalry had been some of the first into battle, archers loosing volleys of missiles from the ship's rail, feathering the darkspawn's retreating backs as the cavalry harried the darkspawn, doing most of the butcher's work even before the rest of the army-fifteen thousand all told- could bloody their weapons.

The battle had been over long before they arrived; scout reports seemed to indicate that only eight thousand darkspawn had attacked Redcliffe, most of which had been killed during the first few attacks, including two genlock emissaries that looked to have been in command of the army. Only a few hundred had remained to loot and pillage Redcliffe and make a few pointless sallies against the castle that, without the weapons, equipments or resources to mount a siege, the defenders had easily repulsed, their numbers dwindling more and more quickly. What few remained had routed at the sight of the Fereldan navy's ships sailing across Lake Calenhad, fleeing south long before the first waves of royal infantry had disembarked and waded ashore.

'_They had to have known this attack was doomed to failure; the darkspawn are many things but they're not stupid, certainly not to waste eight thousand of their kind in a futile siege. Unless this was meant to draw our attention, to stop us seeing something they don't want us to...'_

His reverie was interrupted as a Redcliffe man-at-arms pulled a snorting roan mare to a halt next to him and bowed in the saddle.

"Warden Cousland, I was sent to tell you your presence is requested at the castle. Your comrade Riordan requests your presence; he has urgent news concerning the darkspawn he insists you need to hear"

'_Riordan? What's he doing here_?' The senior Warden had left Denerim in the evening after the Landsmeet, insisting that he was heading south to investigate reports that the darkspawn were beginning to move north, though Arthur still had a suspicion Riordan still harboured a shred, however small, of anger that his suggestion of making Loghain a Warden had been dismissed out of hand by his juniors in the Order, which had contributed to his swift departure from the capital. Still, if he was here, it had to be important...

"Thank you for the message. Inform his Majesty and Arl Eamon as well; no doubt they will wish to hear what he has to say as well" Arthur commanded as the rider spurred his horse in the direction of Arl Eamon and Alistair.

#################

Riordan turned around from the fireplace, having been staring so intently into the flames he didn't notice their arrival at first. His armour was spattered with red-black gore and the longsword sheathed on his back looked to have seen some battle recently, but the sound of footsteps made him turn around, and the weariness about him seemed to fade a little in relief at the sight of them.

"Ah, it's a relief to see you unharmed" he remarked with an inclination of the head to Arthur; if the senior Warden still felt any annoyance at them for so bluntly dismissing his suggestion of making Loghain a Warden he gave no sign of it, keeping his expression neutral.

"And you as well, my dear. And you, Alistair...or should I say Your Majesty?" he continued with a nod to Arabella before turning to Alistair, who returned the greeting with diplomatic precision. Arthur had to admit, his friend had taken up the mantle of kingship admirably, refusing to shy away from any aspect of the throne's rule required of him...

"More executions?" _Alistair had asked with a sigh as another load of papers had been deposited before him for the royal seal and signature. Arthur regretted that his friend's reign began with so much blood, but there was no other way; after the trouble they'd gone to end the civil war, there was no way they'd allow anyone to start another. The choice was simple, as Eamon had made it plain when those men and women were herded into the throne room; Swear loyalty to King Alistair in life, or swear loyalty to Loghain in death. Some, particularly of the nobility, had been lucky enough to get off heavily fined, stripped of some lands and banished from court, but most of those had been minor banns whose. Those higher in station, not to mention the few die-hards who hadn't forsaken Loghain until too late, were not so lucky. Men of power and influence, like Ceorlic, couldn't be allowed to rally support to undermine and threaten Alistair's fledgling rule. Arthur couldn't help but be amused at Ceorlic's poor judgement as he watched Alistair sign the Bann's death warrant. '_Like father, like son. Two civil wars in recent history and both made the fatal mistake of being on the wrong side!'

_Not all got the luxury of a chance to pledge their fealty; most of Howe's and Loghain's people who'd assisted the Tevinters with their business, or been party to other of the regent's crimes were put to the sword without mercy. The headsman's block and gallows at Fort Drakon had been extremely busy for the last few days, the battlements adorned with the heads of those whose crimes in Loghain's regime merited death; death well deserved in Arthur's opinion, even though the necessity of so many still rankled him._

"And what is to be done with this sorry lot?"_ Alistair enquired as he looked over the details; the papers concerned the surviving remnants of Rendon Howe's household guard, most of which had been complicit in the massacre at Highever. Only a handful had survived the blaze that had destroyed the Arl's Denerim estate, and Loghain had herded those men and women into the palace dungeon, wanting to keep them out of the way in case what they knew could be used against him. After the teyrn's death, that information had fallen into their hands, and Howe's people had been herded into another dungeon, this time deep in the bowels of Fort Drakon, to await their fate._

"Beheading? Hanging? I imagine your brother's had a few choice suggestions about what to do with them...?"_ Alistair remarked wryly, but the look on his face quickly soured when he received no answer. "_I imagine this silence is because you'd rather I don't know what you want done with these criminals, so that if something goes wrong, my hands are clean. Still, I imagine it didn't work out as planned like last time, given what _really_ happened to Anora?"_ Alistair asked archly, looking annoyed at the surprise on his friend's face_. "Oh, come on! Despite what you, Eamon, Wynne, Morrigan and everyone else clearly thinks, I'm not an idiot; even busy as I was that night, do you think I didn't notice you sneaking out? When Leliana mentioned you seemed edgy about something, I knew something was up. When Eamon, Teagan and Zevran left, and when _she_ turned up dead the next morning, it wasn't hard to put two and two together"

"I know why you did it, and I won't say that I didn't approve" _Alistair went on, raising a hand to silence any potential protest _"We all knew Anora was her father's daughter- leaving her alive would have all but guaranteed a civil war after the Blight was over; I only let her live because I wanted to keep the remnants of her supporters from causing trouble- but her death has caused all manner of problems, given that I now have every Tom, Dick and Harry at court accusing _me_ of the assassination. You may not want me to know these things, but you made me king and I intend to do it properly. As such, I need to know _everything_ that goes on, even those I'd rather not, since I don't have the option of doing so. If you insist on keeping secrets from me, Arthur, well...I'd rather not have our relationship go the way Cailan and Loghain's did but still..."

_Arthur remained silent for a good few moments, wondering how best to respond. He had thought Alistair would insist on taking a firmer hand on the reins of power unlike Cailan-considering what his half-brother's reliance on others to rule for him had led to- and yet, he had expected, given what had happened the last time they'd been where he had in mind, Alistair would not want anything to do with it. Still, it was too late to stop now; Alistair had insisted, and Arthur had no wish to let secrets between them fester until paranoia destroyed their friendship._

"Soldier's Peak. I'd have them imprisoned at Soldier's Peak" _came the reply. Alistair's annoyance evaporated into astonishment._

"Maker's breath, I thought you'd want those bastards to suffer but blimey! Giving them to Avernus...even I didn't expect that!"

"It's more than just revenge!" _Arthur asserted, trying to make Alistair see the validity of the plan. He'd been up half the night trying to think how best to argue his case; he didn't like the notion any more than Alistair, but it had its benefits._

"Alistair, we have thirty years at best to try and put Ferelden back in some kind of order. This nation has suffered two civil wars within the space of three decades, to say nothing of what is going to be needed to heal Ferelden after the Blight...assuming of course we survive. If Avernus can...buy us, buy _you_ a bit more time to win the people over, to repair the damage caused by all this war, to produce an heir, at the cost of a few criminals condemned to die..." _Arthur left the sentence hanging-he would not say it was the best thing, but if Avernus could acquire a means to undo or at least halt the taint's progress long enough for them to give Ferelden something of a future, well...more good would come of it then merely hanging the prisoners as traitors._

_The pause that followed was so long and awkward that for a time, Arthur feared Alistair wouldn't respond. But finally, the young King seized a quill, scrawled his signature and placed his seal at the base of the parchment , committing them to this course._

"I'll agree-we have much to do- but from now on, I need to know everything. Too many secrets at court are what got Cailan killed and I have no intention of following my dear brother into the grave just yet..."

##################

Arthur ceased brooding abruptly as he saw Riordan was speaking.

"The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number. We assumed the bulk of the horde was moving against us here...but that is untrue" the senior Warden grimaced, pausing as if for dramatic effect. Before Arthur could press him, however, another took up the tale.

"Riordan now tells us that the horde is marching on Denerim itself. The darkspawn are maybe two days from the capital" Eamon declared, stunning them all into silence. Arthur could only gawp at the masterful feint the darkspawn had pulled.

"What?" Alistair demanded. "Are we certain of this?"

"I ventured close enough to...'listen in', as it were" Riordan insisted. "I am certain" prompting worried glances as all present tried to think of a way to recover from being completely wrong footed by the monsters, to try and limit the countless lives likely to be lost when Denerim came under siege because they'd taken the darkspawn's bait and walked into the trap.

"Has word been sent to the city?" Alistair demanded, the strain and worry that his capital might be a sacked, smouldering ruin by the time they reached it plain to see on his face. _'His reign will not get off to a good start if all people remember of him is that the king was nowhere to be found when the capital was razed to the ground...' _Arthur knew.

"The city has been forewarned- we sent a messenger bird to the capital- but even with warning, the garrison we left behind is going to be enough against forty thousand darkspawn or more. Denerim will fall for certain without our armies, though there is no guarantee we will reach the city in time to save it" Eamon bemoaned.

"I appreciate the need to defend your capital city, but that cannot be _our_ concern" Riordan insisted, gesturing to himself, Arthur, Alistair and Arabella, ignoring the looks of surprise bordering on outrage from the Guerrin brothers. "There is one more piece of news that makes this coming battle of even greater importance to the Grey Wardens". The senior Warden seemed to pause for effect before delivering in a single sentence news that sent a chill bone-deep into every person present.

"The archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde"

"Maker preserve us!" Teagan cursed, making the Sign of the Sword, along with several men-at-arms and knights around the room, as he and his brother exchanged significant looks. All around the room, the group exchanged worried glances as they realised how much more dire the situation had become. Part of Arthur revelled at the chance to confront such a foe, but that part of him-the story-loving boy brought up on dreams of heroism, not completely crushed by the hardships of recent months - was subsumed by the other, that reminded him they had no idea how to confront and slay such an enemy, one far more intelligent than any other such foe, in command of an army of thousands all willing to die for him without a second's pause and devoted to the destruction of every living thing within Ferelden, the occupants of the room in which they stood being high in priority for destruction.

"But we can't reach Denerim within two days, can we?" Alistair finally spoke in a soft voice, voicing what they were all thinking, that any plan to save the capital now was going to be moot and that they would only arrive in time to defend Denerim's sacked and plundered corpse.

"We must begin a forced march to the capital at once, with everything we have!" Eamon asserted. "Denerim must be defended at all costs...though the deployment of the army is ultimately a decision for the king to make" Eamon conceded, clearly remembering that he was not in overall command of the Fereldan military.

"Then we march at once" Alistair commanded, ignoring Eamon's indiscretion for the moment. "I want to save as many as we can. In any case, we know where our enemy will be and we may never get a better chance to end the Blight"

"And how exactly are we supposed to slay the archdemon?" Arthur asked. "Killing a High Dragon was challenge enough and I imagine Urthemiel is going to be even harder to destroy...". Pausing for a moment, Arthur went on "I suppose if we can find a way to seperate him from the darkspawn so they can't protect him, and then...if we adopt some of the tactics Nevarran dragon hunters used to bring down their quarry, we might be able to slay him..." only to trail off when he realised Riordan was staring at him with a look of incredulity on his face. _'I'm missing something here'_

"You mean you _don't know_?" Riordan seemed astounded, before turning away, talking more to himself than the others. "Of course not, they were both new recruits, Duncan would never have expected them to...and if they didn't know, how could they tell her?" The three Wardens, and several others around the room, were directing suspicious looks at Riordan but Eamon interjected before anyone could mention it.

"I will have my captains begin making preparations; we'll notify you the _moment_ we are ready to march" Eamon swore. "I would suggest you all retire to the main hall; my cooks can prepare something of a repast for you to recover your strength, then I would advise that you all get some rest. We will have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I will speak to the captains, as should you, your Majesty, if we are to have any hope of having our forces ready to depart by daybreak..."

"Perhaps if you three would join me in my quarters before we partake of such fare" Riordan suggested, motioning to his fellow Wardens. "There is something important we need to discuss..."

####################

"Good, you're all here" Riordan said as they entered the small room he'd been allocated, a private chamber in one of the castle's towers. The elder Warden's face was a mask of sad regret. "Please, understand I thought you had already been told. Had I known otherwise, I would have told you this when you freed me in Denerim. I'm sorry"

The three of them exchanged worried glances at this ominous pronouncement. "What is it?" Alistair asked. "What are you apologising for?"

"Tell me, have you ever wondered _why_ Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?"

Arthur was caught completely offguard; of all the things he'd expected Riordan to say, that hadn't been it. Alistair rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to think of a reason.

"I always assumed it was to do with more than just our skill at arms and ability to sense them..." Alistair put forward but Riordan shook his head, a rueful smile crossing his mouth.

"If that were the case, any skilled warrior would suffice, and there would be no need for us and what we must do..."

"It has something to do with the taint, doesn't it?" Arabella interjected, idly rubbing the scar on her forearm when the shriek had bitten her. "The one thing that we and the darkspawn share"

"Precisely" Riordan nodded, his tone solemn. "An archdemon can be slain like any other darkspawn, but unless a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, it is not enough. The essence of the beast, its soul if you like, will pass through the taint, into the body of the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal"

Arthur knew his history and had done his research well enough to know Riordan was telling the truth. Centuries before, during the First Blight, by luck or heroism, Dumat had been slain many times- by a hero's blade, by a stray ballista bolt through the heart, by the most powerful spells the magisters could conjure-but each time he had risen anew to continue his rampage; proof, the frightened citizenry of the Imperium claimed, that the archdemon was what he seemed, an immortal god made flesh burning with vengeful bloodlust and driven only by the will to destroy. It was only when a Grey Warden's hand dealt the killing blow that Dumat fell, never to rise again. '_So what changed?'_

"But should a Grey Warden strike a fatal blow, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead"

"And what happens when a Grey Warden deals a final blow?" Arthur had to ask, though his sense of foreboding grew only stronger.

"Darkspawn are empty, soulless vessels; clay easily moulded and shaped to the dragon's will. But a mortal's soul is not so malleable. The taint will draw the monster's essence into the Warden's body, but two souls are never meant to inhabit one body. When it happens, the archdemon is destroyed...and so is the Grey Warden"

"Meaning" Alistair said with the grim finality of someone putting two and two together "the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon..._dies?"_

"Yes" Riordan answered plainly. "Without the archdemon to command them, the darkspawn flee and the Blight ends. It is the only way"

"Why doesn't everyone know this? Why weren't we told?" Alistair demanded, clearly astounded, even a little outraged that his brethren in the Order, that even _Duncan_ would withhold such a important piece of knowledge from him.

"It is kept a secret for the same reason the Joining is kept a secret. Who would become a Grey Warden if they knew the truth?" Riordan asked and Arthur had to admit that if Thedas as a whole know what was required of them, few would come forward. Outside of Ferelden, in places like Orlais and the Anderfels, the Grey Wardens were considered heroes for their parts in defending those lands from the ravages of previous Blights, enough that people from the rank and file to the nobility came forward to take the Joining _'None would come forward but the desperate and the mad, and if recent events have proven anything, that would not be enough. The darkspawn will always be below, building their numbers, waiting the one thing they need to drive them on to the surface and if the numbers of the Grey Wardens, of the people who know how they think, what they plan, dwindle as they were allowed to in Ferelden, our chances at defeating them would plummet. I can understand their reasons for holding back the truth- I told Leliana the same once-even if I don't care for them'_

"In any case, four hundred years have passed since the last Blight, long enough for some of the common folk across Thedas to think it would never happen again, and while the Grey Wardens have remained vigilant, there was no need to burden our recruits, on top of everything else, with the knowledge they might have to give their lives to save everything when there was little to no chance they would ever actually face an archdemon on the battlefield. Yet there must always be Grey Wardens. Without us, there is no hope"

"Is there no other way? Must a Grey Warden die to end the Blight?"

"As far as we can tell, the transfer of the archdemon's soul is instantaneous the second it dies. Unless one of us is present when the killing blow is struck, all our efforts will have been for nothing. There is _no other way_...for what it is worth, I _am_ sorry"

"Then I will take that final blow myself" Arthur asserted.

"Like hell, you are!" Alistair snapped. "I'm the King now, thanks to you, and it's my duty to give everything, even my life in defence of this realm-"

"Neither of you are expendable, I'm the only Warden you can afford to lose. I'm just a blood mage, not a king or the hero who's brought this nation together" Arabella insisted, a remark that shocked both Alistair and Arthur at how little she thought herself worth. But before the two men could argue otherwise, Riordan intervened with a raised hand.

"It warms my heart to see such courage" Riordan remarked, a genuine smile crossing his jaw, "But do not hurry so to sacrifice your lives. If at all possible, the final blow should be mine to take; I am the eldest of us and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, then the deed must fall to you. The Blight _must_ be stopped here and now, or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the Grey Wardens can stop it. But enough" the senior Warden insisted "there will be much to do and little enough time to do it..."

Arthur barely heard the senior Warden's parting words, or himself telling Alistair and Arabella that he'd join them in the castle's mess hall for an evening repast before turning in for the night; his mind was miles away, brooding on the coming battle. Death had always been a possibility on this long road-by a hurlock's blade, an arrow in the back, slain by an agent of Howe or Loghain, torn apart by wolves, laid low by disease or natural disaster. When he had started on this road, he would have welcomed it, the chance to be reunited with his family, and so long as he got his vengeance in the process, he would not have cared. But now so much had changed; now he had a purpose once more, a future, a reason to keep going. His need for vengeance was satisfied, he was part of the new beginning for Ferelden; he had a king to support, a brother to help rebuild his lands and his life, duties, both as a noble and a Warden, that would require his attention, and Leliana...though every battle had had the risk, how was he to tell her that this could be the last night they had?

Even so, if things went ill and Riordan failed to slay Urthemiel, it would have to be _him_ who struck the final blow; Alistair was too important to throw his life away, not after all they'd done to put him there and that still had to be done, and Arabella, while a competent and powerful mage, if Arthur was honest, he did not think she would be able to stop an entity of such fearsome power as an Old God. Yet...

The idea of one's soul being utterly destroyed, of it being as if he never existed, of never experiencing the afterlife, good or bad, no joyful reunion with his loved ones...that was frightening. He would rather die with his soul intact, not burned away to nothing as a sacrifice to carry the essence of a fallen god to oblivion.

'_Still, if it must be done, I will. Our family has always done its duty and if it is my duty to give my life, then I will do it...'_

Arthur's musings were interrupted, however, when he saw that the door to his quarters, the same room he'd been given the last time he'd stayed at Redcliffe Castle, was ajar. Remembering what one of the guards had said, that they were on high alert for assassins who might be out to harm himself, Alistair, Eamon or any of the others-either someone loyal to the old guard of Loghain and Anora, or more likely a shriek or some other creature left over from the attack sent to slay any threat to Urthemiel- and having no intention of being killed by a backstabber after all he'd been through, Arthur began to draw free the dagger at his belt when a voice from inside the room spoke.

"Do not be alarmed. It is only I" Morrigan called out to him.


	59. Chapter 57: Deal with the Devil

_Ok, first off, let me apologise for how long this has taken; it's been one disaster after another. First my laptop's hard drive committed suicide, losing everything on it, including the original draft for this chapter and then I've been running around like a blue-arsed fly either job hunting or trying to finish a pet project of mine, which has left me so little time or inclination to write. Rest assured I am going to keep at this!_

_As ever, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or subscribes to this; that, more than anything, has given me much of the impetus to get this chapter finished and this saga to keep going! Thanks to **Theodur, Eldagar, SuperGravyMan, MysticGohan88, gameguy20100, BlackBoxInce, MB18932 **and **KnightofHolyLight** for your great reviews, and to** cmdevil131 and crazyducke** for adding this to favourites_

_Not sure how good this is (but then I'm my hardest critic!) but I think I've managed to capture the drama and tension needed in making as monumental a decision as this one is meant to be, in addition to making a few implications as to how I'd like to see the whole thing play out in the future, as well as some ideas I had for continuing the story of Arthur Cousland towards DAII and DAIII (assuming I ever find the time to write them!) Hope you enjoy them!_

_As ever, '**Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**._

_And of course, above all else, enjoy!_

##################

Arthur slipped the dagger back into its scabbard at his belt and barged into the room, about to demand _why_ the witch was up here, skulking around in his chamber, but the words died in his throat as, despite the roaring fire blazing in the grate in his room, a chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the draughty castle. Morrigan might have become his friend with time, but there was something about the whole setup that made him very uneasy.

"I decided it was time we talked" Morrigan replied as she turned round and the chill that had gone down Arthur's spine came again as Morrigan turned around to look him in the eye. He remembered once when Alistair had joked that Morrigan looked a great deal like her mother, just to infuriate her, but looking into those pale gold eyes that reminded him now more than ever of a wolf's, Arthur felt a hunger, a longing for something from him radiating from the witch that put him in mind of the sensation of being prey he'd felt every time Flemeth had looked at him.

"I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole…" she went on but Arthur raised a hand to silence her.

"Spare me the riddles. I'm not in the mood for games, Morrigan" he snapped, his already bad mood regarding what would happen in the coming battle coming to the fore. Morrigan got the hint and dropped all pretence of secrecy.

"I know what happens when an archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrifice could easily be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur demanded, deciding to omit asking how it was Morrigan knew secrets of the Grey Wardens that, if what Riordan said was any indication, only the highest members of the Order knew outside of a Blight. He could only wonder if whoever had told her-and Arthur had a pretty good idea _who_- had gotten that information without killing its source. Somehow, he doubted it.

"A ritual, performed on the eve of battle in the dark of night. What I speak of is old magic, from a time eons before the Circle of Magi's creation. Some might call it blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than mere names"

"And from where did you get this ritual?" Arthur asked. The answer, however, came to him even before the last syllable escaped him.

Morrigan laughed, as if the answer was obvious, which in truth, it was. "From _Flemeth_, of course! I've known about it for some time"

"Along with the sacrifice expected of a Grey Warden, it seems" Arthur scowled. "I won't ask how it is you know that-I don't think there's anything about you or your mother left to surprise me. What I do want to know is why you didn't see fit to tell me before now"

Morrigan's expression became a bit more contrite, but her tone was unrepentant as she replied "Would you have believed me if I had been the one to tell you? I have my doubts". Arthur had to admit Morrigan did have a point. Thinking back to when he, she and Alistair had first set out, how their relationship had been one of convenience bordering close to hostility, if she had told them they would be expected to die to bring an end to the Blight, they'd probably have dismissed it out of hand as either a lie or some part of whatever scheme she was concocting. To a point, he still didn't quite believe what Riordan had just told him, so he couldn't fault Morrigan for not wanting to waste her breath telling them something they wouldn't believe in the first place.

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded. "Forgive me, Morrigan, but despite my best efforts to convince you otherwise, you don't do things simply out of the goodness of your heart. Nothing comes without a price, so if you're offering me this, you must want something in return"

"Perhaps. But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more."

Every instinct in Arthur told him no good could come of listening. And yet, if there were some way to keep as many of the people he'd come to respect and care for alive... '_I've made use of Arabella's blood magic, Zevran's skills, Wynne's...condition. I might as well hear her out. I can always say no after I hear what she has to say'._

"So what does this ritual entail?"

By way of an answer, Morrigan's hands went to the throat of her robe and threw it open. The witch disrobed in one smooth motion, the gold and blue robes of Tevinter fashion crumpling into a heap around her ankles; she lithely stepped out of the pile and loped towards him, as she had done when they first met. Beneath the robes, her small clothes were absent- she was naked as the day she'd been born, the light of the fire on her pale skin making her look like an alabaster sculpture come alive. Arthur forced himself to keep an eye on her face and _not_ on those full breasts, those firm buttocks, those shapely long legs...

Closing his eyes and picturing Leliana's face in his mind, Arthur tried to ignore Morrigan's attempts at seduction, though she did not make it easy, padding around him like a stalking cat, languidly lying across the bed, her face set in what was meant to be a sultry expression._ 'For the love of the Maker, please __**do not**__ let Leliana walk in here now' _Arthur desperately pleaded. He had no idea how he would explain this.

"What I propose is simple: lie with me. Here. Tonight. And from this joining, a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon, drawn to a host weaker than a Warden. At this early stage of its growth, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, but with no Grey Warden dying in the process"

"And what do you get out of this?" Arthur asked skeptically. "The chance to give birth to a darkspawn?"

"Hardly" Morrigan replied with a snort. "In return, I conceive a child born with the soul of an Old God; immortal essence in mortal flesh, a demi-god, if you will. After this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow…_ever_. The child is to be _mine_, to raise as I see fit".

A part of Arthur urged him against listening to any more of the witch's insane proposal, but yet another part seized upon her last sentence. '_The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process'_. He heard himself speak "How do you know this will even work?"

"This is what my mother intended when she sent me with you. She was the one who first gave me this ritual and told me of what I was meant to do."

Anger swirled within him now, momentarily banishing his fear and doubt. "So Alistair was right after all" he muttered darkly, thinking about that night around the camp fire when Alistair had suggested Flemeth had sent Morrigan off with them for some other purpose. Morrigan didn't seem abashed by the accusation.

"This does not surprise you, does it? Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why."

In retrospect, it shouldn't have surprised him- the old witch had never done _anything_ without a reason- and the realisation sickened him. He was well aware of how nearly everyone he'd encountered on his journey to have a secret agenda-Howe, Loghain, Eamon, Flemeth, his own father, even himself at the Landsmeet and other points on the long road to defeat the Blight- and it had come to sicken him that people could preach one thing and in secret aspire to the complete opposite. There were times when he missed the simple world view he'd had as a youth, when he could see the world in black and white, as good versus evil, when people didn't hide the blackness of their souls behind a mask of righteousness. '_At least the darkspawn have no hidden ambitions, no greater goal than wanton destruction'_.

"A few words, a couple of hand gestures, an incantation to give your seed the strength to overcome the taint and ensure you're capable of conceiving a child, but that is immaterial" Morrigan wittered on, oblivious to his distraction. "What _is_ important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work and it will save your life."

Morrigan reached up from the bed, pawing at him lustfully, trying to pull him down beside her, flinching as she laid a hand on his arm. He had always sensed the witch had harboured desire for him as a lover, though whether it was out of want for genuine affection or, more likely, out of a desire to spite Leliana, Arthur couldn't say. He had tried to picture himself with her and he couldn't; he'd made his choice. In an attempt to ward off his thoughts, he asked about the child.

"This child, what will it be?"

Triumph flared in her eyes as he asked the question and Arthur felt control of the situation slip from his grasp as he started to ponder such a child, _his _child. Alistair had told him he would likely never have a child of his own. In truth, even before he'd become a Warden, Arthur had long suspected that would be the case; for all the women he'd lain with in his misspent youth, not one had ever come forward claiming to have a bastard of his in her belly. Some people were born unable to conceive or sire- indeed that had been the driving force behind removing Anora for Cailan and many of his court- and Arthur was not surprised to know his seed had not quickened. Not that it had mattered- Fergus and those of his line would always have been heirs to Highever, whereas as a second son, he'd have been married off to the daughter of a lesser house and given some small castle within the teyrnir's borders, one that would be passed on to another loyal subject of the teyrn were he to die without heir, so Arthur having children to carry on the Cousland line had not been a necessity. Now, though...

"Will the child be evil? What will it become?" The tone in his voice as he chose a new topic sounded almost defeated, as though he were actually considering participating in this ritual. Morrigan hid any sign of hearing it well as she gave her answer.

"What I seek is the essence of the Old God that once was and not the dark forces that corrupted it. Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will."

These words actually made sense and Arthur considered them for a moment. He paused for a long time before posing her his next question, because her answer here would decide him. He would not even consider such a plan if another had to suffer in his place. He would not bring a child into the world simply for it to be used as a pawn in whatever game Morrigan was playing with Thedas.

"What do you intend to do with this child?"

"I do not wish to tell you…" Morrigan tried to protest but Arthur shook his head. "Not good enough".

"You're worried that somehow if you agree to this, it will come back to bite you in the arse, no?" Morrigan sighed. "I can assure you I have no designs other than to give an ancient power freedom and a chance to be reborn apart from the taint. I will raise the child apart from the rest of society and teach it to respect where it came from. Beyond that, you need know nothing else"

Arthur knew full well this was likely only half of the truth, if that much, but he chose not to press the subject, pressing on to one last thing that bothered him.

"If I agree to this… this is going to be my child, my son or daughter, my own flesh and blood, and with the taint in my veins, it may be the only one I ever father. Will I ever see it?"

Somehow, he knew the answer even before it left her mouth. Morrigan's expression was sympathetic, but resolute.

"No, you never will. This is all I ask in return for freeing you from the burden the Grey Wardens have placed upon you."

The silence that followed as Arthur pondered was chilling. The chance to live his life, to grow old, to save the lives of himself and his fellow Wardens, to spare himself or any of them from having their soul eviscerated and condemned to a lifetime of purgatory wandering the Fade so as to carry the essence of a fallen god to oblivion, in exchange for simply conceiving a bastard child with an apostate seemed too good to pass up. And yet, those lives would be bought at the cost of betraying everything he had tried to honour-his duty to Ferelden to give everything, even his life to defend his homeland, the role and purpose of a Grey Warden that he was meant to uphold, the promise he had made to Leliana that he was hers and only hers.

"I cannot go through with this."

"_Why_?" Morrigan demanded, before realisation struck her with a groan and a roll of the eyes. "Because of_** Leliana**_? What do you think she would choose if her beloved's life was in danger? Do you truly believe she would condemn you or any other Grey Warden to death when it could be avoided?"

Arthur's chest constricted as he thought of her, alone again, after only recently escaping Marjolaine's hold over her, finding forgiveness for her sins and peace, a chance for something now with him. He had given her his heart, he had told her it was hers forever. To abandon her once again so soon after she'd found someone she could trust to love again, to strip her of what he'd given her-absolution, safety, hope…

"Do you truly believe that she would condemn you or any other Grey Warden to death when it could be avoided?" Morrigan continued, her voice rising in a relentless wave. "Consider the possibility that Riordan may not be there to make the final blow as he plans. What then? Do you run away?"

"No! I told him I would take the blow, and I will." He had meant it when he had asserted his willingness to do his duty.

"Anyone can die on a battlefield, Arthur, laid low by a mischance of fate; you could be crushed in an ogre's claws, or killed by a hurlock's arrow in an ambush. What happens then? Will you force Arabella, so young and full of promise, to give up her life to bring an end to this? Do you think she could best the power of an Old God of the Imperium? Do you let Alistair, the future King of Ferelden, take the blow instead? And what if he does not make it to the archdemon either?" she demanded. His failure to answer quickly was enough answer.

"Stop, Morrigan. I am a Grey Warden, this is what I must do. If…"

If Riordan were to fail, if he were to fail, Alistair would be the only one left and if he were to die-by all means, not uncertain. Not only might they leave Ferelden without a King, a nation divided, but they might leave her to a worse fate, no end to the Blight, the land quarantined and its borders sealed until the darkspawn had killed or tainted every living thing within the country. There were only four Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, and even with the armies they had gathered. The fear returned then, not of his own death, but of what he would leave behind.

"Would you truly choose death rather than lay with me for one night? Would you deny yourself tomorrow and all its rewards?"

Arthur dropped his head into his hands. He'd never felt so torn and he wished he had more time to decide. Sense warred with sentiment as he tried to order his thoughts. He didn't want to die, he could be honest about that and find no fault with himself for admitting it. No one wanted to die. But to accept this offer, every fibre of his being screamed that it was wrong. And yet he would be doing it for all the right reasons: to save Alistair, to save Ferelden, to save Leliana, to save himself…

At that moment, in his mind's eye, he saw Leliana knelt beside a marble headstone freshly sculpted, wearing a dress of black silk, her beautiful face hidden behind a veil of lace the same colour–the garb of a widow. He heard her whisper that she would love him always, and then watched in horror as he saw her raise the silverite dagger he'd given her as a gift towards her throat…

That was the moment that decided him. He didn't know if the vision was prophetic or some trick of Morrigan's to manipulate him, but at that moment, he didn't care. Against the love he bore her, for the love he bore Alistair, for the love he bore everything and everyone he'd ever known in Ferelden, in that moment, his honour meant nothing.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he blinked them away, swallowing over the lump in his throat. Of all the decisions he had made over the course of this year, none had been quite like this. Even if it felt like the right decision, he still felt cowardly and deceitful as he finally whispered. "Maker forgive me…Alright, I'll do it."

"A wise decision."

He held up a hand. "Don't. Just...don't" he snapped icily, clutching his head as he circled the bed. "Let's just get this over with."

If Morrigan took offense, he didn't notice. He made towards the door, closing and locking it so as not to be interrupted, a guilty flush sweeping across his face as he did so, feeling so sordid. Now that he'd made the commitment the full reckoning of what he had to do hit him. He would never be able to tell _anyone_ what he'd done this night and the reason he had done it; Alistair, Riordan and the Grey Wardens likely wouldn't accept it, and even if he believed Leliana would understand, the fact it was Morrigan would be something she could _never _forgive.

Motioning for Arthur to remove his armour, Morrigan sat up on the bed, muttering an incantation in Arcanum and began making complex gestures with her hands, clearly weaving a spell. When Arthur had removed the Juggernaut plate, his gambeson, even his breeches and small clothes, he felt a hand move towards his groin and the chanting from Morrigan's lips increased. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the witch's expression as her hands ran up and down his length in time with her chanting. The incantation reached its crescendo as Arthur heard Morrigan cry out the spell's final syllables and press her lips to his member's tip.

"Now come to me, and I promise I will make this night something to remember" Morrigan whispered in his ear as she pulled him down on the bed atop her and rolled him over.

Arthur's back hit the bed first, Morrigan placing a hand on his chest to keep him there before moving to lock the room's door so they weren't disturbed. Despite himself, he was grateful Morrigan's magic had managed to provoke some arousal in his flesh; left to his own devices, Arthur doubted, he would likely have been limp and disinterested in his course. The light in the room dimmed as Morrigan blew out the candles and Arthur silently thanked her for the thought. Perhaps this would be easier in the dark. Perhaps he could imagine he lay with…

No, he would not do that to her. He would not sully his heart, his love with such thoughts. He would lay with Morrigan and only Morrigan this night, and take responsibility for it.

He felt her move towards him, the soft weight as she straddled his hips apparent, and a gasp as she sheathed him within herself; no preamble, no foreplay, straight to business. Not able to look at her, not wanting to see the undoubtedly triumphant expression on her face, Arthur turned his face away. The corners of his mouth drew down and he drew in a shaky breath.

It was not a loving exercise, it almost wasn't even sex; even the fumbled couplings and drunken groping he'd done in his youth with the tavern girls, maids and courtesans of Highever had had more affection than this. He desperately tried to keep his mind there, right there in that room, not daring to let it wander elsewhere to where he should be, where he wanted to be. The only mercy about the whole exercise was that it was over mercifully quickly.

The witch rocking back and forth on his hips with increasing speed suddenly arched her back, threw back her head and with what sounded like a cry of triumph in the Chasind dialect, the climax struck and Arthur spent himself within her. Pushing sweat-streaked hair out of her face, Morrigan eased herself off Arthur and laid beside him,

"Well, that was certainly a pleasant diversion. Judging by that…finish, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know this was a success-"

"Just _go_" Arthur snapped, rolling over so his back was to her. He didn't notice Morrigan gather her clothes, slip the robe back over herself and, with a flash of green light, slip out of the room in the form of a cat, leaving Arthur to brood over what he had done.

He had done what anyone would do; he had given of himself to save the lives of those he cared for, sacrificed of himself-one man- for the good of the many. Surely no one could do more…

'_No doubt Loghain told himself something similar at Ostagar' _a darker part of his conscience hissed. Arthur's certainty began to wilt as his surety about the rightness of what he'd done wavered. Had he done the right thing, or the worst? Saved the lives of so many, or just saved himself? Preserved the future of Ferelden, or given a morally ambiguous witch access to power few could even comprehend?

'_Andraste's blood, what have I done?'_

His mind's eye showed him another image; _a figure clad from head to foot in black plate armour, clawed gauntlets holding a mage's staff in one hand and a silverite longsword in the others, its blade crackling with magical flame, striding through the gates of a castle he did not recognise. The figure raised his hands to his helm, fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head, removing it from his head and Arthur felt his blood run cold as he recognised the face. The man had inherited his mother's hair, judging from the mane of jet-black locks that spilled around his face, and those cold, pale gold eyes like a wolf's were Morrigan's, but the shape of the face, the pale skin, strong chin and high cheekbones, the nose, the ears were instantly recognisable. They were his own. The thin mouth curled into a predatory smile, baring perfect white teeth, and a melodious voice spoke:_

"_At long last we meet. Hello, father"_

In his heart, he knew this night was only the beginning. Arthur had dealt with the devil, and one day he knew the devil would take his due.

'_Maker forgive me for this. I fear I will never forgive myself'_.

###################

Leliana slipped out of the castle's main hall, leaving the rest of their companions to the last knockings of their meal; Alistair was sat beside Eamon and Teagan at the top of the table, no doubt discussing the disposition of their forces and tactics for the coming battle. Oghren was still guzzling vast quantities of ale, mead and other potent liquors from the Arl's cellars- she didn't envy the dwarf the hangover he'd have in the morning when they marched- and Sten was sat in a corner, nursing a small bowl of stew, Edward at his feet gnawing a leg bone. The others had long since turned in- Wynne had been dead on her feet after the battle, Zevran and Arabella, judging by the looks they'd been exchanging after she and Alistair had returned from their meeting with Riordan, wanted to be alone and Morrigan was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the one she wanted, though when she'd asked the others, Alistair and Arabella had told him he'd gone back to his room to attend to something. No doubt he was waiting for her, spread out on the bed, no doubt eager to wash away the memories of the day's battle with the far more beautiful sight of her curves. '_Well, far be it from me to disappoint him'._

Piling a plate with what little food left in the hall that the servants hadn't cleared away- some slices of bread, some scraps of chicken and duck, a rasher or two of bacon, a sprig of grapes and several pomegranates- and purloining a bottle of Montsimmard rosé that Oghren had overlooked, she slipped out of the hall and headed in the direction of the stateroom they'd been given.

The reality was somewhat different. Sat outside the room was a black cat watching her with strange satisfaction, its tail twitching as it watched her draw near. Leliana shooed the beast away, disliking the manner in which it sauntered away as she reached for the door handle.

She slipped into the room to find not quite the sight she'd expected; Arthur stripped to his waist, dipping a linen cloth into a brass bowl of water and frenziedly scrubbing the muck and blood coating his torso and face off himself.

"Arthur, what's wrong?" she insisted, racing over to him and taking his hands in her own. It was only after a moment that she realised he was shaking, her touch seemingly making him tremble, and she removed his hands from the water before he knocked the bowl and its contents over the floor.

"Leliana…am I a good man?" he asked her in a plaintive voice, one almost pleading for reassurance. The question caught her off guard, but she answered it without pause.

"Of course you are. How could you not be?" she replied, bemused by the question. "You've done so much for the better of this nation; you've given two realms a new king and a hope for the future, you saved countless people from fates worth than death- the Ferelden Circle of Magi would no longer exist without your actions, and neither would I. You've done your utmost to do the right thing, to follow the honourable path, to do what is best for the many…"

"But other things I've done on this long, bloody road to get here haven't been good. For others, I am the blackest of villains; I've lied and cheated, threatened and murdered, misled and betrayed. So many lie dead or broken because of me. I've sins enough on my soul to match those I've fought against…"

Leliana silenced him with a kiss to the cheek as she led him towards the bed, guiding him to sit on its edge and taking her place beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and just holding his hand, being the source of comfort she could sense he needed. She didn't know why this was coming to the fore now-perhaps it had something to do with what Riordan had discussed with him- but she knew all too well that even the strongest and most iron-willed of people could not keep their emotions walled up within them forever.

"No one could do more than you have, Arthur. And no-one in this world is truly pure; not even Andraste herself. The Maker made us capable of both good or evil and it is what we choose to. As you once told me Arthur, you strive to be good and that is what's important. You've done so much, come so far. The people of this realm, our companions, they all believe in you. Your parents would be so proud of you. But you can't always be a good man. Sometimes people need more than that. Sometimes, you have to be willing to wield the dark in order to serve the light. Remember what you said before; the Grey Wardens do what must be done, and you have. No else could have done more than you have" she told him in a reassuring way, cupping his cheek and placing a chaste kiss upon it.

"I truly don't deserve you" Arthur sighed as he lay back, Leliana curling up beside him,his head against her chest, her chin resting against his forehead. It was times like this she remembered how young he was; twenty years old, four years her junior, a boy forced to become a man far too swiftly, made what he'd become by the tragedy of circumstance.

"I used to think the very same of you" Leliana replied with a wan smile. "I thought it all the time from the moment I realised I wanted you. I thought it when you risked your life to stop Marjolaine from hounding me. When we first made love in this bed, I still couldn't believe such a fine, noble man devoted to doing what was right would choose me- a sinner with so much blood on her hands- over someone better, but you showed me the worth I had; you gave me hope for a new beginning and a chance for a future, one you're trying to give back to Ferelden. You may have had to do dark things but deep down, you _are _a good man, Arthur. I know that without question"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat at that and the tears that had threatened to spill finally came, wept for all the hardship and sacrifice he'd had to endure so young. Leliana said nothing, she merely held him tightly and kissed away his tears, stroked his hair and attempted to soothe him with calm words and sweet nothings. She seemed to understand that he was letting out a year's worth of pain a year's worth of pain and she knew what it was like to hold all that grief, all that bitterness and she let him go until he was done.

She was still a bard and she knew enough tales to recognise one role a heroine always played in those stories; to give strength to their hero because all others demanded it from them, to allow them that moment of weakness they could never let anyone else see.

When Arthur had calmed enough, she pulled his lips to hers and guided his hands to her body, urging him on, that they might lose themselves in each other.

There was more than one way to comfort and give strength to him.

#################

Lying on the bed of the stateroom she'd been given, Morrigan idly ran a hand over the curve of her stomach. Her sense of triumph couldn't be diminished even by the noises coming from the elf and the blood mage in the next room, noises that defied description.

Things had gone exactly as planned. Even sullen and unwilling, Arthur had performed his part, and it had been an entertaining diversion; even as he had been, the Warden had been an impressive lover, considerable natural prowess bolstered by a darker side- she could not help but wonder what the experience would have been like if they'd truly been lovers. Not for the first time, Morrigan felt a stab of jealousy that the bard had sunk her claws into the Warden; she'd seen the way Arthur had looked at her when they first met, there had been want there for her. But then the bard wormed her way into his affections, charmed him with that sickeningly sweetness, being the constant shoulder for sympathy, the ear willing to listen, something a man who'd lost his family and everything he cared for wanted and that she'd never known how to do, the constant batting of the eyelids and flirting, all those other feminine fripperies Leliana had used to entice Arthur between her legs. Slipping out of Arthur's room in cat form and passing the bard in the corridor, it had been all she could do not to shift out of animal form and brag of what she'd done, purely to see the look on the bard's face, to get back at Leliana for that night when she'd taunted Morrigan over the fact she'd had him first. Morrigan had restrained herself out of respect for all Arthur had done for her-she'd leave him to deal with the bard- but alone with her thoughts, there was no need to restrain her vitriol.

'_You may have had him before me, but I had him first in this'_ Morrigan thought with spiteful triumph. '_I will be the mother of his firstborn child- something you will never do- one that will shape the world in a way you couldn't begin to imagine. I wonder what would happen when after your precious Chantry has crumbled into ruin, you were to find out the part your lover's bastard son will have in ensuring that it __**never **__rises again!'_

The thought brought her to muse on the whole reason this plot had come about, and the destiny that awaited her son upon his coming to manhood.

'_Change is coming to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fibre of their being. But sometimes change is what they need most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free'_

That was what Flemeth had envisioned when she had set Morrigan on this path; that the child beginning its growth within her would be the agent who would usher in a new order after the inevitable chaos that would soon rock the very foundations of the world, to bring stability and direction back to Thedas. Though no doubt when she'd conceived that plan, Flemeth had believed she'd be alive to see it.

'_Out of the ashes of this world, when the storm of magic and steel that is coming has done its work and torn Thedas apart, you, my son, will be there to bring stability and order to the chaos. No more will the world be ruled by old women and petty tyrants justifying their ambitions as the will of some silent, absent god, using obscure texts and prophecies few know or care exist to give weight to those claims. Instead, a new god will walk the earth, one who will not need to hide behind lies and half-truths to justify the power of ambitious fools'._

'_You will bring balance and order back to the world, and when it is done, nothing will stand before you, my son…Mordred…'_

Morrigan fell asleep, lost in visions of what was yet to come, so satisfied by her night's work she was unaware of one thing. In her haste to get out of Arthur's room, she'd forgotten to dispel the spell she'd used to ensure Arthur was capable of siring a child.

Thanks to her, _two_ children had been conceived that night. Two mothers, one father.


	60. Chapter 58: To Battle

_Right well first off, apologies for how long this has taken; I've just been so very busy! I should warn you all that updates to this will probably slow down in November as I'm trying to complete a personal project, among other things (namely a new-found addiction to Assassin's Creed III), but rest assured, one way or another, this will get done! There's still plenty of story to tell, both in regards to this and the sequels I have planned (just to wet your appetites, the idea I have involves Arthur's story through Awakening, what he's up to paralell to the events of Dragon Age II (my favourite Hawke will also likely make an appearance at some point, along with a host of characters both familiar and new) and my idea for the confrontation, as was hinted, between himself and his son by Morrigan, who is at the forefront of a new attempt by the Tevinter Imperium to take advantage of the chaos created by the Mage-Templar War to launch a new conquest of Thedas, helped by some unexpected allies...as I'd kinda like to hope DAIII will be like. God only knows when or even if I'll find the time to write it-got some ideas, but little else-, but that's the plan, so keep watching this space!)_

_As ever, thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this sotry; believe me, that's been the only thing giving me the impetus to keep going, the knowledge you're all waiting for the next chapter! Special thanks as ever to **Thedour, KnightofHolyLight, The Phoenix King, MB18932, Black Box Inc, SuperGravyMan** and **MysticGohan88** for your reviews, and to **mjsweet** and **black-cat-9288**for adding this to favourites. Also a shoutout to **LordGodsServant** for favouriting **Releasing Control.**_

_Not sure how good this is, but I could sit on this forever, so time to turn it loose._

_As ever, 'Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'._

_And of course, above all else, enjoy!_

* * *

That night in the castle, others were also trying to forget their trepidation about the coming battle. As Morrigan savoured her victory and Leliana tried to give comfort to her lover, Alistair stayed up with Eamon planning strategy for the coming battle in the hope they could save his kingdom from ruin a second time, Oghren drowned his fears in the fine vintages held within the Arl's wine cellars, Sten meditated quietly under a tree in a corner of the castle courtyard, intoning passages of the Qun in a low voice while others partook of other pleasures to forget their fears.

"Ah, my dear, you and your friends have almost made me a good man" the elf joked as the young woman eased herself off his hips. "Who'd have thought that when I first set foot in this nation, I'd find myself in the company of a loyal band of heroes giving me the chance to be part of something greater than myself, and to redeem myself for my past follies in the process"

_'Redemption'_. Yes, that had been the key motivation driving them both on this journey. Looking back at her past misdeeds, Arabella Amell found it unsurprising that she and the elf had connected; tired of the things they'd done, wanting to be rid of the blood on their hands. She remembered one night sat by the camp fire, around the same time they'd become lovers, telling each other stories of their pasts and Zevran had told her about his regret for the things he had done in his time as a Crow, particularly the murder of the last woman who had claimed to love him and how, when he had taken the contract to assassinate Arthur and Alistair, he'd had no intention of suceeding in his task.

"What I truly wished was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the famed Grey Wardens?"

On hearing that, Arabella had been stunned; the elf had never shown any indication of being suicidal, his blasé attitude towards death and his easy-going nature giving no sign of a longing for an end to it all. After hearing that, it had only been a few nights later when she'd asked Zevran if he still wanted to die, uncertain what his answer would be.

"No, what I wish now is to begin again" Zevran replied with a smile, running a long fingered hand through her red hair, pausing as his fingers brushed the simple gold earring dangling in her right ear, a simple gift he'd given her. "What I want now is begin again. And now, thanks to you and to these others, I think I have"

_'Just what I wanted when I crossed Arthur's path'_ Arabella thought to herself, thinking back to the frightened, desperate girl she'd been, sobbing and cringing, begging for life at his feet, certain she was going to die...only to be shown mercy, both in being spared Arthur's sword and the vengeance of the templars, and given the chance to do something meaningful, to dethrone a tyrant driven mad by obsession and ambition, and to defeat a race of monsters bent only on the destruction of all life, ruled over by a decadent, insane god made manifest. _'And maybe in the process prove that mages are good for something besides just mixing potions, burning down villages and being turned in walking bits of furniture_!'

Arthur and Alistair had always taken offence when she called herself the least important among them, that led her to be so willing to put herself at risk, thinking it was a sign of how little self-esteem she had as a result of her upbringing in the Circle. It wasn't quite that though; it was more the result of an event in her past, when Uldred had lost control of the situation while trying . His Libertarian acolytes and other mages of the fraternities allied to his cause, herself among them, had resorted to trying to fight their way clear of the meeting room, only to be met with resistance as Irving and the others fought back...and then the Veil had split apart and the chaos had truly started. Demons of all forms poured into the chamber through the Veil tear, forcibly possessing Uldred and anyone closest to them, or else laying about them with magic or claws at anyone within range. A rage demon had thrown itself at her, slashing her arm with fiery talons, moving in for the kill; she might have died there if not for the intervention of another mage by the name of Rupert, one of the Libertarians who'd sprung her from the cell the templars had thrown her in after the debacle with Jowan, a man who, like her based on the look in his eyes, realised they were all in over their heads.

"Even a man who has nothing to give, can still give his life. Better an honorable death than a shameful life" Rupert had remarked, just before he'd pushed her out of the way and put himself in the path of the rage demon that had been bearing down on her, motioning for her to run, to make something of herself better than this. That was why she was willing to risk her life for Arthur and Alistair, why she was prepared to sacrifice herself if the cause demanded it, out of belief that a worthy end could make up for a life of folly. And it was that would make her ensure that, if Riordan failed, she would be in position to deal the deathblow to the archdemon, no matter the cost.

_'I wanted a second chance, but I had no idea how to do it. Then the Wardens found me_. _They took me in, gave me the opportunity and the power to make amends for what I've done, for my sins, and now that the moment's come, I will. I've done so many things wrong- Jowan, Uldred, the uprising- but if it is fated in the coming battle, I will do at least one last thing right'_

##############

Arthur stood by the rail of one of the ships of the royal fleet that had brought the army to Redcliffe, watching as the last few soldiers embarked for the voyage back to Denerim, some lingering to say goodbye to friends and family, wives and children, wondering how many would ever see their loved ones again. Sailing up Lake Calenhad would take days off the time that would be lost marching to the capital, though he still feared it would be too late to save the city.

He watched as the last few men-at-arms and knights of Redcliffe boarded the ships, ropes tying the vessels to their berths at the shore were undone and the crew made preperations to cast off. As the ships pulled away to make sail, Eamon joined Arthur by the rail, placing what was meant to be a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"We have gathered all the forces we can. The darkspawn horde is sure to reach the capital before us, and so we must race to Denerim, as quickly as we can. The lives of many thousands hang in the balance; we must _not_ forsake them. You have gathered an army to replace the one lost at Ostagar, Grey Warden. Let us pray...that it will be enough"

'_That I will'_ Arthur thought bleakly to himself '_as I hope everything else I've done on this long and bloody road to get here proves to be enough to save us all'._

Looking at the ship's prow, he saw Morrigan, stood there like a figurehead, staring into the distance in the direction of Denerim, no doubt thinking of the power that would soon be in her possession in the wake of victory, the look of avaricious anticipation in her eyes all too reminiscent of his dream, reminding him of the young sorcerer in dragon-adorned armour, leading that dark army against him, father and son about to come to battle...

_'And pray what the choices I've made don't come to unleash even worse upon us'_

##################

Bann Teagan watched as the royal ships that would transport the army to the coming battle began to recede into the horizon, strong winds carrying them north to the point where Lake Calenhad flowed into the River Drakon and from there down to the coast and there to Denerim. It irked Teagan to stay behind-he was a decent swordsman- particularly when the fate of his homeland was at stake, but duty was something that had been drilled into him for a young age, both to his brother and to his liege lord. And it wasn't as if there weren't important tasks to be done here; the village and castle would need to begin rebuilding in the wake of the attacks, there were still pockets of darkspawn, bandits and brigands and former soldiers of Loghain's gone rogue preying on the smallfolk across the land that needed to be wiped out, and if all went wrong at Denerim, the village could easily come under attack once more. They would have to be ready for the chance.

Turning his attention away from the flotilla sailing steadily north, Teagan began to traipse back to the castle, no doubt there would be petitions. He spoke to a few of the smallfolk, asking after that pretty maid Kaitlyn he'd seen at the Chantry, promising to drink with some of the villagers and men at arms he'd fought alongside and gotten to know quite well during the undead attacks on the village. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn't even see the figure crossing his path until he walked into them.

"Sorry, milord. Forgive old Asha Bella; she can barely see where she's going these days…"

Teagan looked down; the woman he'd bumped into was old, hunched over and leaning on a wooden staff, most of her face and body hidden beneath a heavily worn and frayed travelling cloak of brown wool. Teagan didn't recognise the woman, familiar as he was with most of Redcliffe's people; he could only assume the old woman was some southern refugee who'd fled north when the Blight had encroached on wherever she had come from. Indeed, her manner of dress and some of the talismans and fetishes stitched to her robes or dangling from lengths of chain wrapped around the staff she carried looked Chasind in design; a Wilder refugee, Teagan assumed, though she spoke the Fereldan language quite well, suspiciously without trace of accent.

"An impressive sight, wasn't it, milord? All those brave, noble soldiers marching to battle against the evil that even now encroaches on Ferelden…" the old woman wittered on. Teagan barely paid the old Chasind much attention until he heard her next pronouncement as he made to head back to the castle.

"Such a shame…"

"What's a shame?" Teagan asked suspiciously, hand going to the hilt of his sword.

"That none of them will ever come home. Your noble brother, his brave young king, those Grey Wardens and all those valiant soldiers they've gathered are riding to war…but not to victory" the woman replied, looking up to stare Teagan in the face, and Teagan felt a chill go through him that had nothing to do with the crisp spring wind.

"What are you talking about?" the Bann demanded, wanting more than anything to draw his blade free and hack off the old wretch's head, but feared that to do so would doom all those he'd just seen leave.

"Listen and heed me well, Teagan son of Rendorn for many are the lives that hinge upon you now. Your brother and the Wardens are walking into a trap. Urthemiel is no fool; even now, he holds back a third of his army. These darkspawn lie in wait in the Bannorn, waiting only for their master's call…which I imagine will come after your brother and his king's army are deep within the walls of Denerim. Once they are committed to battle, no doubt Urthemiel will give the call, and those forces lying in ambush will hit the Warden's army from behind. Caught between the darkspawn both inside and out of the city, I doubt any caught in this trap will survive"

"Maker's breath!" Teagan cursed; he had no idea how the old wretch could know such things, but_ if_ she was telling the truth, then his brother, Alistair, Arthur and all the others who'd departed were walking into what would be an even greater slaughter than Ostagar. "Eamon has to be warned at once, before it's too late-" Teagan blurted, about to break into a sprint for the castle when the old woman placed a claw-like hand on his chest to stop him.

"Listen to me well and a great victory will be within your grasp. If your brother is warned, he will act on that knowledge and the battle that follows will unfold in a manner even I cannot see; it will be chaos-you may achieve victory, or you may witness the annihilation of all Ferelden born from it. If you do not send word, then Urthemiel will think all is going according to his plan. He will proceed with his trap…giving you the chance to spring your own upon him"

"How?" Teagan demanded. "Every soldier the Grey Wardens gathered on their journeys is gone and I can hardly take the garrison I have here into battle with a third of the horde and expect to emerge victorious…!"

"There are other armies in this nation beside those that have gone west" the old woman replied with an enigmatic smile before she spoke in a rush. "Go to the City of Laurels, where the griffon's brother waits with the bull's head, the one who would be queen and fifteen thousand swords. Use them as the hammer to break the dragon's back. Now go"

"But how…?" Teagan began to ask, only to fall silent as he realised he was talking to thin air, the old woman having disappeared when he'd turned away. 'Magic' he cursed inwardly. '_That old wretch had to have been an apostate. How else to explain what she knew, the things she said?'_

The significance of the witch's identity paled as he tried to make sense of her cryptic words. '_The City of Laurels…that has to be Highever-the crest of House Cousland is a laurel wreath, which would suggest the 'griffon's brother' has to be Fergus Cousland. The girl who would be queen…well that has to be Alfstanna, I saw the way she was looking at that lad in Denerim, and the bull's head would be the emblem of House Bryland. And when Fergus Cousland retook his terynir from the Howes, it was at the head of an army…_

"Ser Perth!" Teagan called out as he raced in through the castle moments later, fully grasping now what it was he needed to do.

"My lord?" the knight asked, confused by the purpose in Teagan's stride, the iron in his voice.

"Saddle my horse and pick ten of your men; the best and fastest riders you have. We have to be on the move within the hour! Don't just stand there, man; **_MOVE_**!" the Bann roared as the knight stood there, staring blankly as if Teagan had started babbling gibberish in Orlesian.

"And tell the seneschal to send a bird to Highever" Teagan added as an afterthought "Tell Fergus Cousland the king orders him and all the other nobles present to assemble and have their men ready. Tell him they must be ready to march by the time I arrive at Highever"

"Anything else?" Ser Perth asked, now looking deeply concerned, as if worried his lord had lost his mind.

_'Yes'_ the Bann thought as he raced for the stables, shouting at the grooms to saddle his horse. _'Pray to the Maker it's not too late to save Ferelden!'_

#####################

It had taken them three and a half days to reach Denerim from Redcliffe by river, instead of the near week it would have taken them on foot. Even so, Arthur feared that it was still too long a delay, that they were going to find nothing but a carcass of the capital city, the darkspawn having picked it clean and moved on. Even the sky seemed to support that thought, twisted by the very presence of the darkspawn, as if the taint had infected the very air itself, the sun hidden behind thick banks of cloud turned the dark reddish black colour of an infected wound. Arthur knew what would happen if they failed to defeat the archdemon and its legions here; the horde would either turn south and melt back into the Bannorn or the Brecilian Forest, making them impossible to eradicate in one go and perhaps prolonging the Blight for months or even years to come, or move north along the coastline, where the northern cities such as Amaranthine and Highever would fall prey to their savagery. Arthur would sooner raze Highever to the ground himself than let another monster take it so soon after liberating it.

They'd disembarked at the fork where a minor tributary flowed into the Drakon, about five miles outside the city. It would be a good place to allow the men to recover their strength for a time before pressing on to battle. Even more of a reason, a small gathering of tents had been sighted, which scouts reported looked to be occupied by men who appeared to have fled Denerim; thye might know the disposition of the darkspawn forces and how the defences of the city were holding against the horde's onslaught.

Watching as the army disembarked, Arthur admired the interaction between the soldiers; dwarven warriors and elven hunters exchanging tales of their battles with darkspawn, trading advice on how to kill hurlocks or bring down a charging ogre, or mages walking down the lines of soldiers, enchanting weapons with magical flame, frost or lightning, the soldiers looking awed rather than fearful at the displays of magic, showing none of the usual discomfort most of the common folk exhibited in the presence of mages...

_'It's sad that it's taken a horde of darkspawn to bring us together and make us forget our differences. Human, elf, dwarf, mage or mortal; it is saddening that we can only achieve things together when threatened by disaster. One day, those differences will have to be set aside, or they will tear us apart, perhaps irreperably'._

Such thoughts were driven from his mind as he entered a hastily erected tent for the purpose of a council of war Alistair had called not long after coming ashore. The young king was present, along with Arl Eamon, a number of minor banns and arls who had marched with their forces and captains and sergeants of the various regiments of infantry and cavalry, waiting to hear what part their men were to play in the coming battle. The leader of the men who'd been camped by the river, a sensible, reliable man by the name of Kylon, whom Arthur remembered Alistair had promoted to Captain of the City, who was talking at the head of the table, pointing to a map of Denerim and laying out the situation to Alistair and Eamon.

"The darkspawn appeared as the sun was going down two days ago, from the south- they must have been hiding in the Brecilian Forest. We did our best to hold them off but it wasn't enough; that _monster_ just descended from the sky and landed on the main gate, ripped it open with flame and claw before tearing holes elsewhere in the city walls, and the 'spawn just swarmed through the breaches like ants. There were too many for us to even think about stopping them- we did what we could, but it wasn't enough" the captain bemoaned. "When I realised the city was lost I rallied as many of my men as I could and we fought our way out through one of the eastern postern gates, hoping to meet up with anyone who might be coming up the road and warn them what they might be up against. Live to fight another day and all that?" Captain Kylon opined, looking ashamed of having abandoned the city he was sworn to defend, even if victory had been impossible. Some of his men looked more worried that they were going to be punished for abandoning their posts, but Alistair seemed not to give the matter a thought.

"I'm sure you and your men fought to the best of your ability" Alistair assured Kylon, before turning his attention back to the map. "What are the darkspawn doing now?"

"Solidifying their hold on the city, but they're taking their time about it; most of the horde's simply been rampaging through the lower parts of the city-the Market District and such- looting, burning, pillaging and putting to the sword anyone they can find. There's still rumours of resistance in the Palace District and other parts of Denerim, but the darkspawn aren't making that much of an effort to press further into the city; it's almost like they're waiting for something"

'_For us'_ Arthur knew instinctively. '_Urthemiel knew we'd come sooner or later; he's been waiting for us to arrive' _he mused as Alistair continued to talk with the captain.

"You talked about resistance. What sort of force are we talking about? Can we count on their support inside the city?"

"Not sure, your Majesty. Last I heard, the few nobles left in the city had combined their household guards with the remnants of the city watch still trapped inside Denerim; word was they were managing to delay the darkspawn's advance into the Palace District, but that was nearly two days ago-by now, the 'spawn could've wiped them out for all I know. One place I know for certain there's resistance is here" Kylon added as he pointed to a point on the map; an island in the middle of the River Drakon close to the Market District-the Alienage.

"As soon as the horde was sighted, the elves destroyed the bridges into the Alienage after stockpiling as much food and weapons as they could- won't send help, won't allow anyone across to take refuge. Anything, 'spawn or otherwise, that tries to get onto the island ends up floating face down in the river, riddled with arrows. After all that's been done to them, I can't say I blame them" Kylon said with a grimace; several dozen members of the city guard, including his predecessor as captain, had been hanged for their complicity in helping the Tevinters by covering up what was going on and ignoring the complaints of the elves on Loghain's orders.

"Indeed, well we'll see if we can convince them otherwise" Alistair replied dismissively. "Regardless, our priority is not the darkspawn; it's the archdemon. We destroy that monster and this is over; the darkspawn will break and run without it to control them. We're going to have to find a way to draw the archdemon to us and away from the darkspawn, so they can't protect it when we move in for the kill"

"And how do you propose we do that, your Majesty?" a knight from Dragon's Peak enquired.

Riordan answered before any of the others could. "We're going to have to reach a high point in the city and try to either lure or bring it down". Eamon and the others present quickly scanned the map, but Arthur realised what Riordan had in mind even before the Orlesian answered.

"The top of Fort Drakon might work. That is the highest point in the city, is it not?". Without waiting for an answer, Riordan went on "Dragons are drawn to high points, such as mountains, where it gives them a better vantage to hunt from. The tower is an ideal place for the archdemon to roost; such a place would give it a view of the entire city, a perfect place for which to look for prey. If we can find a way to keep it trapped there, a small force can hold the fortress against the darkspawn when their master calls them to its aid while the Wardens move in to make the kill. It would be best to spread ourselves across the city, prevent the 'spawn from wiping us out in one go" Riordan suggested to his fellow Wardens. "I will go in first, by myself- a single warrior can traverse the city more easily than a group of soldiers. If I manage to kill Urthemiel, then you will know it. If not...well, either way, the taint will let you know" the elder Warden finished simply.

"Then we have our plan" Alistair replied, before looking at every commander there with a steely look in his eye. "Sound the assembly. The sooner we get this underway, the more of Denerim there'll be to save"

################

There'd been a brief display of consternation when Alistair had insisted on leading the attack.

"Cailan wanted to fight at the front too" Eamon had protested "and look what that got him-!"

"Yes, but this time, I won't have to worry about my trusted general betraying me…will I?" Alistair asked with a grin at Arthur, before becoming serious once more. "In any case, if we lose this battle today, we all die, no matter where we're standing. And the men and women of Ferelden will fight more fiercely seeing their king battling beside them, sharing their peril instead of cowering in his tent at the back of the line". Eamon, unable to find a response, had led the matter drop, but Arthur had seen what looked like consternation on the arl's face, as if caught offguard by Alistair's retience to his suggestions. Arthur both felt impressed and wary at the sight; while relieved that his friend wouldn't allow himself to be anyone's puppet, he knew that bad feeling couldn't be allowed to fester between the two men, the king and his most prominent advisor. Ostagar had been the result the last time that happened.

Alistair spurred the white stallion he'd ridden to Denerim for the Landsmeet and seemed now to have claimed as his own steed to the front of the line. A hush fell across the line, weapons hanging at the sides of the men and women gathered as they waited for the command that would send them to either victory or death. Eamon had advised Alistair to say a few words before ordering the attack, just something to give those assembled a little more hope about their chances and inspire them. The arl had provided some notions for it on scraps of parchment, but the moment they were out of sight, Alistair had crumpled them into a ball and tossed them in the river, a decision Arthur heartily agreed with. In a situation like this, it would sound better coming from the heart, words that sounded like he believed them.

"Hear me now, sons and daughters of Ferelden. Hear me, children of the Dales and Orzammar, whom have come in our hour of need and whose aid we accept gladly and gratefully. Before us stands the might of the darkspawn. Gaze upon them now, but fear them not! Four times before, our races have come together and beaten these monsters back into the dank holes they crawled out of, and so we shall again!"

At that point, Alistair motioned for Arthur to join him at the front of the line, and a ragged cheer went up from the assembled army, from humans, elves and dwarves alike, at the young man who had saved them and given their peoples hope for a future...one blocked only by the horde of monsters set before them.

"Beside me is Arthur Cousland, a native son of Ferelden, and a hero in every sense of the word! He has survived despite the odds fate has thrown at him, and without him, none of us would be standing here today!"

The applause and cheers for Arthur as he took his place by Alistair's side were defeaning, all hailing the young man who had brought an end to the catastrophes fate had heaped upon them- the plagues, the civil wars, the tyrants and madmen who cared nothing for how many lives they ruined so long as their own ambitions were satisfied- and who they now believed would carry them once more to triumph against the enemy of all life this time.

"Remember, our goal here is to destroy the archdemon! Our plan is to hold the darkspawn at bay long enough for the Grey Wardens to destroy the fiend that controls them! Keep to that and victory will be ours!" And if you find yourself alone, in a bright sun-lit field with an old man and a fair woman stood by you, do not fear…for you are at the Maker's side, and you're already dead!" Arthur called out, earning a raucous burst of laughter from the soldiers gathered, alleviating their fear of their chances of victory, their fear of the enemy who lay in wait barely metres away, and buoying them up in the belief that they could have a chance at winning glory and renown.

"Brothers and sisters, be you human, elf or dwarf, what we will do here today will be remembered until the end of days! Adn what we will do here today is simple!" Alistair declared as he drew Maric's sword and brandished it to the heavens. Today, we save Denerim! Today we avenge the death of my brother, our late King Cailan! But most of all, we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honour their sacrifices! For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!" Alistair cried out as he lowered his sword arm and kicked his horse to the gallop.

With a collective roar, the army broke into a run after their king, charging across the open field towards the city. The screams of a hateful, crazed dragon-god came in answer, a screeching promise of agony and death to those who dared come to take its prize.

The Battle of Denerim had begun.


	61. Chapter 59: Parting Ways

_Ok, first off, let me apologise for just how long this has taken; November has really gotten away from me timewise- I've spent most of this month either running from one place to another or trying to finish one thing or another, all of which has left me little time or inclination to write. Hopefully, this makes up for the long absence; a bit of a short one, just the opening moves of the final battle and the last farewells of the companions, but I hope it wets your appetites for the battle to come!_

_As ever, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews or subscribes; it's about all that keeps me going with this at times. Special thanks to **Theodur, KnightofHolyLight, BlackBoxInc, MysticGohan88** and **SuperGravyMa**n for your reviews, and to **dominicgrim, whtkid, coldfreeza, AllisterH** and **Legionary Prime** for adding this to favourites; it's deeply heartening to know people are still reading this and waiting for the next installment!_

_This may slow down again a bit as December continues (I'm pursuing a personal project) but have no fear, this will be done soon and we'll be able to move onto the next part of Arthur Cousland's saga. Take heart, we're near the end; about 4-5 chapters should cover the Battle of Denerim and then 3-5 more just to tie up the epilogue and set the scene for the sequel stories I've got planned. Hopefully, you'll see more of Arthur's story **before** the release of Dragon Age III!_

_Not sure when there'll be more but there **will** be more, I promise you!_

_As ever, enjoy!_

* * *

The hurlock general cast a dismissive eye over the meagre number of captives taken from the lower reaches of the city. Even now, the rest of the horde was pressing deeper into the mortal capital, mopping up the last remnants of resistance throughout the city, particularly the upper districts where more promising plunder and captives seemed to be. Thus far, in the lower reaches, all they'd found had been the old, the sick and the young, unable to escape them in time; such served no purpose other than to be slain for meat or for sport. A few fertile women had been found and taken; they would serve a purpose for birthing, producing more of the Master's dark children to replenish those lost in the conquest. They had already fed the females and dragged them away, back into the passages below the earth, there to be held until the transformation was complete and the new broodmothers could start birthing hurlocks, fresh troops for the horde when they moved on to their next target. There were several weakly defended cities along the coast that promised easy pickings, but the Master had insisted on lingering here, in the carcass of a city all but picked clean, almost as if waiting for something.

The pack of hurlock and genlock warriors the general commanded at present to guard the destroyed southern gate were distracting themselves with a few new captives found hiding in the basement of a house in the market- a man, a woman and five children. The children, three male, two female, were of no use, too young to turn, but the adult female human was clearly fertile to have produced five children, certainly suitable to be a broodmother. The hurlock general was watching two of its ilk take their turns feeding the woman, ignoring the frightened shrieks of the wretch's children and her mate, trying to throw off the hurlocks, screaming the meaningless words "Goldanna, no!" regardless of how many times the darkspawn tried to beat him into silence, when it heard the distant rumble. Initially thinking it merely thunder from the storm clouds that seemed to follow the Master's presence, blotting out the sunlight, the noise began to grow louder, as if coming closer, approaching from their west. The general looked to see an charging host of mortals, little more than a mile away and getting closer, the rumble now evidently the noise of thousands of armoured feet charging at full pelt towards them. Initially confused as to how the enemy had gotten so close without warning from the shrieking scouts, it dismissed it as the more immediate concern of alerting its underlings and superiors to the oncoming danger.

_'Master, they come!_' the darkspawn cried out telepathically. Almost immediately, it felt the powerful presence of the Master, sat miles away, perched at the summit of the great tower overlooking the city, surge into its mind, looking out through its eyes, observing the oncoming wave of armed foes, taking into account the size and strength of the oncoming army, the deployment of certain troops, the positions of particular commanders in the ranks, before the Master abruptly withdrew from the hurlock's mind, reiterating its commands as its presence in the general's skull departed.

_'You know what must be done. Engage the enemy for a few moments, then pull back. Draw the enemy deeper into the city-you must make the illusion of retreat convincing enough that they remain focused on it, too concerned with the drawn sword to see the dagger about to plunge into their back. Alert me when they have reached the noble districts, though ensure none of the Slayers make it that far alive. **Do not** fail me in this, am I understood?'_

_'We obey the will of Urthemiel!'_

With a hiss, the hurlock general nodded to a number of its kin prowling about the open plain in front of the city to form into battle lines, just to give the illusion of trying to put up a fight. Blades were drawn and strangled screams and futile pleas for mercy were heard as the darkspawn put any remaining captives to the sword, both to strike fear into the oncoming foe and wet their appetites for slaughter and carnage. The general's battle axe swung out and five little, headless bodies collapsed, beheaded in one clean strike, the children's heads bouncing across the field. Their mother didn't even notice, too lost in the song and the feeding to care as the hurlocks holding her in their grasp dragged her away, or as the hurlock restraining her husband drew its scimitar's blade across the man's throat. Watching as the enemy drew ever nearer, the hurlock general joined the rest of its kind, hurlocks, genlocks, sharlocks and ogres, forming into battlelines, beating their weapons against their shields and chests, screaming challenges and threats at the foe. For too long they'd been forced to satisfy their bloodlust, their urge for slaughter with meagre pickings, villages and lone farmsteads barely worth the effort. The coming enemy promised a battle akin to the last worthy fight at the southern fortress, where the boy-king and the army of Slayers had all been slaughtered and the fool tyrant had taken charge, leaving them free to pillage and despoil the land, to hunt and kill all in their path at will while the fool pursued a goal known only to himself. His death had forced the Master's plans to move with greater alacrity, but once they defeated this army and killed the last Slayers of their kind, there would be no one left to stop them, and the entire nation would be theirs.

As the two armies came closer, the darkspawn let loose a collective howl of cruel, gleeful anticipation, eager for the carnage to begin, confident of victory.

* * *

The attack of the Fereldan army hit the darkspawn troops massing outside the western gate on three fronts with incredible force; the main body of infantry, predominantly men at arms from the Bannorn and dwarven troopers well versed in combating darkspawn hit the enemy frontline first, followed by the Fereldan cavalry ploughing into the enemy's flanks. The attack was pressed home with remarkable force, the enemy taken seemingly by surprise given the little effort they made in fighting back. Interspersed among the cavalry and infantry were the golems of Caridin's personal guard retrieved from the Anvil of the Void, each of the stone behemoths worth a dozen men as they hit home, fists swiftly smeared with black gore as they hammered a path towards the gate. Mabari warhounds, like at Ostagar, darted and weaved through the legs of men and horses, snapping and clawing at the legs of any darkspawn stupid enough to get close, Edward among them, pouncing on injured or dying foes around his master.

One of the cavalrymen in the left flank, Arthur drove a lance through the chest of the closest hurlock, tossing the broken weapon aside as his horse knocked down the injured beast and trampled it underfoot, drawing his sword and bringing it down on the head of another hurlock, the darkspawn toppling back howling, its head split open by a gaping cut from scalp to chin. Laying about him with sword, feeling the destrier under him rear up to lash out with its hooves, splitting skulls and staving in ribcages, like many of the mounts of the knights around him. To his right, he could see the form of Alistair, distinctive in his gold-leafed armour, lashing out with Maric's sword, its blade flickering with enchanted flame, a ring of dead and injured darkspawn all around the king. Sten, Shale and Oghren were in their element at the front of the infanty, the three carving through any darkspawn that tried to get in their way, a large group of soldiers following in their wake, taking advantage of the chaos left by the trio to press deeper into enemy lines.

A volley of arrows flew overhead, raining down on their heads, human and Dalish archers in the rear ranks coming into action. In the nick of time, a shimmering barrier of arcane energy sprung into existence over the heads of the allied forces, the mages of the Circle (among them, Arthur knew, Morrigan, Arabella and Wynne) combining their power to protecting their allies from harm; the darkspawn, however, weren't so lucky, ducking behind their shields or using their own kind . Another volley of missiles followed the arrows, this time magical bolts of fire, ice and lightning that ripped into anything they touched, the mages exhibiting as much skill on the offensive as on the defensive.

The darkspawn broke under the onslaught, the horde turning as a whole and fleeing for the open gates and the safety provided by the city. Arthur, Alistair and the various other sergeants and lieutenants interspersed among the ranks all shouted the command to give pursuit, but as the soldiers broke into a run, their blood up at the sight of the fleeing enemy, a shadow passed overhead, accompanied by a blood-curdling roar; Arthur looked up to see the gargantuan form of Urthemiel glide overhead, the archdemon's fanged jaws agape, a stream of dark fire emitting. The roar seemed to have been a signal because the darkspawn remaining outside the gates broke and ran for the city as it came, their retreat protected by their master's sudden appearance, the archdemon letting loose periodic gouts of fire from its gaping maw, the attacks seeming to be more about driving the allied forces back to buy its minions time, rather than trying to incinerate all in its path. After a few moments, the dragon wheeled in midair and followed its minions back towards the city, the monster heading in the direction of the distant tower, but by then it had acheived its purpose; the bulk of the darkspawn forces that had massed outside the gate had fallen back, leaving behind only the dead and the wounded, either those cut down in the attack or trampled underfoot by their own kin in the chaotic retreat. Spurring his horse to a canter, Arthur joined the crowd of soldiers pouring through the ruins of the southern gate, watching as some men and women paused to finish off any surviving darkspawn, pulling his horse to a halt just past the gatehouse, waiting for the rest of his companions to catch up. Alistair was the first to reach him, with Leliana sat behind him on the back of his white horse, one hand wrapped around Alistair waist, the other clutching her longbow. Also perched on Alistair's pauldron covered shoulder was a large crow that hopped off the moment his horse stopped moving, shifting with a burst of green light back into human form, Morrigan smoothing her robes as she straightened up.

"Well, so far, so good, eh?" Alistair offered, dismounting and helping Leliana down from the saddle.

"We're doing better than I'd hoped" Riordan, the next arrival, opined in agreement as he strode over to Arthur as the younger Warden dismounted- the horse would be of little use in the confined street battles to come- the sennior Warden wiping the darkspawn blood on his longsword's blade off on the back of a dying hurlock, the darkspawn clutching a deep wound in its chest where the Warden's sword had emerged. He could already see infantry companies pressing deeper in the direction of the Market and Palace Districts, while above them, companies of mages and Dalish and human archers were taking up position on the walls. Outside the city, Arthur knew, the cavalry, under the command of Eamon himself, would remain outside Denerim- the capital's tight, wending streets would restrict the cavalry's maneuverability and prevent them from using their speed and hitting power at the charge to full effect- under orders to keep watch for incoming reinforcements, try to encircle the city to prevent any 'spawn from escaping, and to try and secure the rest of the city's gates, allowing them to enter Denerim and harry the darkspawn forces from other directions.

"That will change quickly" Sten countered while simultaneously burying Asala in a fallen genlock's throat. Arthur had to agree with him; they weren't going to have it all their own way in this battle. There were still plenty more darkspawn left in the city to face, not forgetting their master, who would be certain to turn the tide of battle to his advantage any way he could, as that incident moments ago at the gate had proven. Thanks to Urthemiel's intervention, the darkspawn would have time to regroup and prepare defences for their attack, making dislodging them from the upper districts of Denerim all the more difficult.

"In case you've forgotten, nug-humper, we're still outnumbered three to one!" Oghren added.

Riordan nodded "Agreed. We have the element of surprise and speed on our side for the moment, but it won't last long; sooner or later, the darkspawn will recover from their shock and use their weight of numbers to destroy this army. We need to get to the archdemon and deal with it before then. We need to split up; I will head directly towards Fort Drakon and seek to intercept the archdemon. Arthur, I suggest you take Alistair, Arabella and no more than two others with you; head towards the Market District. With any luck, you'll draw the attention of the darkspawn and the archdemon's away from me. It might also be advisable to try and deal with as many of the more powerful darkspawn as possible; as soon as we engage the beast, it will call its generals and as many of their men as it can muster to its side. I can sense at least two within the city-one was present at the gates, it withdrew as our attack began- it may be wise to destroy them. In addition to preventing them from aiding the archdemon, killing them and as many alphas and emissaries as possible will disrupt the horde's cohesion and throw them into disarray, buying us more time"

"I agree" Leliana asserted "Destroying those generals would stop the darkspawn from doing a great deal of harm in the city"

"Portions of the army are already driving deeper into the city to take the battle to the foe; they should be able to help you as you press on" Riordan added, nodding to a group of Redcliffe and Dragon's Peak knights chasing down a pack of fleeing genlocks, cutting down the darkspawn with little challenge before heading in the direction which the group the army had fought outside the city gates had fled, towards the Market District.

"Anyone else can remain behind with fresh troops and hold off any darkspawn that try to come into the city behind us. I leave it to you to decide who should lead them"

"Sten will have the command" Arthur asserted without hesitation. "I believe his skills make him most suitable to hold the defences here"

"Very likely" the qunari agreed. Riordan cast an appraising eye over Sten and then nodded in agreement with the assessment. "Very well, then, that should be sufficient. Be warned, nothing you have faced thus far will have prepared you for a battle like this. Good luck and may the Maker watch over us all" the senior Warden intoned as he departed from their position, his eyes fixed on the distant spire of Fort Drakon and the barbed, shadowy shape once more circling the air around the tower.

Oghren stepped forward first, offering a gauntleted hand respectfully to Arthur. "Well, Warden, this is it. 'When from the blood of battle the Stone is fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead'" the dwarf quoted with a dark chuckle. "So let's show these blighters our hearts, and then show them theirs!" he asserted, briefly grasping Arthur's hand in a firm grip before hefting his maul and taking up a position near the barricades the soldiers were hastily erecting around the gates.

"So this is it" Wynne remarked, again offering a hand to Arthur before deciding against it and pulling her younger companion into an almost maternal hug. "Whatever happens now- to _either_ of us- know that I'm proud, _infinitely_ proud, to have called you friend. Farewell, and may the Maker watch over you". Extricating himself from the hug, Arthur waited for Zevran and Arabella to finish their non-verbal goodbye and turned his attention to Shayle, the golem gazing at him with a look of confusion on her hewn features.

"So the archdemon's next, is it? Part of me is glad it has decided to leave me at the gate, while the other is almost...apprehensive. If I had to guess, I would say I almost feel concern for something other than myself, but it's ridiculous to consider it, particularly for such a weak, fleshy thing as itself"

"Scandelous to even consider the notion" Arthur chuckled, amused at how the golem's contemptuous stance on mortal existence had softened, like many of his companions, thanks to the road they'd travelled and the things they'd done together.

"Indeed. Best keep it to yourself" the golem added with a wry smirk. "And, er...do try to take care not to get eaten? If the beast were to swallow you whole and crap it out afterwards, irony would dictate it would land on me, and I'm not sure I could take it. Well, good luck storming the castle" Shale offered before heading to the centre of the defensive position around the gate, Arthur chortling softly at the sight of a great number of soldiers clustering around the veritable stone barrier the golem provided.

Following Shale, Zevran and Arabella sauntered up to Arthur, the mage and the elf looking at him with undisguised gratitude for all he'd done for them, for giving them their lives and a chance to make amends for the sins that had burdened them for so long. He had no doubt the pair would go above and beyond the call of duty for him in this fight.

"Well, looks like this is it. Give my best to the Archdemon; he never writes and unlike you Wardens I've no way to get in touch with him, it's most distressing" the elf joked sarcastically before becoming a bit more sober in expression. "And do watch your back in there- both of you" he added with a firm look at Arabella "Try not to get eaten...unless you think it's really necessary, of course!" he tried to make a joke, though the humour didn't reach his amber eyes.

"Thank you for all your help, Zevran" Arthur replied, extending a hand to Zevran, the elf grasping it and shaking it firmly as Arthur whispered in an undertone "And don't worry, I'll look after your girlfriend".

"I can look after myself" Arabella insisted. "I'll hold you to that" Zevran replied as he joined the others staying behind to defend the gate and the mage watched him go, before turning her attention back to her fellow Warden.

"Arthur...there's no words to express my gratitude for all you've done for me, for showing mercy few others would have, for giving me a purpose and the means to do something right for once. I don't have the words, so I'll have to say it with actions. Believe me, I will prove myself worthy of the faith you've shown in me. I will make you and the Grey Wardens proud of me"

"Believe me, Bella, you already have" Arthur smiled, placing a hand. He'd never have thought it possible when they first met, but Arabella had proved herself useful and beyond, a valuable and worthy addition to the Grey Wardens. _'She'll do well when this is over...'_ he thought, making a mental note to try and keep her and Alistair alive; selling his honour and his seed out to Morrigan would only save their souls from the archdemon, not protect them from a hurlock's blade in the chest or a sharlock's claws in the back. Unaware of her fellow Warden's inner turmoil, Arabella merely gave him a grateful smile, hefted her staff and moved to one side as he continued with farewells.

Edward gave a plaintive whine at his master, clearly afraid of being left behind, but Arthur merely patted the mabari on the head and nodded; the war hound gave a gleeful bark and wagged his stubby tail, clearly glad not to be parted from his master, each the oldest friend man and dog had known, as Sten moved forward.

"Are you ready?" Sten enquired. "We have reached the battle at long last"

"I must confess, there were times when I didn't think we'd reach it" Arthur admitted. Sten's thin eyebrows rose, surprise present on his face at such a declaration.

"Didn't you? I did. You have carried us this far. Never doubt that for a second"

Arthur extended a hand, the qunari raising a dubious eyebrow at this human gesture before extending his own gauntleted hand and grasping Arthur's firmly. "Whatever happens, I will not fail you. We will shall both take to the field, and see our enemy fall" Sten asserted before taking up a position by the gates, barking orders at the soldiers. Alistair stood beside Arthur, watching his fellow Warden with

"Well, there were times when I didn't think we'd make it, but here we are, about to either win this thing, or at least make it easier for those who come after us" Alistair remarked with a sombre tone, his usual irreverance gone, his fellow Warden in no doubt as to how slim their chances of victory were. "We both know there's a good chance one or perhaps both of us might not come back from this. So I just want you to know that, whatever happens now, it's been an honour to know and to fight beside you!"

"Likewise, Alistair" Arthur replied, looking at the man who'd become comrade in arms, friend, liege lord and as close to a brother as one could get, the two men exchanging a fraternal, near-crippling handshake before pulling apart, acknowledging their gratitude for the part they'd played in each other's lives, the friendship that fighting for survival against insane odds had forged between them and the understanding that, regardless of what happened in the coming battle, neither would let the other down.

"Let's go and put an end to all this, then. For Duncan and all the others" Alistair asserted with a grim nod, joining Arabella and Edward as Arthur turned his attention to the last two figures he had to address, knowing it had to be swift as time slipped away from them.

"So we head into the city together, as it should be" the witch opined, one hand idly resting on her stomach, clearly aware of his motive for bringing her along, to give her the chance to get close to her goal.

"Once this is done, I will be gone from here. You understand?"

_'I expected nothing less' _Arthur thought to himself_._ Out loud, he replied "And if I should die here, will you care, or would it just be part of your plan?"

"Of course I would care" Morrigan replied, unusually solemn in her response. "I would mourn the passing of a better friend than I've deserved. I knew nothing of friendship before we met, and I will always consider you such. Live well, my friend. Live gloriously" Morrigan insisted, her expression almost tender, a hand reaching out almost as if to touch his face, before she seemed to think better of it and stopped. "Now, let us go and see this finally done. The archdemon awaits us" she opined as she made to join Alistair and Arabella, leaving only one person.

"So, here we are. We stand at the precipice before the greatest battle of our time. I wonder if the heroes of old ever felt like this?" the bard wondered, no doubt imagining the tale she'd have to tell if they all came out on the other side of this.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to" Arthur offered; Alistair, Arabella, Morrigan and Edward would be more than enough to press the attack. But Leliana seized his hand in her own, the determination and certainty in her pale green eyes plain to see, but devoid of any sign of fear or fright about what they faced or how slim their chances were.

"I am not afraid" the bard asserted. "We go to fight in a good cause and there is _nowhere_ else I would rather be" Leliana paused, trying to find the right words. After a moment, she gave up and seized Arthur around the neck, pressing her lips to his, the moment hanging, both heedless to the fact that they were covered in sweat and blood, merely savouring the moment of passion, both aware it might well be the last one they ever had. After long enough, the bard pulled back, taking Arthur's head in her hands so that their eyes met, that he could see the sincerity behind every word she said, in case they spoke no more.

"You are my dearest friend and my love. You lit my path through darkness and I will stand by you, to _whatever_ end. This day, we shall forge a legend of our own" she asserted as they broke apart and the chosen companions pressed on with the Wardens to the final battle.


	62. Chapter 60: Melee in the Market

_Ok, first off, my apologies for how long this has taken; December has been an unbelievably hectic month. I should warn you, updates to this may peter out over the coming months as I focus on getting a more personal project published, but by no means think I've abandoned the world of Dragon Age; From the Ashes will be completed, given how close we are to the end (only 6 more chapters to go!), and Arthur Cousland's story **will **continue. On that note, over this Christmas holiday, I've kinda found myself working on the first four chapters of what I've dubbed 'Everything Burns', which is set after DA2 and will, if plans go accordingly, tie in to DA III, based around the vision Arthur has of his son by Morrigan back in Chapter 57 and how the paths of father and son come together as Arthur finds himself battling to stop his son from setting up a new order in place of the collapsed Chantry, along with a host of characters new and old (one who appears in this chapter). Just wondering if I should put up what I've written so far, give you all something to wet your appetites on (and give me a commitment to come back to it later). Anyone interested? (There's little to no spoilers for any of my other works at this point)_

_Plus, there are a few oneshots based on Dragon Age 2 (which I've recently rediscovered, along with my love affair with Merrill and Isabela) that I want to get out of my head, along with the sequel to From the Ashes (current working title 'The Flame Still Burns'), chronicling Arthur's adventures from the end of Origins, through Awakening to the end of DA2, so expect those in the pipeline fairly soon as well!_

_As ever, my deepest thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes; believe me, the knowledge you've all been waiting for me has been about all that's kept me going at this! Specials thanks as always to **Theodur, KnightofHolyLight, MB18932, Advent of Shadows, SuperGravyMan, MysticGohan88 and Superstar Kid **for your reviews, and to **oops I forgot my name**,** N7Gundam, DarionDamage, Melysande, dane293584, roweee and KiraReinne** for subscribing; like I say, it's very encouraging to know so many want to read the next part of this!_

_Can't say for certain when the next installment will be, but be assured, it will come! We will reach the end of this!_

_**'Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_As ever, enjoy, and Happy New Year to you all!_

* * *

The Market District was a charnel house; there was no other way to describe it. Arthur knew his history well enough to know the fate in store for the inhabitants of a sacked city but the level of destruction and brutality the darkspawn had displayed as Arthur surveyed the battlefield far surpassed what the Orlesians had done when they conquered Denerim over a century before. No building had been spared the torch- the Gnawed Noble Tavern, Wade's Emporium, the Wonders of Thedas- every building had had its doors kicked down, its windows smashed and its contents looted before being razed. No person caught within the district had been spared the sword- bodies, both human and darkspawn, littered the ground, far more of the former than the latter. Men, women, children had all been butchered without mercy...and not just with sword and axe; some of the bodies looked like they had literally been ripped apart, severed heads and limbs strewn about the marketplace, Leliana turning a worrisome shade of green and clapping a hand over her mouth at the sight of a fat merchant impaled on a wooden pole that had once held up the awning of his stand, the man having all but been torn in half, his bifurcated abdomen at the bottom of the pole, attached to his impaled torso only by a few ropes of dangling intestine. Pyramids made from the severed heads of children stood around the market square, every building had the corpse of a man stripped naked and nailed to the door with their chests cut open, their ribs broken and their lungs pulled out and slung over their backs to resemble wings, statues and monuments defiled and remade into crude depictions of the archdemon and other horrors beside showed how the darkspawn had, in the two days since Denerim had fallen to them, indulged their capacity for slaughter and destruction to the fullest, for no greater reason than the pleasure of the act.

Worst among the carnage was the mountain of bodies that lay outside the Grand Cathedral. He could also make out the bodies of templars and Chantry sisters, and while some looked to have been butchered or torn limb from limb, others looked like they had been trampled. Judging how the greatest number of bodies were piled around the doors of the Grand Cathedral, which were closed and likely locked and bolted from the inside, Arthur could infer what had happened; the mob had been fleeing to the Chantry, hoping the cathedral's thick walls and strong doors, or perhaps its contingent of templars, or perhaps even the Maker himself, could protect them, the templars and priestesses trying to impose order on the proceedings when the darkspawn assaulted the marketplace; panic and pandemonium erupted as men, women and children surged forward, trying to get into the cathedral before they shut the doors. Anyone unlucky enough to fall or be knocked down was crushed and trampled to death by the surge of thousands, and when the doors of the Cathedral had been shut on them, the panicking mob had been left exposed in the open, easy prey for the invading darkspawn.

_'These people came here looking for safety and security. The priestesses answered their prayers by barring the doors and leaving them to die. That says all that's needed about the Chantry'_ Arthur thought darkly as he surveyed the carnage. _'If we survive this, someone **will** answer for this'_ he swore angrily. _'**If** we survive, of course'_ Arthur mentally added as he took the lead of the group.

The company of forty five men they'd found making their approach into the market at the same time were a welcome sight; mostly dwarves wearing the armour and sigils of various Orzammar houses, but a good dozen in the black and silver armour of the Legion of the Dead, a dozen Dalish elves and the remainder human knights or members of the Denerim City Guard, their blades dark and wet with darkspawn blood from the initial attack, raised for any sign of trouble. Yet, despite the level of bloodshed, the darkspawn were conspicuously absent in the open. Yet he could feel them out there, the taint that pulsed through his veins connecting him to them a constant source of irritation like a mosquito bite that wouldn't stop itching, telling him they were out there and watching, looking for any sign of weakness, even if he couldn't see them.

_'We've had it too easy'_ he thought. _'I can't shake the feeling they wanted us to come here, that it all serves some grand design, and that any second now, they're going to try and turn the tables on us'_. It was a thought that served to set Arthur's nerves ever further on edge.

He only wished some of the company he found himself were as cautious. The dwarves and elves were wary, having spent the better part of the past year battling incursions from the Blight, thus they were well aware of the danger posed by such creatures. The human element however was another story; the city guardsmen had only experience dealing with the more militant groups of brigands and thieves guilds trying to take advantage of the chaos in the capital, while the rest were from vestiges of Loghain's faction, whose only experience fighting darkspawn had been the few skirmishes before the unmitigated disaster that had been Ostagar, having been fighting more recently in their master's asinine campaign to bully the Bannorn into kowtowing to him.

Worst was a tall, bearded man in his thirties by the name of Ser Peregrine Clitheroe, a native of Gwaren who'd come to the capital with Loghain, the man who'd knighted him. Ser Peregrine had had the wisdom to bend the knee when Loghain lost his head, but he'd clearly inherited his lord's disdain for and disbelief in the value and necessity of the Grey Wardens, a belief only furthered by the ease with which the attack at the gate had gone, judging by how he was crowing to anyone who would listen, which thankfully wasn't much of their group.

"See, why'd we need the Grey Wardens so badly for this? As I'm sure you've seen, any man who can wield fine Denerim steel can kill darkspawn! We could have easily driven them off without-"

Arthur was about to tell the man either to shut up, lest his bragging bring the enemy down on their heads, or enlighten him as to how good fine Denerim steel would serve him on his own against the likes of Urthemiel, when he walked into something thrust out into his path. "Wait, Warden" a sharp female voice interrupted, throwing a hand across Arthur's chest to stop him. Looking down, Arthur saw the speaker was a lean and wiry Dalish woman, her skin ivory pale, her face tattooed with thorny vines sprawling across her forehead and cheeks, the top of her head, crowned by short, braided brunette hair, only coming up level to Arthur's chin, but a determined look in her grey eyes.

"I heard something moving. Directly ahead of us...and _above_"

"Jumpy, are we, knife-ear? There's nothing here" Ser Peregrine sneered as he took a step forward into the open square in front of the Chantry and gesturing to their deserted surroundings. It was the last thing he ever said; as the words left his mouth, a boulder the size of a donkey slammed into his head, crushing the metal of his helm as easily as it pulped the flesh and bone of his skull. The knight's all-but headless corpse toppled to the floor, the ogre that had killed him roaring and beating its fists against its chest triumphantly. At least a half dozen of the monsters were clambering down from perches on the roofs and walls of buildings all around them like monkeys and Arthur felt his blood run cold as he watched the hulking darkspawn break into a loping charge straight at them, horns lowered to gore any and everything in their path. He'd seen the damage a single ogre could do to a company of men; the harm six of the brutes could do didn't bear thinking about.

_'And that's assuming they're all we have to deal with, which I doubt!'_ Cousland thought as he raised his shield, bracing for impact. The noise six ogres made roaring and beating their fists against their chests was enough to wake the dead; sooner or later, other darkspawn were going to come looking.

'Still, first things first!' Arthur thought as he watched the Dalish archers, accompanied by Leliana, Alistair and himself, let loose a volley of arrows into the charging behemoths. Presented with such large targets, there was no way they could miss, each and every arrow burying itself in leathery blue skin and tainted flesh, but the ogres were too large for such missiles to do little more than annoy them.

They abruptly changed tactics; Arabella let loose a jet of ice straight at the legs of the front runner, the ogre toppling over as its legs froze. Two others directly behind it were unable to stop their charge in time and tripped over the first, all three lying in a tangled, howling blue heap of limbs and horns. The remainder either dodged round or vaulted over their fallen ilk, the first ogre diving headfirst into the company with an earth-shattering crash. Two elves and a city watchman were under the ogre's blue bulk when it landed, crushing them beneath it. Most of the others were knocked off their feet by the force of the impact, including Arthur; the ogre got back up, stamping down on the head of a downed knight, crushing the man's helm into scrap and his skull into red paste, before its predatory gaze fell on Arthur, and a clawed hand darted out, seizing him before he could react to defend himself.

Thick fingers wrapped around Arthur's torso, pinning his arms to his side, feeling his sword slip from limp fingers as the pressure on his ribs grew greater, hearing the Juggernaut armour creak under the pressure as the ogre tightened its grip. In his mind's eye, Arthur saw the mangled ruin of Cailan's corpse after the ogre that killed him was done, the king's back broken so bad the vertebrae protruded through the flesh. He desperately tried to worm an arm free, to reach the dagger at his belt but the ogre's grip was too tight. He watched as rubbery lips peeled back from yellowed fangs, ropes of saliva spattering his face as the ogre growled in his face, intending to bite his head off, the fetid reek of carrion and decay on its breath the last thing he would experience...

Suddenly, a green fletched arrow slammed into the ogre's left eye and the beast staggered back howling in pain, dropping Arthur as it pawed at its ruined eye. Arthur chanced a look behind him, but the archer who'd saved his life wasn't Leliana; instead it was the Dalish girl who'd saved him from walking into the trap in the first place, notching another arrow to the string of her bow. Choking down desperate breaths, Arthur seized his sword from where it had fallen from and brought it down, the ogre howling as the dragonbone blade bit into the flesh of its right foot, severed toes falling away like fat blue grubs. As the monster's hands clutched at its maimed foot, hopping and clutching the bleeding stumps in an almost comical manner, a dwarf's axe bit into the back of its left leg once, twice, thrice, severing the hamstrings and sending the beast to its knees. Arthur's sword came down again and again on the back of the ogre's head, the dragonbone blade of Duncan's sword biting through flesh, severing bone prongs of the beast's crown of horns and piercing into meat, brain and bone, the monster's roars devolving into keening screams but Arthur, in his frenzy, didn't cease until he looked down and saw the ruin he had made of the back of the beast's skull, little more than scraps of leathery blue skin and dark red muscle clinging to shattered bone.

Breathing hard, placing a foot on the ogre's skull and heaving his sword free of the deep gouge in the ogre's brain which the blade had buried itself in, Arthur looked up and saw the battle was well and truly joined.

The two ogres that had avoided the pileup their fallen ilk had caused were wreaking havoc, and the fallen ogres began to get back to their feet. The three city guardsmen jabbed at a second ogre, drawing blood with their spears from the beast's chest and upper arms. Roaring in pain and fury, the monster lashed out with boulder-like fists, smashing off the spearheads and then smashing in the heads of the spearmen. A Dead Legionnaire buried his battleaxe in the monster's forearm, only to be pulled off his feet as the ogre jerked back. The monster's left hand darted out, seizing the dwarf but leaving the warrior's axe embedded in its arm, crushing the dwarf's ribcage to paste in a clenched fist before flinging the corpse away, flattening several of the Legionaire's comrades.

A third ogre fell upon the archers, lashing out with gargantuan fists, sending elven men and women scattering like ninepins, Arthur gasping as he saw Leliana narrowly duck out of the way of a hammering blow that would have crushed her skull had it landed, the ogre roaring in fury at missing its target before turning its gaze on another...just as Morrigan raised her hands and bathed the hulking behemoth in a torrent of lightning. Shrieking in pain and anger, the monster continued its charge, ignoring its agony as Morrigan ramped up her attack, blasting it with more and more magical electricity, holding her ground until the beast was looming directly over her, pulling back its fists and then bringing them smashing down, the ogre roaring in triumph...only for its face to contort in confusion as its fists connected with empty air, Morrigan having seemingly vanished into thin air. The ogre looked around, trying to work out where she'd gone, its head turning to the left...just in time to take the full blow of a clawed paw right in its face, raking deep gashes along its snout and brow. Morrigan, once more in the form of a gargantuan black bear, reared up, extending her claws and roared a challenge at the ogre, staggering back out of her range.

The ogre roared back a challenge of its own, lowering its head for a charge and sprinting at the bear's exposed underbelly. Arthur was about to shout a warning, but he needn't have bothered; in the seconds before the ogre's charge impacted and its horns ripping into her belly, Morrigan brought her full weight crashing down on the ogre's head with enough force to break a man's neck. The ogre was poleaxed, falling to its knees, but before it could recover, the bear's fangs closed around the side of the ogre's throat, tearing away with a gout of dark blood, leaving the ogre flailing on the floor in its death throes, pawing at a gaping hole in the side of its throat. Morrigan threw back her ursine snout and let loose a triumphant roar, but that was cut off with as another ogre slammed headfirst into her side, sending the bear flying.

The ogre seized the transformed Morrigan by the nape of her neck and her hip, raising her over its head, about to bring the witch slamming down on its knee to break her back when there was another flash of green light, and the ogre's roars became shrieks as the bear melted into a swarm of wasps that crawled into the darkspawn's mouth, eyes, nostrils and ears, biting and stinging every piece of flesh they could get at. The ogre's distraction at the magical attack was sufficient to keep it from defending itself as several dwarves hacked and smashed its lower legs to pieces with hammers and axes, bringing the ogre to its knees before a Denerim knight drove a spear into the back of its head. Before he could savour his triumph, the knight's cries of jubilation turned to screams as yet another ogre seized him in its gargantuan fists and ripped the man in half, armour sundering with a terrible screech of tortured metal, accompanied by the hideous sound of bone snapping. Blood gouted out in a horrific fountain from the knight's bifurcated body, drenching them all.

But its triumph was short-lived; wiping the blood that had splattered across her face, Arabella threw it back into the ogre's face, the blood hissing and sizzling like meat over a fire as it impacted with the ogre's skin. The ogre howled and moaned as the blood burned it, trying to wipe the red liquid off its face but then Arabella's intention became clear; a dart of red light leapt from her fingertips and slammed into the ogre's bony brow. The monster staggered back a step, looking dazed, and then with a roar, whirled round and drove its horns into the belly of one of the other ogres, sending the beast falling onto its back, trying to keep its entrails from sliding out of the deep crevasse torn in its abdomen. The ogre Arabella had doused whirled round to face the other, its normally white eyes now the deep red of a open wound and Arthur understood- her magic had made the beast a thrall, completely under her control. It was a blessing to watch the one under his fellow Warden's control slam a fist into the face of another ogre, sending broken teeth cascading to the floor, before both monsters locked horns like bulls and began to brawl. The remaining men, elves and dwarves, along with a certain mabari, quickly drew swords and encircled the battling behemoths, hacking away, biting, clawing, stabbing and slashing at the legs and lower reaches of the two monsters' bodies, trying to sever the tendons, whilst periodically having to dart back out of range, so as to avoid being trampled as the brawling monsters moved back and forth in their fight. Not all were so lucky; another Dalish warrior died when one of the ogres inadvertantly stepped on her leg, breaking the limb under its weight, and was then crushed as she flailed and screamed when the charge from Arabella's ogre thrall caused the other beast to fall on top of her, while a Dead Legionnaire perished when he got too close to the fighting ogres and ended up on the receiving end of a causal backhand from one of the blue brutes that snapped his neck.

A grating _hruk-hruk_ sound came to their ears as the Wardens and their soldiers continued their dance around the battling ogres; whirling round to find its source, Arthur saw a fearsome looking hurlock, clad from head to foot in spike-covered, corroded yet functional steel plate armour, its grinning skull hidden by a horned helm. Its gauntleted grasp was firmly closed around the haft of a battleaxe, its shoulders shaking as it made the same noise again, pointing at the spectacle of the dwarves, elves and men dancing around the brawling ogres, trying to bring the hulking beasts down without being crushed or trampled in the process, as if it found the whole scene amusing. Arthur felt a strange sense of deja vu, as if he'd seen it before, and then realisation struck him.

This was one of the archdemon's generals. This was the fiend who had led the attack against Ostagar. This was the beast that had killed Duncan and so many others of their Order at that battle, what seemed almost a lifetime ago.

"YOU DIE!" Alistair roared as he recognised the beast and broke into a sprint away from the crowd of dwarves surrounding the ogre's corpse, hurtling straight for his new foe, screaming a battle cry that expressed so much hate and loathing, such an overwhelming desire for vengeance. Though the hurlock general couldn't understand a word of what Alistair was saying, it couldn't fail to interpret the meaning of Alistair charging headlong at it with sword raised. Roaring excitedly, the darkspawn swung out with its axe, the young king catching the axehead on his shield as it aimed for his stomach, turning it aside with a crash of steel.

The ogres that Arabella had set to fighting amongst themselves were all but done; her thrall was on the floor, its neck bent at an awkward angle, but the ogre that had killed it was in little better shape, one arm twisted to an impossible angle, several of its horns broken or bent, most of the fangs in its jaws either ripped out or cracked and blind in one eye. Still, it tried to fight on, lumbering towards the enemy, Arthur and the other soldiers raising their weapons, but for no need; over their heads, a pale blue jet of magic went shooting into the ogre's face, turning the monster into a motionless ice sculpture. Looking round, Arthur saw Morrigan, once again in human form, with her staff extended, the stream of ice that had frozen the ogre leaping from its tip. Letting the ice she had summoned dissipate, Morrigan called into being more magic, taking the form of a fist shaped lump of stone the size of a man's head, which she then let fly at the frozen ogre. The magic missile shattered the darkspawn's head into icicles; the brute's headless, frozen corpse swayed for a few moments, then toppled, smashing into pale blue shards the second it slammed into the ground. With the last ogre fallen, Arthur and the remaining warriors turned their attention to the duel between their king and the last darkspawn in the Market.

Alistair was down on one knee, desperately fending off blows from the general's axe with his shield, the darkspawn hammering away at his defences with . The darkspawn's hand darted out, grabbing the rim of the shield, trying to wrench it away from Alistair, the pair wrestling furiously over it. Two warriors- a male Dalish elf and a dwarf soldier of House Dace- tried to come to Alistair's aid and died for it- the elf's curved sword bit into the general's leg, finding the gaps in the armour at the hurlock's knee, but the general merely hissed in fury, headbutted the elf in the face and then buried its axe into the stunned Dalish's stomach, before dodging back from the swing of the dwarf's maul, narrowly avoiding having its right foot crushed, then bringing its axe down on the dwarf's head, splitting the helm with an audible crack as metal and bone gave way under the blow. But the axehead got stuck in the dwarf's skull for just a moment...all the advantage Alistair needed. With a roar, Alistair bashed his shield into the monster's chest, sending it staggering back, and then brought his father's sword hacking down on the haft of the general's battleaxe, the red steel axehead remaining buried in the dwarf's skull as Alistair's blow severed it. The general staggered back, having been too dazed by the shield bash to realise what had happened, and launched another attack with a roar, not realising until too late that thanks to Maric's sword, it was now armed with little more than a wooden stick, whose blow Alistair easily caught on his shield with enough force to reduce the broken axe haft to little more than splinters.

Staring at the broken wooden shaft and the severed axe head lying on the ground at its feet, the hurlock general gawped at Alistair, as if unable to believe it had been beaten.

"Whoops" Alistair remarked with a wry smirk and an innocent shrug of the shoulders, before running the darkspawn through. The force of the sword punching into the brute's chest knocked it off its feet, toppling like a hewn tree with dark blood spurting from its chest and its frothing mouth hidden behind its helm's visor, shrieking like a stuck pig as it clutched at the sword still jutting from its torso. Alistair's hand closed around the hilt as he spat "For Duncan", twisted the blade and drove it even deeper, then tore it free with a spray of black blood. The hurlock general's keening screams reached a crescendo and then petered out into a gurgling death rattle, its helmed head lolling back as a final rasp of breath escaped it. Alistair kicked the dead hurlock in the side once for good measure, wiping the black blood off his sword on a scrap of cloth torn from the beast's body.

Arthur took a moment to catch his breath, wincing as a sharp pain cut through his side, likely a cracked rib or two. He imagined most of the others were as bad as him, if not worse. They'd started this fight with forty five; there was only eighteen now, and most were now injured and exhausted. And this had merely been a skirmish; Maker alone knew how many would die when they got to confront the archdemon itself. _'There has to be more reinforcements deeper in the city. They all knew Fort Drakon was the target; some have to be getting within reach of there by now. We need to find fresh toops, as many as possible. We're going to need all the luck, and as much strength in numbers as we can get to if we're to have any chance of succeeding at this...'_

An ear-splitting wail cut through the moment; all spun round to see more darkspawn pouring into the Market District behind them, having seemingly circled around behind to cut off their retreat while they were busy trying to deal with the ogres; genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks, at least five hundred of the creatures were pouring into the market, howling and gibbering, beating their weapons against shields, working themselves into a killing frenzy, eyes widening excitdely at the prospect of fresh victims...

"RUN!" Arthur roared as the hulking forms of yet more ogres began to lumber through the mob towards them, beating their chests and roaring hungrily; he was well aware there were far too many darkspawn for them to fight and have any hope of victory. _'In any case, our goal is to reach the archdemon, not to die in a meaningless skirmish, drowned beneath a wave of its minions!'_

Quick as a flash, Morrigan and Arabella unleashed magic to cover their retreat, the power leaping from the women's fingertips coalescing into a raging blizzard that the darkspawn blundered straight into, becoming too distracted and buffeted by raging winds, blinded by magical snow and ice to notice their prey was making good their escape.

* * *

Taking control over the mind of a pursuing ogre, Urthemiel was pleased to see the striplings running for their lives, his minions driving them deeper into the city, to where the greater bulk of his forces lay in wait for them. _'Were they really so arrogant as to think one charge could break my legions? That my armies would turn and run like whipped dogs at the sight of a few unfurled banners and some galloping horses? Soon enough, they will grasp the depths of their folly!_' the archdemon raged vehmently at the presumption of its enemies. Soon, Urthemiel would spring the trap, calling the forces lying in ambush outside the city to battle, trapping the enemy army within the walls like cattle in an abbatoir. But the slayers had to be dead or at least removed from the battle before he could spring the trap; they were the only warriors that had the power to end his immortal existence, the only true threat to his plans.

Watching as a few black armoured dwarves tried to fight a desperate rearguard against the darkspawn pursuing the Slayers-as futile an action as a handful of pebbles trying to hold back the incoming tide- Urthemiel tracked the slayers and their soldiers fleeing, trying to ascertain where they were headed. Their retreat seemed to be following the course of the river, and then realisation struck. Their target seemed to be the fortress tower where Urthemiel had chosen his lair, but he knew the bulk of his armies were in position in the upper districts of the city, through which passage was required to reach the tower. The only place that allowed access to the highborn district without having to cut your way through at least a thousand darkspawn would be to cross the river at a small island...

_'Yes, a perfect place. The elves have cut the island off to prevent entry, but that would also prevent escape. The elves will no doubt allow the Slayers onto the island, and once they're there, my children can surround the island and leave them like rats in a trap!_'. His forces could surround the elves' island and then assault it in overwhelming numbers; even if the Slayers, the elves and their soldiers managed to stay alive in the face of such an attack, they would be hemmed in, unable to come to the aid of any other part of the battlefield. He could easily spring the trap, have his forces in the city corrall the slayers on the island, annihilate the enemy army with the forces lying in ambush, then destroy the slayers at his leisure.

Relinquishing control over the ogre, the archdemon's conciousness scoured the battlefield, gliding as its body did, searching quickly and finding what it sought; the mind of another of its commanders, this one an emissary. _'Perhaps sorcery will succeed where steel failed'_. Urthemiel's conciousness forcibly asserted itself into the emissary's mind, the hurlock stiffening at the touch of such raw power, awaiting orders.

_'The Slayers are heading towards you. Assemble a force, intercept and destroy them at the elf island. They do not get past you! Am I understood?'_

_'We obey the will of Urthemiel'_ came the ubiquitous response.

The archdemon changed its course, wings angling to use the wind to push it in the direction of the Alienage. Urthemiel wanted to watch the slayers die.

* * *

The group of thirteen, dwarves and elves along with Arthur, Alistair and their companions ran for their lives from the Market District, well aware that the horde in pursuit of them was far too numerous to defeat by themselves. Even so, a handful of the Legion of the Dead, five in total, had volunteered to serve as a rearguard, willingly giving up their lives to buy the Grey Wardens time to get closer to their objective. As they ran, for a few minutes he heard the sounds of battle, dwarven war cries, screams of pain and triumph. But slowly but surely, the sounds faded away, until finally the only sound was the triumphant cries of the darkspawn.

They ran through the burning and ruined streets of Denerim, ducking down alleys and wending paths to try and throw their pursuers off the scent, Morrigan and Arabella using their magic to smash down damaged buildings and masonry to block the paths behind them and divert the enemy, summoning up blizards, tempests and firestorms to force their enemy to look for alternative routes to pursue them. The two women were going through the party's supply of lyrium potions at an alarming rate, quaffing them down like ale to allow them to counter the effects exhaustion and injury were having on their ability to regenerate their mana that Arthur had to stop them from drinking any more, otherwise they'd only be relying on their own reserves and their blood when they finally got to Urthemiel. Any weakness at that critical moment would be fatal.

The group only stopped running when they were a good few miles into Denerim from the Market District and almost ran into the back of several men-at-arms. Looking closely, Arthur saw at least thirty soldiers in the armour and heraldry of Redcliffe, with three of Eamon's knights at their head, stood on one side of a broken and damaged bridge, riven by fire and decay, only capable of letting one man cross at a time without risking the whole thing collapsing. On the other side was stood a mob of angry looking elves, clad in armour and armed with a wide array of weapons- swords, axes, crossbows, spears, knives, bows- plundered from Tevinter corpses and all levelled at the soldiers on the other side of the bridge.

"We need to get across the river! It's in your interests to let us cross, elf!" a Redcliffe knight with dark hair and beard shouted across the water, his face red with angry frustration.

"You damn shems left us to be sold into slavery and killed, and now you expect us to _help_ you?!" One elven man shouted back in answer, the look on his face one of contemptuous anger at the thought.

"The longer you keep us waiting here, the closer the darkspawn get to wiping out everything in this city! Human, elf, dwarf, they won't care; they'll kill all and everything in this city, unless you let us past to stop them!"

"Yeah, and you've done a fine job stopping them so far!" a female elf sneered, gesturing at the burning city around them.

"You can't hide on your rock forever! If we don't win here, this city will belong to the darkspawn! And sooner or later, they'll notice the mob of elves trying to hide in their midst and come stamping down on you like a nest of cockroaches! Do you have any idea what they will do to you? To your women and children? Shall I have a Grey Warden tell you what the darkspawn do to those they take alive-?!"

"What's going on here? Ser Norris!" Alistair commanded of one of the knights, a clean-shaven, bald man whose only hair was his shaggy eyebrows; Arthur recognised the knight as one of those who'd fought at their side during the undead attacks Connor had unleashed on Redcliffe.

"Your Majesty, we're trying to reach the Palace District- most of the army is driving into the darkspawn there in preperation for the assault on Fort Drakon! The quickest way there is through the Alienage, but these damned elves are blocking our path!" the Redcliffe knight insisted.

"Arthur, is that you?" a familiar voice called out, mercifully ending the awkward pause; Arthur looked across the bridge to see a blonde female elf push her way to the front of the line, clad from head to foot in studded leather armour, with two curved shortswords sheathed at her hips and a longbow and quiver on her back. Arthur recognised her swiftly.

"Niamh Tabris, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Arthur shouted back with the first genuine smile on his lips, relieved to see her alive; his old elven friend had lingered behind in Denerim when the Wardens and their army had departed for Redcliffe, despite an offer from Alistair to raise her into the Royal Guard; he'd described the elf as resourceful, courageous, determined, ruthless and single minded when she set her mind to a task, qualities Alistair wanted to see in someone trusted with the protection of his life. The elf woman had asked of Alistair time to help her family and her people regain some semblance of life after Howe's purge and the predations of the Tevinter slavers, and insisted that if she did accept, it would be on the condition that the king was to use all available resources to find and retrieve all those Fereldan elves sold into slavery by Loghain. However, the royal army had been called away to Redcliffe before Niamh made her decision, and then Urthemiel had sprung his trap and fallen upon Denerim, and Arthur had worried what had happened to his old friend in the midst of the carnage. The revelation that she was still alive was a much-needed boost to his spirits.

"We need to get through here! We have to get to Fort Drakon now!" Alistair called out. After a moment's pause, Niamh nodded.

"Let them across! Trust me, we're going to need all the help we can get" Niamh commanded and her Alienage kin lowered their weapons. "I know ways to get you to the fort without hacking your way through the main paths, which I can tell you now are overrun by those monsters! Get across quickly, I'll show you!"

Arthur gingerly crossed the bridge into the Alienage, trying to avoid stumbling into the river, grabbing the hand his old friend held out for him to grasp, wincing as another jolt of pain tore through his ribs. Niamh helped him stagger over to the vhenedahl, where he sank down, his back to the tree trunk, Leliana darting over to his side as soon as she was across, fretfully asking after his well being, demanding to know what was wrong. Morrigan sauntered over, green energy flickering to life in her hands and flowing into Arthur's body, the Warden alternately grimacing and sighing in relief as the magic put his ribs back in place and healed a few minor injuries. As he waited for Morrigan to finish her work, and brushing aside Leliana's concern with a soft smile and a caress to her cheek, wiping off the spatters of blood that marred its pale beauty, Arthur gestured to one of the soldiers who'd just crossed the bridge into the Alienage, the Dalish warrior woman who'd saved him from sharing Ser Peregrine's fate, to his side. The Dalish woman loped over, her expression uncertain.

"I just want to say...thank you. Were it not for you, I'd have ended up with a lot worse than a few cracked ribs, so thank you for saving my life. I will see you are rewarded for your bravery, not to mention your good timing!" he insisted.

"It is no matter, Warden" the Dalish woman insisted, the look in her grey eyes one of skepticism, as if doubtful as to the worth of a human's promise, moving away to join the remainder of her kind, before Arthur's hand darted out to stop her.

"I beg to differ, _lethallan_" Arthur protested. "What is your name?"

"Andromeda, of the Boyne clan" the elf replied, looking confused by the question, given the attitude most humans tended to exhibit towards her people.

"I will not forget it, nor what you have done, I swear it" Arthur asserted firmly. The elf looked surprised, and perhaps a bit more hopeful by way of his forcefulness, but another elf interjected before more could be said.

"Niamh, we've got company!" a female voice cried out; the companions looked round to see Niamh's cousin, Shianni come running up, clad in leather armour with a longbow and quiver on her back. "A large mob of darkspawn just showed up on the other side; they look like they're trying to get across. We feathered a few of them with arrows but they're not getting the message...Wardens? Well, the Maker certainly gave you the gift of good timing, eh?" the elf woman opined as she took note of the new arrivals.

"Company?" the Dalish huntress Andromeda interjected, cleaving to the heart of the matter, an attribute that only raised Arthur's estimation of her._ 'I wonder...would she consider joining us? Assuming we survive this, the Wardens of Ferelden will need to replenish their numbers and she might do well...'_

"A large group of darkspawn just showed up on the other side of the river. We loosed a few arrows, but they're not getting the message; it's as if they're waiting for something...or _someone" _Shianni suggested, the look that she directed the Wardens indicating who she thought had drawn the darkspawn.

"Show me" Arthur asked and the young woman led them to the other side of the Alienage, pointing out past the ruins of the destroyed bridge that allowed elven servants access from their homes to workplaces in the Palace District, to what lay beyond.

Looking across the river, Arthur and company watched as a veritable army of darkspawn- at least a hundred, probably more- stared murderously back at them, primarily genlocks and hurlocks, the helmed heads of alphas and headcrests of emissaries interspersed among the rank and file, snarling and shrieking but making no move to attack...yet. As the group watched, a tall hurlock with the headcrest and trappings of an emissary barged its way to the front of the line, hissing and clubbing over the head any of its ilk to get in the way. The creature had to be another general, Arthur guessed, based on the fact its robes, the staff it bore, the charms and fetishes adorning its withered frame were much finer than those that marked out the rest of its sorcery wielding ilk. That and the fact that its ilk were displaying deference, even fear towards the creature, even those that had been on the receiving end of a blow from it.

"Kill it!" Alistair commanded, gesturing at the emissary. "It's in charge of this bunch. Kill it and they'll run with their tails between their legs!"

Everyone in the vicinity with a bow loosed arrows at the gathered darkspawn, but the emissary merely raised a clawed hand, gesturing at the missiles about to rain down on its head. A dark miasma seemed to seep from between its clawed fingers, a shimmering haze of black mist looming over the heads of the gathered darkspawn. The arrows passed through the haze as they fell, and as Arthur watched, the arrows decayed and fell apart-fletching withering, wooden shafts crumbling into rotted mulch and dust, arrowheads collapsing into rust, falling as harmlessly as rain. Unharmed, the darkspawn let loose a horrific cacophony of derision, howling and shrieking, beating their weapons against their shields and fists against chests, working themselves into a frenzy, preparing for the inevitable response...

Lowering its hand, the magic it had just used dissipating, the emissary glared at the Wardens, its perpetual death's head grin wider than ever. The darkspawn pointed at Arthur and made the same _hruk-hruk_ noise as the general at the Market had, the sound coming from deep within its chest, making the beast's shoulders shake as it did. It took Arthur a few seconds to realise the hurlock was laughing at him, as amused by their efforts to try and stop it as its kin had been at their shambolic efforts to kill the ogres.

Raising its staff above its head in both hands, the headpiece glowing with eldritch red light, the emissary let loose a primordial howl as it clearly prepared another spell.

"Shut it up!" Arthur demanded of Alistair, but the ex-templar merely shook his head.

"It's out of my range" Alistair protested, just as the emissary's shrieking reached its apex and the hurlock slammed its glowing staff into the waters of the River Drakon. The moment the staff's base entered the water, the magic bound within it was unleashed, the river beginning to freeze into ice, the emissary creating a bridge between the river bank and the Alienage. With a matter of minutes, an expanse of dark ice had formed across the River Drakon, fashioning a makeshift bridge that the darkspawn howled and gibbered excitedly at the sight of, fully grasping what its purpose, what the bridge would allow them to do. Placing a booted foot on the frozen river, the emissary took a few tentative steps onto the ice bridge, testing to see if what it had created would support its weight. After a few moments, the emissary, clearly satisfied, then hissed at its ilk, raising its right arm and pointing at the Alienage, its hand suddenly clenching into a fist. The meaning could not have been clearer.

With a collective roar of savage glee, the darkspawn broke into a headlong charge straight across the frozen river for the Alienage.


	63. Chapter 61: Assault on the Alienage

_Ok, here we go with the latest chapter; sorry it's taken so long, I've been up to my eyes in things lately (and I still am), so I can't say when the next update will be, but we're close to the end so hopefully this story will be done soon and we can move on to what comes next (hopefully before the release of Dragon Age III). This might be a bit weak at places, I don't know, but it was getting to the stage where if I didn't get this done, it might not happen, so I'll take my chances._

_As ever, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this; that's been at times the only thing giving me the impetus to keep going with this. Special thanks to **Theodur, MB18932, KnightofHolyLight, MysticGohan88, T** (in answer to your question, when I finally get around to doing Awakening, yes Leliana will be in it), **The Phoenix King** and **SuperGravyMan** for your reviews, and to **Rinage, Axel123455, jaffa3** and Huheh for adding this to favourites._

_Will try to have more for you when I can._

_**'Atrast nal tunsha- May you always find your way in the dark'.**_

_And as always, enjoy!_

* * *

"FIRE AT WILL!" Arthur screamed desperately and a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts tore through the air, ripping into the front ranks of the darkspawn mob charging headlong into the Alienage, killing or at least injuring dozens of the creatures. Hurlocks and genlocks in the first rank fell to the missiles like wheat under the scythe, several of those who fell tripping up members of their ilk, while others that fell injured were trampled underfoot as the next ranks continued their charge without stopping.

The defenders had quickly formed up around the gate of the Alienage; a shieldwall of men with Alistair in their midst gathered behind the wooden gates erected to segregate the Alienage from the rest of the city, prepared for when the gate came down, which Arthur suspected would ultimately be inevitable against such numbers. Stood on hasilty erected platforms and barricades behind the walls on either side of the gate were twenty men-at-arms, crossbows and longbows drawn and ready, accompanied by several elves who'd refused to stand down and join the rest of their fellows hiding for safety in homes and buildings that were still standing, with Arthur and Morrigan stood on the defences to the left and Leliana and Arabella stood to the right of the gate, raining arrows and spells down on the darkspawn with the other defenders.

Another desperate volley of arrows loosed from the walls dropped more of the attacking darkspawn, the first ranks of the horde having reached the Alienage gate and trying to clamber over the walls; several men drew swords, hacking and stabbing at the creatures trying to swarm them, the darkspawn at a disadvantage as they tried to climb, vulnerable to the stab or hack of a sword, either dying from the wound or losing their grip and slipping from the wall as injury distracted them from their attempts to climb the wall. For a moment, it looked like the defenders might hold their own.

And then the emissary general entered the fray.

Flame burst to life in its hands and the emissary sent it flying with a snap of its fingers, the fireball obliterating the arcane shield Morrigan had cast and sending men and elves flying from their positions, screaming and burning; Morrigan herself only avoided being incinerated by leaping away at the last second, colliding with Arthur as she did and sending both of them crashing to the floor, the fire passing over their heads. Another spell, this time a dart fashioned of red light, darted from the emissary's hands to hit an elven archer on the right wall; the elven man screamed as the spell burned through his stolen armour, through the shirt under it into flesh, and then the elf suddenly exploded, dousing all around him in a spray of blood, sundered flesh and shredded organs. Arabella quickly cast another arcane shield, protecting herself and Leliana, but the elves and soldiers weren't so lucky, those doused in the remains of the unfortunate elf screaming and thrashing as the spell caused the man's blood to burn through armour, clothing and flesh with the ferocity of acid. With those raining arrows down on its ilk briefly stymied, the emissary's hands came alive again with magical flame, coalescing into a sphere of glowing red fire that the emissary turned loose at the gate, the fireball exploding into the gate and obliterating it, as well as much of the stone of the surrounding wall.

As the remains of the gate exploded inward, showering the men behind it in debris, embers and splinters, forcing Alistair and the shieldwall of soldiers to duck, trying to avoid being impaled or pulverised by wood or stone fragments, the tide of darkspawn poured through, no longer held back by the paltry barricades, gibbering and howling in manic, savage glee, the need to destroy sending them hurtling towards the shield wall, knowing that the few men in their path were all that stood between them and virgin ground for them to defile.

"Hold the line!" Arthur heard Alistair roar as he and the Redcliffe men-at-arms locked shields, bracing for the inevitable impact. There was an ear-splitting crash of metal as charging darkspawn hit the shieldwall, howling like demons and hacking, slashing and stabbing at anything they could reach. The Redcliffe soldiers used the darkspawn's frenzied savagery against them, using their shields to block the hacking and slashing blows of their enemies, pushing them back with their shields enough to create an opening, then cut down their enemies with simple stabs to the chest and stomach, clean and precise. Occasionally, a soldier in the second or third ranks would also stab between the gaps in the front rank with a spear, piercing a darkspawn distracted by hammering at a soldier's shield. As Arthur watched, a genlock's head was turned into red paste as a heavy boulder falling from on high landed on its skull, while other hurlocks and genlocks died from arrows that were raining down, impacting fatally through brows, eyes and throats, while others died as the injury from an arrow or thrown rock distracted their attention and a Redcliffe soldier drove a blade through them. Chancing a look up, Arthur saw numerous elves- men, women and children- perched on the roofs or leaning out of windows of buildings, loosing arrows or throwing rocks, spears and other things like burnt lumps of wood and roof tiles; any missile they could get their hands on down they rained down on the heads of the darkspawn. It wasn't likely to stop them, but Arthur would take every bit of help he could get.

Seeing how little progress its soldiers were making, the general changed tactics; Arthur felt a sudden surge through his veins from the taint as a familiar deep roar drowned out all other sounds and the instantly recognisable blue bulk of a charging ogre came into view. At the same time, the emissary general began blasting fireballs at the buildings on which the elves raining missiles down on the heads of its troops. Darkspawn archers in the back ranks took the hint, beginning to direct their arrows at the figures shooting at them from above, black fletched arrows trying to pick off the figures scrambling off the burning roof tops, more than one plummeting to their deaths from their perch with an arrow in the back or ribs.

The ogre hit the Redcliffe lines like a battering ram, goring two men on its horns before laying about itself with its fists, sending men flying, smashing shields and staving in breastplates as easily as it crushed skulls and broke bones, paying no attention to the arrows or blades that punctured its leathery hide. Panic set in as men in the ranks began to break formation, trying to get out of the rampaging ogre's way, opening gaps in their formation that the darkspawn were quick to exploit, overrunning men whose only concern was saving themselves and cutting down men overcome by terror. Unless they acted fast, it would be the rout at Ostagar all over again.

"HEY!" Arthur roared as he leapt back to his feet, the darkspawn having overlooked the downed Warden in favour of easier prey in the panicking soldiers, and charged forward, heading straight for the ogre, which now had stopped its charge, holding the corpse of a dead elf, about to take a bite from the body. The ogre looked round, angry at being distracted from its meal, its fanged jaws opening to snarl at the new challenger...and Arthur drove Duncan's sword into the ogre's maw, the blade lancing through the roof of the darkspawn's mouth and erupting from its skull like a new horn. But by that point, the hulking blue monster had served its purpose; the shieldwall was gone, and like Ostagar, the battle for the Alienage had devolved into a chaotic melee, a free for all where the only thing that matter to those fighting was their own survival. Fortunately, the dwarves who'd survived the Market District with the Wardens proved invaluable, the Dead Legionaires refusing to back down, their courage serving as an example to the panicking human soldiers, the men beginning to form up and fight, trying to stem the tide of monsters pouring into the Alienage.

Arthur parried a hurlock's axe and headbutted the beast in the face, finishing the stunned darkspawn with a stab to the chest. Alistair and about half a dozen soldiers had taken position in the gap between two abandoned houses and were using the ogre's body as a barricade, forcing the darkspawn trying to attack them to clamber over the monster's corpse to reach their prey. He could see Leliana, the Dalish huntress Andromeda and some others perched in the branches of the vhenedahl tree, loosing arrows with lethal accuracy where they could, either killing or making an opening for a warrior on their side to finish their bestial opponent, but restraining themselves from loosing shafts too often for fear of hitting the wrong target in the confusion below. Arthur saw a genlock alpha dragged screaming into another dark alleyway, pulled off its feet and yanked away by chitinous clawed limbs that looked like Morrigan's in her spider form. Edward was darting in and between the legs of combatants, sinking teeth and claws into the backs of knees and the lower ribs of darkspawn, distracting the creatures long enough for their opponents to cut them down. And then the emissary took to the field again, blasting fire and lightning at anything unlucky enough to get in the way. Two Redcliffe soldiers and a hurlock violently exploded as a spell from the emissary turned them into walking bombs, dousing anything in range of the explosions in boiling blood that burned like acid, sending combatants screaming and writhing to the ground, trying to stop the tainted fluid eating their flesh. The emissary continued its sorcerous rampage by letting loose a fireball that exploded into the trunk of the vhendahl tree; mercifully, Leliana and the others in its branches got clear in the nick of time, but in addition to stopping them from contributing to the defenders' efforts with their archery, the sight of the 'Tree of the People' in flames would likely destroy the morale of what few elves were still fighting to help them, most having already abandoned the battle to hide in their houses. With that, Arthur set his sights on the general.

Arthur beheaded one hurlock in his path, severed a second's sword arm in the shoulder when it tried to get in his way and rammed a genlock out of the way with his shoulder, and then there was nothing between him and the emissary. His sword darted out, but with surprising agility, the hurlock ducked under the blade's swing and brought eh hooked metal headpiece of its staff down on Arthur's own head; his helm saved him from injury, but the force of the blow was enough to daze him. A second, downward hack was parried by the emissary inches from the sword cleaving open its head. As the two fighters struggled to overcome each other, a well placed kick with a hobnailed boot to the instep of his right foot turned the tables on Arthur, breaking the blade-lock and sending him limping back a few steps; before he could recover, the emissary slammed the butt of its staff into the floor, sending the Warden flying off his feet as the force of the telekinetic blast struck him. Landing heavily, feeling like an overturned tortoise as the weight of his armour made him slow to rise, Arthur felt a booted foot stamp down on the wrist of his sword arm, reflexively letting go as he cried out in pain, feeling bones break from the force of impact, hearing the crackle of flames and cried out as the emissary pulled his helmet from his head, placing its boot on his throat, raising its right hand holding the fireball over his head, intending to bring it down and cook the Warden in his own armour...

Suddenly, the fire in the hurlock's hands guttered out, before a fist-shaped boulder slammed into the emissary's chest, knocking it off its feet; Arthur looked up to see Alistair and Arabella, the young king's hands showing the signs of having used his templar training while Arabella lowered her right hand, the one that had cast the spell, while a spark of pale green energy darted from her left to Arthur, the Warden letting out a sigh of relief as he felt the bones of his wrist realign and set back into place. The mage then raised her staff, unleashing a jet of magical ice that turned any darkspawn in its path into frozen statues and would also have done for the general, had a shimmering barrier of black energy not erupted to life before the beast as it got back to its feet. Arthur recovered his sword, about to assault the emissary when a pair of hurlocks came charging at him; he parried one mace with his shield before backhanding the monster with his shield, sending it staggering back, spitting black blood and broken teeth; Arthur brought Duncan's sword down on its armed hand, sending the severed limb, clawed fingers still clasped around the mace's haft to the floor along with its owner, who fell in a heap, screaming and clutching at the stump of its right arm, spurting black blood. The second one swung at him with vicious, but wide sweeping slashes of its scimitars that Arthur dodged back from or that clanged harmlessly off his armour; finally, its blows missed Arthur altogether, burying the blades of its sword in the earth, wet with blood. Before it could pull them free, Arthur stamped down heavily on the weapons, their shoddy steel blades shattering under the force of the silverite boot, before his own sword slashed upward and opened the hurlock's throat. Leaving his foe clawing at its throat in a vain effort to staunch the blood flow, Arthur paused only to finish off the first hurlock with a clinical stab to the heart before moving back to help Arabella with the emissary general.

And then a chilling screech cut across the sounds of fighting, accompanied by the familiar _hruk-hruk_ sound of the emissary laughing; Arthur spun round to see Arabella on her knees, an ugly gash open on her forehead and her hand pressed to a stab wound in her side that was bleeding profusely, turning the blue and white tabard she wore over her armour scarlet. The shriek that had injured her seized Arabella's head, about to drive a long blade through her throat when one of Leliana's arrows struck it in the back, the sudden burst of pain causing the gangly creature to arch away from Arabella, clutching the protruding shaft and gibbering in pain. Before it could recover, Arthur brought his sword down on the thing's neck, sending the shriek's long faced head rolling across the ground and between the legs of combatants. Arthur extended a hand, about to help Arabella to her feet when he saw Arabella's eyes widen in shock at something behind him. Arthur whirled round, seeing the emissary already back on its feet, a sphere of flickering red light glowing ominously in its hands. Arthur raised his shield, just in time to stop the torrent of flame that suddenly exploded from the emissary's fingers from setting his head ablaze. The emissary ramped up the ferocity of its attack, Arthur trusting in the enchantments woven into his armour to give him some protection from the darkspawn's magic, but he could not move to either withdraw or advance on his enemy; every time he did, the emissary attacked him with more magic; the fire it was blasting at him was so hot that Arthur could see his shield begin to glow red hot, droplets of molten metal. Sooner or later, either the ferocity of the emissary's magic would do for his armour, or another darkspawn would take advantage of the fact that he was pinned down.

And suddenly from nowhere, an male elf, white haired and armed with nothing but a silver dagger, came charging out of nowhere, roaring "For Duncan! For the Wardens! For the Alienage!" and with wiry strength and speed Arthur would not have credited him with, leapt onto the General's back, frenziedly stabbing the monster in its back and right side and disrupting its spell. The emissary howled, a sound of combined pain and fury, every time the dagger bit into its flesh as it lashed out at its attacker, a clawed hand darting out and seizing the elf, flinging him to the floor. The elf rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding a hobnailed boot turning his skull to paste, but as the white haired elf tried to get back to his feet, the emissary's clawed hands darted out and the elf got the full brunt of a blast of magical lightning, searing flesh and likely boiling blood and cooking organs within the body. The elf was blasted off his feet by the force and fury of the attack, collapsing in a smouldering heap at the foot of the burning vhenedhal tree.

The emissary let loose a roar of triumph, turning back to the wounded Arabella and Arthur, eager to pick up where it had left off, when its triumph turned into a strangled yowl and one hand dropped to pull free a crossbow bolt lodged in its back. The hurlock spun round looking for its attacker and took another in the chest. A collective scream of "For the hahren!" suddenly rang out and the emissary and the darkspawn closest to it were bowled over as an angry mob of elves, with Niamh, Shianni, Cyrion and Soris Tabris at its head, armed with knifes, axes, cudgels, some with rocks, sticks and their bare hands, giving vent to their fury at the monsters that sought to destroy their homes and kill their friends and families.

The emissary blasted some of its attackers off their feet with another telekinetic blast, but more simply took their place, surrounding and taking their turns punching, whacking, kicking, stabbing and beating the hapless darkspawn general to a bloody pulp. Fire and lightning flickered out from its clawed hands as the emissary tried to drive its attackers back, but Alistair was in the fray in an instant, silencing the darkspawn's attempts at magic thanks to his templar training, before smiting the hurlock with as much power as he could summon, blasting the hapless emissary off its feet. The elven mob descended on the beast before it could recover; such was their fury and the ferocity of the attack that the elves were still attacking long after the emissary's feeble struggles had ceased.

The emissary's death had an immediate domino effect; the genlocks and hurlocks, bereft of direction, began to turn and run, first in dribs and drabs before the dam burst and the entire army turned on its heels and fled, the surviving elven militia and Redcliffe soldiers, along with Arthur's companions loosing arrows and crossbow bolts at their retreating backs. The battle for the Alienage swiftly came to its end, the sounds of fighting fading out to leave only the crackle of flames and the cries of the injured and dying on both sides.

Arabella was unsteadily getting back on her feet, a hand pressed to the stab wound bending over the broken body of the elven man who had saved their lives. The Warden mage took one look at the elf and shook her head, closing the elf's eyes before wincing as the task of bending down caused pain to her injured side. Morrigan was once more in human form, but clearly exhausted; she stood a distance away, surrounded by the corpses of several darkspawn, doubled over her staff, breathing heavily, exhaustion written all over her face. Leliana and others prowled amongst the dead, recovering their arrows and finishing off any wounded darkspawn they found, opening throats and piercing hearts. The elves were moving their wounded and dead into the shelter of one of the less damaged buildings, accomapnied by Redcliffe men-at-arms moving the more injured of their comrades, along with other soldiers who were either trying to help the elves put out the fires that threatened to spread. As Arthur watched, Shianni and Niamh, both of them limping heavily, his old friend's leather armour torn and ripped in places and the dagger in her hand stained with black blood, had joined Arabella, watching her gently close the eyes of the dead man.

"Hahren Valendrian" Shianni muttered sadly, causing Arthur to look closely at the broken body of the elven man who'd saved his life; up close, Arthur recognised the man as the elven elder they'd pulled from the cages of the Tevinter slavers, the one who'd talked at length about his friendship with Duncan, and his regret of his old friend's death at Ostagar. Had that been why he'd thrown himself at the emissary? One last act for the Warden whose friendship he couldn't repay? Or gratitude to the young man who saved him from a life and death in Tevinter shackles?

"He saved me..."

"Then make that sacrifice worth something, Warden" Shianni demanded. "End this battle now, before it's too late"

"We need to reach the Archdemon. We have to reach Fort Drakon" Arthur began to explain before his old friend cut across him.

"Then I can be of help" Niamh remarked, replacing a missing dagger and belting a hurlock's scimitar to her waist. "I know ways- back doubles and side alleys that elven servants who work there use to get to and from the Alienage; Maker forbid that we elves should sully the streets that the nobility use. It won't be much, but it might get us closer to there without having to carve our way through half of the horde that's taken up residence there"

Arthur quickly gathered a fresh force to accompany them, enough to give them a fighting chance of reaching the fortress but few enough to travel Leliana, Alistair, Morrigan, Niamh Tabris, the Dalish huntress Andromeda and a few other Dalish who survived, the few remaining dwarves who'd fought with them in the Market District, now numbering no more than six, with Legionary Captain Kardol at their head, the dwarf's nose broken again and a ragged, bleeding hole where his right ear had been and five Redcliffe soldiers who'd volunteered out of less than twenty five who'd survived the battle, the remainder staying behind to help the elves and protect the Alienage in the event of another attack. Arabella had told them to go on ahead while she tended to the injuries the shriek had given her, asking them to wait for her on the other side of the river and she'd catch up.

"Come on, before reinforcements show up. We need to get to Fort Drakon!" Arthur commanded.

"Arl Eamon's plan was to enter the city from the west gate while our army assaulted the north gate and try to drive on towards the Palace District. If the Maker's feeling charitable, his assault might draw the darkspawn out of our path and make getting to the fort easier...if we're lucky" Alistair hastened to add.

"Well, we won't find out by standing here" Arthur remarked as he broke into a trot, the rest of the forces going with them following suit. "Let's get moving before those things come back!"

The party were halfway across the bridge over the river when a blood-curdling roar of inconceivable fury, accompanied by the sound of beating wings, broke the uneasy silence that had fallen, and the shadow of Death itself fell over the Alienage.

#############

'_DIE! DIE! **WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!**'_ Urthemiel screamed, torrent after torrent of fire emitting from the dargon's gaping maw, turning ice to water, wood to ash and metal to slag, seeing the slayers and their allies run from their lives from the elven island, across the bridge of ice the emissary general had fashioned. The archdemon's fire obliterated the magical construct, sending numerous darkspawn still on it plummeting to drown in the river, but the archdemon didn't care; Urthemiel would kill a thousand or even ten thousand of his own soldiers if it meant destroying the Warden-slayers in the process. The club of spiked bone that tipped the dragon's tail smashed buildings and statues into pieces, sending chunks of burning wood and stone down on the heads of the fleeing slayers and the other mortal warriors running with them, fallen chunks of masonry coming within inches of pulverising his nemeses.

_'If you want something right, you have to do it yourself!'_ Urthemiel raged, having witnessed another of his 'finest' warriors torn apart by a mob of half-starved, fleabitten elves. _'Very well. I will direct this personally!' _Urthemiel raged as more gouts of dark fire emitted from the dragon's cavernous maw, forcing the slayers to keep running towards the labyrinth of the Palace District, giving no chance to recover or catch their breath. Soon enough, they would tire, too exhausted to continue fleeing, and then he would burn them all from on high. He would kill them personally, from above, at no danger to himself.

So focused was Urthemiel on thoughts of rage and slaughter that the archdemon didn't see the dark figure leaping off the tower, didn't hear the screamed war cry until it was too late.

All the archdemon saw was a flicker of movement out of the corner of its eye, and then a lance of pain surged through Urthemiel as the archdemon felt the blade of a sword bury into its shoulder. The archdemon's head twisted around, trying to get a glimpse of its attacker, seeing a dark haired, bearded human male in leather armour clinging by one hand to the row of bony spikes that adorned Urthemiel's back and to the hilt of a sword protruding from the archdemon's right shoulder with the other.

_'You dare lay a hand on me! You dare raise a blade against me!' _Urthemiel shrieked into the human's head, his fury carried into the man's mind by the tainted blood that linked them. The Slayer pressed a hand to his temple, for a moment unprepared for such raw power directed at him, but the mortal used the pain to fuel anger, and retaliated by driving the sword into the dragon's body, twisting the blade deeper into the flesh, trying to angle the blade's path between the ribs and into the heart.

Urthemiel's response was to angle his course into one of the burning towers of the royal palace, intending to scrape the Warden-Slayer off his back like scraping barnacles off a ship's hull. As the dragon's spine collided with stone, Urthemiel felt a brief sense of relief at the feeling of the Warden's sword being drawn out of the wound in his spine, only to feel a fresh surge of pain and anger at the sword biting into the soft flesh of the right wing membrane. Twisting its head, the archdemon saw the Warden clinging on for dear life to the hilt of his sword, buried to the hilt in the wing membrane.

_'Do you like to fly?'_ the archdemon roared into the old man's mind through the taint, seeing him wince in pain at the agony the archdemon's telepathic assault caused him as Urthemiel propelled himself higher and higher into the air, heading straight for the summit of the tower fortress the mortals called Fort Drakon, ignoring the pain screaming through his body from his maimed wing, watching the Warden-Slayer desperately trying to cling on as every beat of the dragon's wings caused the sword to wobble, threatening to dislodge it. The Warden-Slayer clung on for dear life...

But the Warden's weight was too much. With a horrendous ripping sound, the sword parted the wing membrane like cloth, causing the archdemon to scream...and the old man to fall off.

_**"DIE!" **_Urthemiel roared telepathically as he watched the older slayer's figure recede as the human plummeted to his death. The brief satisfaction of knowing the elder slayer would surely perish in the fall was suddenly stymied by the realisation that he would also likely die if he continued his plummet. Desperately angling his course, Urthemiel ensured that his plummet ended with him crashlanding on the battlements that crowned the tower's summit, men and women in the armour of the City Guard, the tower's garrison, running for their lives at the sight of the badly injured dragon desperately clawing itself over the wall onto the open square, wide enough for a hundred men to occupy at any one time, the beast then collapsing from pain and exhaustion. Taking advantage of the fact the mortal soldiers were too busy screaming in terror and running around like headless chickens at the sight of the archdemon to take note of his injured condition, Urthemiel slowly forced himself to his feet and took stock of his injuries.

His left wing was a tattered ruin, incapable of flight, the leathery pinion torn to pieces, blood from the membrane's torn capillaries and veins splattering over the stones, forming steaming red puddles, the muscles of the shoulder severed, rendering the wing useless and causing pain to the foreleg each time Urthemiel took a step. Several of the archdemon's ribs felt broken, likely done in the fall, as well as a number of broken claws and fangs. Urthemiel slowly and unsteadily got back to his feet, tottering from side to side as he lumbered away from the tower's edge, his attention caught by a collective howl of war cries as soldiers of the tower's garrison, led by a warrior in gilded plate armour and waving a sword who seemed to be the garrison's captain, overcame their terror and charged him. Two spears pricked his left wing, sending fresh torrents of steaming blood splattering on the cobbles. The guard captain's sword bit into the flesh of the injured right foreleg, severing a clawed toe, and other mortal spears bit into the flesh of the dragon's sides and underbelly, either opening fresh wounds or deepening those already bleeding.

Howling in fury, the archdemon lashed out with fang and talon, shattering spears and breaking bones. The dragon's head and neck darted out, swift as a striking snake, seizing the captain in its jaws, the rows of serrated dagger-shaped teeth punching through the screaming man's armour, flesh and bone with enough force to nearly bite the captain in two. Urthemiel's next bite finished the job. Tossing its head back and swallowing both still kicking halves whole, the archdemon's maw opened, the guardsmen realising the meaning of the ominous glow at the back of the dragon's throat too late as a stream of dark fire cooked ten of them in their own armour, the remainder deciding discretion was the better part of valour, throwing down their weapons and taking to flight...at least until they regained their courage, or reinforcements arrived.

Urthemiel suddenly grasped the old Warden's purpose; not to kill but to trap him up here, too badly injured to escape, in poor condition to fight, at the mercy of the stripling slayers who were, even now, making their way through the city towards him with an army in tow, enough numbers to slay even him...

_"Come to me!"_ the archdemon cried out telepathically to all the darkspawn within the city, fear lending urgency to his demand. _"Your master commands you protect me! Make haste! My enemies draw near, they seek to kill me! Come to my side, protect me! **PROTECT ME! NOW**!"_

The archdemon's mind then reached out into the wilderness beyond the city, calling out to those of his armies he'd commanded to wait in ambush, now giving the soldiers the command they'd been ordered to wait for.

"_NOW! Launch the attack! Spring the trap! All forces attack! Surround the city and do not stop the assault until it is taken! No prisoners, no mercy! Slay __**EVERYTHING **__within the walls, am I understood?!_

_'We obey the will of Urthemiel!' _thousands of minds answered as one_._

* * *

The Alienage was a hive of activity, elves and men running around tending to the wounded, dragging them into the houses and buildings still standing where healers awaited, trying to put out the fires blazing that, if left unchecked, would consume the entire community, or finishing off any injured or dying darkspawn, before rolling the corpses of the monsters into the river, trying to touch the dead as little as possible to avoid any possible exposure to the taint, trusting the fast flowing waters of the River Drakon to carry the dead darkspawn out to sea, where their corruption could do no harm.

Men and elves kept a wary eye on the sky as well, clearly afraid of another airborne attack, even though the archdemon was gone, too engrossed in its pursuit of the fleeing Wardens, and taken the majority of the darkspawn force that had assaulted the Alienage with it, as well as destroying their way to attack the Alienage, the fear still lingered that once the monster lost interest in pursuing the Wardens, it would be back to finish the job. In the midst of that activity, few paid attention to an injured women in blue and white armour slumped at the foot of the vhendhal tree, tending to herself.

Arabella placed a hand to her side; the wound the shriek's blade had given her was deep and painful, but not mortal. She willed healing energy into her hands and directed it to the stab wound, watching as the wound shrank and stopped bleeding, but much to her chagrin, didn't close entirely.

_'It's my own damn fault for not paying attention when Irving taught us healing spells'_ Arabella chided herself for her youthful inattention, remembering how her younger self had been more interested in blowing things to smithereens with fire and lightning then how to close a wound and stop it becoming infected, a skill that would be quite useful now. Another group of elves began to approach, clearly wanting to try and escort her to the healers who were doing their best for those injured in the attack, but she waved them away; there were far more pressing cases than a minor stab wound- she'd seen Cyrion Tabris lose his left arm at the elbow to a genlock's hatchet, and she could see Soris being helped to his feet by a young woman, the elf's head wrapped in bandages to staunch the bleeding where a shriek had bitten off his left ear, other elves and men at arms bleeding, limbs, heads and other extremities swathed in bandages, the healers doling out poultices and healing potions to those who needed them, all others trying to restore some semblance of order and safety to the Alienage. All attention was diverted elsewhere.

_'Perfect'_ Arabella thought as she made sure no one was looking, summoning the power into her hands, watching as said hands shrank and contorted, fingers melding together, the skin darkening, spiny bristles forming and lengthening into feathers, completing the transformation of arms into wings.

_'Thanks for the help, Zev'_ Arabella thought to herself as the rest of her continued to transform; her elven lover had given her some tutoring in how pick locks and blend in shadows, which Arabella had put to use in order to sneak into Morrigan's room a few times when they stayed at Castle Redcliffe when the witch was gone, allowing her access to the grimoires and other objects in Morrigan's possession, laden with spells and magical abilities few in the Circle dreamed even existed. Most would have taken too long to learn, particularly given that Morrigan rarely left her things alone for long, but Arabella had been able to scribble down a few useful tricks, not least of all some of Morrigan's spells to shapeshift into animals. Given that the only bridge off the island had been destroyed by a psychopathic dragon-god and the city beyond overrun by darkspawn, the archdemon had illustrated the quickest way to get across the city was above it.

_'I'm coming, lads!_' Arabella asserted. Even injured, she could still fight, and given what she'd just seen Urthemiel do, her fellow Wardens were going to need all the help they could get. Plus, she meant what she'd said; she intended to be the one to deal the deathblow to the archdemon. She would ensure the two other Wardens, two men who'd given her so much that she could never repay, would make it through this, and that by ending the Blight, she might make some small amends for all the wrongs she'd done by doing one last thing right.

Few, if any, of the Alienage's inhabitants noticed until much later that the wounded Warden who'd been sat recovering herself at the vhenadahl's base had suddenly disappeared, and that a small hawk had taken wing, flying with desperate speed in the direction of the distant spire of Fort Drakon as fast as it could move.


	64. Chapter 62: The Moment to Fight

_Ok, first of all, let me apologise for how long this one has taken; most of the last few weeks have been spent either on holiday or ill with little/no internet, so I'm very much playing catch-up in regards to writing/reviewing/ answering questions left for me. Rest assured, just like this bloody epic, they will get done!_

_Hopefully this chapter serves as recompense for the long wait, and the promise that the next chapter (which is about half done) hopefully won't take as long. After that, we'll be close to the ending, though it'll probably slow down as I'm trying to get a personal project of mine completed by end of March, but this will get done, since I don't leave things unfinished and we're so close to the end now!_

As ever, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this; special thanks as always to _**KnightofHolyLight, Theodur **(I really enjoyed the ending of** The Years Between,** I owe you a review of that), **SuperGravyMan, MysticGohan88 **(I still owe you answers to those questions you asked, I will get them to you, I promise!), **Vibrolux61, alex9996** and **vox351** for your reviews, and to** AaronBrien, Badger2430, DarthRag, Lokken.8,** x102reddragon, SonOfPoiseidon05, IIGaneshII, TaylorLoe, r1incewind1 and ChocolateTruffles for adding this to favourites- believe me, knowing so many people want the next installment has at times been necessary to keep me going!_

_As always, enjoy, and hopefully I shall have more up for you very soon!_

* * *

About a mile and a half outside the city of Denerim, the ground of a wide, open field, once the site of a farmer's bountiful crop but now a charred and ashen ruin, suddenly collapsed into a gaping crevasse, the magic of dozens of emissaries stood gathered in a cavernous section of the Deep Roads that came close to the surface causing the roof of the cavern and the ground above to collapse, opening a path to the surface for eight thousand darkspawn stood in the tunnel, awaiting only the command to emerge and attack. They'd been hidden deep enough underground and the presence of more than twice their number in the burning city had been sufficient to hide this second army from the Wardens, at least until it was too late. Now, they'd all heard their master's call and the Wardens would pay dearly for this oversight.

A hulking behemoth of a hurlock at the front of the darkspawn lines strode up the crude ramp the cavern roof's destruction had created, loping up a new slope formed of earth and rock debris. The beast was clad from head to foot in crudely made, but effective steel plate armour, its head hidden behind a full helm crested with two curling horns. Its left arm carried a rectangular shield as wide as a man's torso, while its right hand clutched a scimitar cursed with the enchantments of a powerful emissary, one that caused the blade's edge to weep poisonous black slime, a single scratch with which was enough to be fatal. This beast was another of the archdemon's generals, one that had been the horde's vanguard at Ostagar, who had led the frontrunners of the horde in the burning and pillaging of the Bannorn. Now, its Master had chosen it for an even greater task; to save it from death and ensure the utter destruction of its enemies, and by dint, the conquest of Ferelden, since the death of every living thing in the city would include the Wardens, thus removing the only thing that could harm the Master in this flea-infested rat's nest of a country.

_'The humans hunt me, Vanguard. Show them what you and your kin know of death'_ the Master commanded, imprinting its will in the mind of the darkspawn, its words tinged with both fear and anger, the intensity of which caused the hurlock to stagger, a trickle of dark blood running from its nose as the Master gave its servant a taste of the whip, a reminder of the price the hurlock would pay should it fail.

_'We obey the will of Urthemiel!_' the vanguard roared back telepathically as the Master's presence withdrew and its head cleared. The hurlock vanguard raised its sword to the blood-red sky and let loose a howl that the eight thousand warriors of its kind echoed with shrieking cries and roars of their own. Lowering its sword, the vanguard broke into a run, the rest of its army following suit, a blood-curdling cacophany of chittering shrieks, roars and bestial war cries heralding their coming to their enemies as the jaws of the archdemon's trap came snapping shut.

###############

Sten put his sword through the chest of another hurlock, the beast letting out a pained cry as a foot of Asala's length erupted from its back. Sten kicked the foul, fetid creature off Asala's blade, sending it staggering back into two of its ilk charging through the gate, all three crashing to the blood-stained cobbles in a tangled heap. His sword stabbed out twice, finishing off the two on the floor before they could get back up. A fireball hurled by the saarebas of the Ferelden 'Circle' exploded into the ranks of another mob of darkspawn, turning the pack of twenty into blazing torches that flailed and thrashed in a desperate, yet futile effort to put out the flames chewing at their flesh. The next wave trampled the dead and dying creatures without pity, along with those who fell to a desperate volley from the few archers dispersed among the defenders at the barricades, and positioned on what was left of the city walls and gatehouse.

All around him, humans, elves, dwarves of the forces left to him to defend this entrance to the city desperately struggled to hold the line and their own against a seemingly unending tide of monsters, fighting tooth and nail to keep the enemy from overwhelming the barricades and surging throught to link up with their kin and their master. Sten saw acts of desperate bravery and suicidal courage as the forces under his command gave their all to try and repulse the enemy.

Sten could already tell it would not be enough.

In his time as a warrior of the Beresaad, Sten had fought in many battles; skirmishes with corsairs out of Rivain and the Anderfels, fighting on Seheron and the mainland to either attack or repulse the armies of the Tevinter Imperium, but this was far worse than any of them. The darkspawn just kept coming, regardless of how many stood against them or how many of their own died in the constant attacks, and the horde was far more suited than the soldiers Sten had with him to win a battle of attrition. The only thing that had saved the few forces he had left from being wiped out thus far was that most of the darkspawn seemed more determined to just break through the lines and press on to the fortress where he knew the Grey Wardens had gone to confront the archdemon itself.

_'Something there has them scared. The Wardens must have done something right'._

He had faith in the Warden, the one who he'd dubbed 'kadan', one, who after all their time together, he now frankly thought worthy to be named 'basalit-an', to succeed in that battle. After all, Sten had witnessed Arthur Cousland accomplish things even the wisest Tamassran would deem impossible. He'd recovered Sten's sword, his Asala, in the midst of a country torn apart by conflict and chaos. He had brought the armies of three races together, had somehow convinced them to put aside their differences and internecine squabbles to rally against a common enemy. He'd defeated his nemesis, the mad _dathrasi_ Loghain, even though that treacherous foe had had the armies of an entire nation and the power of a usurped throne to command. Sten had faith that the Warden would overcome this tainted atashi, causing the tide of monsters it commanded to recede and thus bring the Blight to its end. Sten just hoped he would be there to witness the victory. He did not fear death-none in service to the Qun did, provided their death served a purpose- but he would be deeply disappointed if he were to die here, having stared into the eye of the Blight, seen the tide of death and destruction and what it would mean for all, both those enlightened and not, knowledge that the faithful of the Qun could greatly benefit from, and failed to bring such knowledge back to the Arishok. The blemish of an uncompleted mission on his service record and honour was not something he would countenance.

Still, even he was not so blind as to think victory might be possible. He could just make out the red haired dwarf and the stone warrior, the only other beside the Warden he knew as 'kadan' fighting back to back in the middle of a pack of darkspawn, a ring of dead and dying monsters around them but neither of them were in particularly good condition; the dwarf's helm was gone and his beard of fiery red hair was in tatters, as if hacked by a mad barber, his armour was notched and chipped in over a dozen places and blood was streaming down his face from an ugly gash while the golem's stony hide was riddled with cracks and chips, and one of its hands, a boulder-sized lump of chiselled rock, lay broken off and discarded on the blood-stained ground, though the ogre the golem had lost its hand fighting with had got far worse, the hulking blue behemoth lying in a sunken heap by the ruins of the city gate, missing its lower jaw and the left side of its skull a crushed ruin. He had no notion where the Antivan elf, the Crow, was, the elf having broken off about half an hour before to reinforce the archers perched on the walls, after reports of darkspawn infiltrators hitting the rear of their defensive lines had come through; for all he knew, the assassin was dead. The dozen Circle mages he'd had left, with the elder saarebas at their head, were still holding their own, though they'd taken losses; three of their number lay dead, slain when one of those sneaking, shrieking darkspawn assassins had gotten through the lines. As he watched, a fourth died as she blasted a hurlock with a jet of ice from the tip of her staff and another took advantage of the mage's distraction to drive its scimitar through her spine. The elder mage Wynne brought down the second darkspawn with a bolt of arcane energy that obliterated the beast's skull, but by then it was too late; her fellow mage was already dead.

"Come on you fish-eyed, nug humpers!" the dwarf roared as he swung his hammer in a low arc, shattering the knees of any darkspawn who got in its path, clearly showing no fear that the odds were rapidly turning against him, or more likely too intoxicated to care. "I'll take you all on!"

"You fight like pigeons!" the golem added as she backhanded a charging genlock with its mangled left arm, the rocky stump still sufficent to split the skull of her foe. "Prepare to be crushed like such!"

Another wave of darkspawn charged through the gates, beating their weapons against their shields, creating a horrific cacophany to announce their onslaught; an onslaught that hid the barricades like a tidal wave, the beasts clambering over the wooden palisades. At their head was a colossal hurlock clad in heavy plate armour, baring a heavy rectangular shield and one of the serrated scimitars so many of its kind bore, its head hidden by a full helm crested with the curling ram-like horns that marked it as the equivalent of a Sten in the darkspawn ranks, one that smashed through its own soldiers in eagerness to get at the foe, yet such was their respect, or fear for this creature they didn't dare respond.

The hurlock general vaulted over the barricades, laying about itself indiscriminately with sword and shield; anything that got in its path died. Wherever it attacked, the darkspawn fought on with greater vigour, as if their leader's example emboldened them to greater heights of savagery, while the defenders it was assaulting fell back with alarming rapidity, ignoring the commands of their sergeants and captains to stand their ground and fight, their panic only serving to heighten the darkspawn's bloodlust, the sight of a broken foe all too pleasing. For a moment, Sten wondered how the charge of one foe could so swiftly break seasoned soldiers, men who'd held their own against countless waves of enemy attack beforehand...and then he got his answer.

A soldier of the Denerim City Guard attacked the darkspawn general; the beast darted away from the blow and slashed out with its own blade, its tip leaving a small scratch on the man's cheek. The man looked about to laugh at such an insignificant injury, when suddenly, a spasm struck him and the guardsmen bent double, vomiting blood over the cobbles. Sten got a brief glimpse of the man's face, and was stunned to see the guard's eyes had turned milky-white, his face covered in sores and lesions that wept pus and blood turned black, the face of one long tainted. The hurlock brought its blade down on the stricken man's neck, whirling round to parry another guardsman's axe with its shield, then ran the soldier through. The body that fell to earth also had the look of one long tainted. Sten was stunned; such dark magic was beyond even the most corrupted saarebas as far as he knew. But as he saw more of those under his command die to the fell blade, where such evil had come from became less important to Sten as how to stop it.

The remaining Circle saarebas loosed their magic at it, darts of flame, ice and lightning leaping from the tips of their staffs, their missiles slowing and staggering the beast, but not stopping it, though numerous of its minions were dropped, though still not enough. A knight of Denerim, trying to take advantage of the mages' attacks, swung his mace at the beast's chest; quick as a flash, the darkspawn's arm came up and the mace rebounded off the hurlock's shield with a screech of crashing metal. The brute's horned head swung into the face of its foe, sending the man staggering, before the man's legs were swept out from under him, the hurlock raising its dripping sword above its head, ready to bring it stabbing down-

"Try me, bas filth!" Sten roared and the hurlock whirled round. He could see its eyes light up at the prospect of a victim who might put up something of a fight, a muted, but still audible war cry escaping from behind the visor of its full helm as it levelled its sword with his chest. Sten raised Asala, the flames enchanted into the sword by the strange dwarf boy that their company had encountered. Suddenly, he felt the foolishness of his challenge; he was tired and wounded after hours of battle, while his opponent was fresh and ready. A deep cut left by a genlock's hatchet at the back of his leg made putting weight on the limb or moving it painful at times, a wince of pain reminded him of the several cracked, or perhaps broken, ribs one of the ogre's fists had dealt him before Shayle had brought it down. Numerous cuts, bruises and abrasions wept blood and seethed with pain at times.

Still, he had to try; with any luck, bringing this beast down would hopefully break the darkspawn throwing themselves at his men with merciless savagery. Time spent with the Wardens had shown him the effect killing the more powerful and intelligent darkspawn, the ones that served as leaders, helped to disrupt the cohesion of the hive mind the monsters shared. It wouldn't win the battle, but it might buy them some breathing room and more time for the Wardens they were assisting.

Sten stood his ground and let the hurlock general come at him, their blades clashing with a screech of metal. Sten parried two chest-aimed slashes and swung out at the thing's neck; disappointment coursed through Sten at the resounding bang as Asala was turned away by the hurlock's shield. The hurlock's blade flicked out like an adder's tongue; Sten barely managed to back-step in time, the blade's edge scratching the silvered surface of his helm's visor instead of carving through his bevor and the flesh of his throat beneath. The next blow, a high cut aimed at his temple, sheared one of the silverite wings cresting his helm. Sten retaliated with a heavy blow that sheared through the armour covering the beast's shoulder, the hurlock letting out an angry howl as Asala bit through armour and into tainted flesh, the enchanted flames. The creature's horned helm swung forward, sending Sten staggering back as its forehead slamming into his own dazed him. He staggered back, hearing the crack of stone shattered as the hurlock's blade shattered the cobbles where his right foot had been a second before. The sword remained caught in the ground for a heartbeat; Sten brought his foot down on it, causing the hurlock to relinquish its grip as Sten's stamp sent the blade clattering to the floor. The qunari went on the attack, raining down one heavy blow at the creature's head, then another, the hurlock just managing to get its shield up in time. Sten allowed himself to taste a chance of victory.

But as Sten brought his blade down a fourth time, the monster fought back; a hobnail boot kicked out at the instep of his left foot, sending him staggering back. Next, its shield swung out in a low arc, and Sten cried out as the heavy square of metal slammed into his injured ribs, feeling at least two cracked ribs break. Overwhelmed by pain, he barely saw, more heard the sound of the hurlock circling around him to reclaim its fallen sword, before a fresh wave of pain struck him as the booted foot swung out again, this time into the back of his injured leg. A roar of pain escaped Sten as he fell to one knee, expecting to feel the pain of a blade plunging into his back, but all that came was the hurlock making that hateful 'hruk-hruk' sound from deep in its throat, the vile noise that passed for laughter amongst its bestial kind, a cruel, mocking edge to it, the darkspawn clearly too amused by his pain and too busy gloating to finish him off..._yet_. Blinking back spots dancing in front of his eyes from the pain, Sten desperately tried to recover himself, only to see around him what was likely to be the last thing he ever saw.

The dwarf Oghren was surrounded by a stabbing, slashing mob of darkspawn, his anger at his situation palpable based on his reddening face and the torrent of curses and profanities coming from his mouth at his foes, but each time he tried to attack one, the creature pulled away from him, leaving him open to the attacks of the others. The golem Shayle was being overwhelmed by a mob of darkspawn; their weapons merely bounced off the golem's stony hide, so now it seemed they were trying to climb atop the golem and drag her to the floor by sheer weight of numbers. The mages he'd at his disposal were now down to eight in number, the minions of the creature he was fighting having got through the gaps in the defensive line as soldiers either died or broke and ran for their lives, only to fall to a darkspawn sword or spear in the back as they vainly searched for an escape that didn't exist; less than thirty, out of a force that had numbered over two hundred, under the command and direction of one of the captains the Arl of Redcliffe had assigned were still trying in vain to fight against more than three times their number . The archers on top of the gatehouse had long ceased firing, now desperately fending off darkspawn that had gotten through and around behind their position. As Sten watched, one mortally injured man was thrown from the battlements by the hurlock that had bested him.

_'We are all going to die here'_ Sten realised, feeling no fear about it, only stating fact. If their deaths bought the Wardens time to end this madness, to bring an end to this tide of insanity, disease and evil that threatened. Trying to get back to his feet, the pain in his leg making it slow, Sten turned to face his enemy and raised Asala to parry the hurlock general's inevitable counter-attack, prepared to fight and to die even if there was no chance of victory.

And then there came a sound that seemed so out of place; the wail of a horn. Sten was caught offguard by the sound, but that mistake was all the opening his foe needed.

The darkspawn general's shield slammed into Sten's side, causing the qunari to cry out as the blow sent daggers of pain from his injured ribs stabbing through his body for a second time. Before he could recover, the shield's metal boss connected with his head; Sten went down, poleaxed. Asala flew from his hand, kicked out of his grasp by a hobnailed boot. A clawed hand suddenly grasped the top of his helm and ripped it off his head, the darkspawn general's shadow falling over the fallen qunari, blocking out his view of the tainted, darkened sky. The hurlock raised its sword above its head, about to bring the poisonous blade down on Sten's neck. Sten spat in its face, refusing to show fear to this filth, the darkspawn making that ghastly 'hruk-hruk' sound again, as if amused by such petty defiance, before readying itself to deal the death blow.

The wail of the horn came again, followed by the rumble of charging hooves this time. Confused, the hurlock turned its head away for an instant, then turned back to Sten, sword poised for the kill before a shadow fell over the pair of them; there was a roar, a flash of silver and Sten felt something heavy land on his chest. Looking down, the qunari was stunned to it was the head of the darkspawn general, its decapitated body swaying for a few seconds before toppling. The effect of its death was instantaneous; the darkspawn fighting against the soldiers Sten had been left to command broke off, running for the relative safety to be found in the mobs even now burning and looting further into the city. Those of the vanguard of this relief force gave pursuit, riding down and killing without mercy any darkspawn that couldn't get away fast enough.

Sten staggered back to his feet, seizing Asala from where it had fallen and looked up to see heavily armoured horsemen riding down darkspawn, knights and soldiers wearing heraldry of the numerous human lords he'd encountered on his travels with the Wardens riding down their foes, dropping hurlocks and genlocks with lance thrusts or slashes to the heads and necks of their foes with swords designed to be used on horseback, or riders of the tribes known as 'Chasind' he'd seen passing by his cage during his incarceration in Lothering armed with small, but powerful bows that they used to shoot arrows with lethal precision into the mobs of panicking darkspawn; in the distance, Sten could hear the sound of tramping feet that preceded infantry columns, more suitable for the street-to-street fighting than the cavalry.

As Sten recovered himself, allowing one of the Circle mages left taking advantage of the lull in the fighting to heal his wounds, Sten saw the older saarebas walk over to the body of his fallen foe and pointed her staff at the hurlock's right hand, fingers locked in rigor mortis around the scimitar's hilt. A stream of white hot flame leapt from the old woman's staff to the discarded sword, Wynne continuing to blast away at it until there was nothing left but a puddle of blackened molten metal. Ultimately, Sten had to agree with her decision; better such a foul thing were destroyed, lest its tainted form poison anything else.

Looking up, he saw the rider who'd just saved his life pulling his horse to a halt, lifting his helm's visor; Sten briefly recognised the kadan's brother, human and qunari both inclining their heads in a brief acknowledgement of the deed, before the young lord turned his attention back to the battle.

"NO MERCY!" the Warden's brother roared, lifting his sword to the blood-red sky, his soldiers letting loose a howl of blood lust and vengeful fury, eager to take the fight to the enemy who had all but destroyed their nation and taken so much from them. As Sten fell in with the reinforcements, exhausted but knowing he couldn't stop until the battle was done, as he had been trained to, a brief spark of hope went through his mind at the prospect he might get out of this alive and able to continue his service to the Qun.

_'Perhaps I will be making my report to the Arishok after all'_

############

Teagan drove his lance through the chest of a hurlock, the weapon snapping as the darkspawn was trampled under the hooves of the Bann's destrier. Ripping his sword free of its scabbard, Teagan brought the blade down on the head of a genlock alpha, the dragonbone blade easily cleaving through the steel of the brute's helm, the black stallion he was sat astride rearing up and lashing out with its forelegs, smashing in the skull of another genlock with its hooves and sending a hurlock staggering back, clutching its ribs as the horse kicked out.

Other horsemen, both soldiers in the heraldry of a multitude of Banns and Arls and horse archers of the Chasind auxiliaries to be found poured through the gate to chase down fleeing foes, followed by infantry companies that moved to reinforce the beleaguered defenders, the vast majority of the darkspawn abandoning the fight to flee deeper into the city. Most of those didn't even try to fight, Teagan noticed; if anything, the darkspawn seemed distracted, their attention seemingly focused on the distant spire of Fort Drakon. Something had happened there, the Bann knew instinctively, something severe enough to complete wrong foot the entire horde so completely. The darkspawn's courage would return, once they'd overcome the shock and confusion of whatever had happened to distract them, Teagan knew, and soon, so there was not a second to waste in taking the initiative.

He and Fergus Cousland had driven into the northern gate with a third of the cavalry and three quarters of the infantry, while Arl Bryland and Bann Alfstanna had taken the rest of the army to assault the western gate, with the intention of driving into the greater bulk of the darkspawn horde that, according to the intelligence of their scouts, seemed to have made the Palace District their lair, hoping to either drive the monsters out of the district, or at least keep them busy long enough for the Wardens to have an easier time of getting through the enemy lines. Little more than a few hours sail behind them, Teagan knew, moving along the coastline were the fleet of the coastal province of Waking Sea, merely a few dozen longships that primarily served to keep pirates out of Orlais and the Free Marches from raiding the Ferelden coast, but now transporting another two thousand soldiers left by Bann Alfstanna to defend the province when she had departed to Denerim for the Landsmeet towards the battle for the capital. It was probably an action that would only throw more men into the meat grinder, but considering how many their enemy numbered, they'd need all the help they could get.

Teagan's thoughts were abruptly broken when his horse screamed as a darkspawn blade slashed its hindquarters. The horse reared up, screaming in pain and three barbed spears drove into its belly, and Teagan howled as loudly as his dying steed as the beast began to topple, Teagan quickly leaping from his saddle, landing face first in the blood-soaked dirt, but avoiding having his legs crushed by the weight of his dying horse, the beast keeling over centimetres from crushing his feet. Ripping his askew helm away, Teagan staggered to his feet, dodging back as the trio of spear-wielding hurlocks advanced on him, the heads of their spears stabbing at his chest. Teagan raised his shield, narrowly blocking a spearpoint that would have gone through his heart had he not blocked it, but a second impacted with enough force to punch through the ironbark shield the Bann carried; when the beast pulled the spear back, Teagan's arm was almost wrenched from its socket as the spearhead impaled in his shield dragged it away; Teagan barely got his arm free of the straps in time. Before the monsters could take advantage of his vulnerable state, a fireball sailed over the Bann's head, crashing into the darkspawn with an almighty bang, the force of the blast knocking Teagan off his feet but saving him from being set ablaze as the trio of hurlocks were, screaming and howling as they burned.

Two bolts of violet coloured arcane energy slammed into the skulls of two of the creatures, dropping them as black blood spurted from the gaping holes blasted in their heads, before a figure in green and black robes mounted on the back of a pale grey horse brought the blade of a curved sword, its length flickering with enchanted lightning, slashing down on the third's collarbone and opening it from shoulder to stomach in a spray of boiling black blood. As the beast fell dying, Teagan saw the face of his saviour; that of the elven mage who'd become attached to Fergus Cousland's retinue, Merlin Surana. The Bann cast a grateful nod at his saviour, the elven mage returning the gesture before spurring his horse after a band of knights bearing the sigil of House Bryland chasing down a pack of fleeing darkspawn.

He quickly surveyed the battlefield to know their attack had come at the tipping point of the battle; the shock and speed of their counter attack had caught the darkspawn on the back foot, but once their shock and the seeming air of distraction that he'd noticed present among the horde had worn off, the monsters would realise that even with these new reinforcements for their enemy, the darkspawn would realise they still had the greater weight of numbers and begin redirecting their forces to deal with the newcomers. For all that witch had talked about saving the nation, Teagan knew all he'd truly done was prolong the course of this battle by a matter of minutes at best. He could only hope that would be enough.

_'I've done all I can, Wardens'_ Teagan thought as he stared at the distant spire of Fort Drakon, where he remembered that the Wardens intended to make their final gambit, where the endgame of this battle would play out, where one way or another, all their fates would be decided. Already, he could hear the sound of tramping, mail-shod feet heading in their direction, no doubt the first wave of the darkspawn counterattack, Teagan taking his place at the head of a column of Highever infantry who lowered their spears and braced themselves for the impact.

_'It's up to you now'_

* * *

_Story Note: The new darkspawn general Sten faced and its poisonous sword are based on the 'Hurlock Vanguard' character and the weapon 'Blightblood', both available from the 'Darkspawn Chronicles' DLC._

**_Next time: The archdemon awaits..._**


	65. Chapter 63: Godslayer

_Much quicker turnaround this time, as I'm sure you're all glad to see. I hope you all enjoy this, given that this is, I suppose, the most pivotal moment of Origins. Hopefully, I've done enough to do the final battle justice._

_As ever, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and subscribes to this; special thanks to **KnightofHolyLight, MB18932, Theodur, alex9996, MysticGohan88, y, bradw316 **and** SuperGravyMan **for your reviews and to** NecroShadeNaruto, Katherian **and** .94 **for adding this to favourites; the fact so many enjoy this is the main reason we've gotten this far!_

_Only a few more chapters to go and this story will be finished and we can move on to the next chapter of Arthur Cousland's tale. I hope you're all looking forward to that!_

_As ever, **'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'**_

_And above all else, enjoy!_

* * *

Arthur pulled his sword from the gut of the hurlock emissary that had blocked their path, breathing heavily as he took assessment at the end of the latest skirmish they'd just fought through. The taint had told him there were already darkspawn in the tower long before they'd seen any-mercifully not as many as he'd feared, but still more than he'd have liked to see- all racing for the tower's summit like them. Arthur could only hope that the barricades and defenses they'd seen soldiers erecting at the entrance would hold off the rest moving through the city to join their master, because he didn't, in all honesty, think they could last much longer.

Morrigan's meagre skill with healing magic had closed up most of the cuts and. But she couldn't reset the cracked ribs he could feel grating together within his flesh, or regrow the severed little and mutilated ring fingers on his right hand, nor alleviate the bone-deep feeling of exhaustion that permeated every inch of his body after fighting tooth and nail nonstop for hours on end. It must have taken at the least three hours since the army had begun its assault on Denerim for them to fight their way through the winding, rubble and corpse-choked streets of the capital city to this point, and the battle now hinged upon this moment, and Arthur couldn't say if he was in any way, shape or form ready for it.

His companions looked in little better shape; Alistair was favouring his right foot, the metal of his gilded left boot crushed where a genlock had smashed a mace down on it as they fought their way up the tower's winding staircases. Leliana's braid of hair had been severed by the tip of a hurlock's sabre that had also left an ugly gash on her scalp- it was no longer bleeding thanks to their mage's healing, but it hadn't closed up. The bard was armed with a blade in each hand, the Thorn of the Dead Gods in her left hand, the dwarven axe she'd used to slay the broodmother Laryn in her right- she'd long emptied her quiver of arrows and the crude missiles the darkspawn archers they'd encountered fighting their way up through the tower possessed would most likely shatter if Leliana tried to use them. Morrigan was in slightly better shape, though an ugly trio of paralell scratches had been torn through through her robes to partly expose her stomach, where a shriek's talons had raked her side; before the creature could press its attack however, Morrigan had unleashed a torrent of fire from both hands that had incinerated the gangly darkspawn. The witch had been frantic as she investigated the wound, and Arthur knew what she was fearful of; that the shriek's attack had put the one thing she cared about now in danger. He could see others of the few soldiers left with him who fought their way through the Palace District and the outer defences of Fort Drakon, all of which had been overrun by looting, rampaging darkspawn, all bearing injuries of some shape or form; bandages wrapped around limbs and heads, the white fabric stained red-brown with blood, armour, shields and weapons, chipped, notched and even broken, and all of them looking as battered and exhausted as him.

There were twenty of them now, not including Arthur's mabari; only ten of those who'd fled the Alienage with the Wardens having survived the frantic battle through the Palace District, even joined with the significant force Arl Eamon was leading into battle to secure the Royal Palace, the Denerim treasury and other key points in the higher reaches of the city, fighting through darkspawn surging like them towards Fort Drakon; himself, Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, Niamh Tabris, the huntress Andromeda and another Dalish elf, with Legionary Captain Kardol and two dwarves in the armour of the Legion of the Dead, accompanied by ten of Arl Eamon's soldiers. That had been all Eamon could spare, the rest needed to help hold off the constant waves of darkspawn throwing themselves unceasingly at the arl's men, trying to breach into the tower. Arthur and Alistair knew the reason why; the archdemon was crying out, calling to its minions to protect it from its enemies. Even now, he could feel a distant irritation pricking and gnawing at the back of his mind, the taint in him reacting to the approach of ever more darkspawn; they were rapidly running out of time.

Twenty men- and a dog- to slay a god. He could only hope it would be enough.

They charged out onto the roof of Fort Drakon and found a scene of chaos and carnage mingled together.

Darkspawn and human bodies littered the open roof of the tower fortress. Fires burning out of control dotted around the area. Cracked and broken stones from the tower's battlements and the statues lay everywhere- the memorial erected on the site where King Maric duelled and killed the last Orlesian puppet-king Meghren atop the tower was now a broken heap of rubble. Lakes of blood spread across the cobblestones from the heaps of corpses lying about, the spreading sea of red broken by islands that were the mangled torsos, severed limbs and heads of the dead. And in the centre of the carnage, the eye of the storm that was the Blight, stood the archdemon Urthemiel itself.

The club of spiked bone that tipped the archdemon's tail lashed out like a whip, three men howling and screaming as it impacted with their legs, shattering shins like matchsticks. Archers around the edges of the cordon the garrison had established loosed arrows, but Arthur could see their missiles were doing nothing to the dragon other than to piss it off. The monster's neck suddenly darted out with the speed of a striking cobra into a knot of archers nocking arrows to their bowstrings, the impact knocking men off their feet as Urthemiel's jaws closed around one man's chest, the rows of dagger-shaped teeth carving through the man's armour, the man's screams of pain devolving into gurgling chokes as the archdemon all but bit him in two. Urthemiel shook the hapless archer like a terrier with a rat and then threw the broken body away, the man flying off over the battlements and into the void, though he would be mercifully dead by the time his body hit the ground thousands of feet below.

A group of spearmen charged forward, and Urthemiel engulfed them in a river of fire that erupted from the dragon's gaping maw, cooking the screaming and thrashing men alive in their own armour, the rest of the tower garrison not torn apart or burning alive deciding discretion was the better part of valour and ran for their lives, the archdemon swinging its head from side to side, hissing and snapping its jaws, fire leaping from its mouth to incinerate any who couldn't get away fast enough.

And then Urthemiel saw them.

Arthur felt a myriad of emotions run through him from the archdemon, carried into his mind by the tainted blood they shared; shock, fury, hatred and, most surprising of all, fear. Urthemiel had clearly not expected them to come this far, to survive everything he had thrown at them, and now they stood before it, ready to fight, to kill. It knew only one, archdemon or Wardens, would leave this place alive. The dragon reared up to its full height, its wings unfurling to make it appear even larger and let loose an ear splitting roar that sent a shiver of fear down the spines of every person who heard it.

And just over the roar, Arthur heard in his mind one word, carried to him by the taint...**_'DIE!'_**

Arthur heard the crack of fingers, and Urthemiel staggered back, rasping and choking from the impact of a lightning bolt that Morrigan had sent hurtling into the archdemon's gaping mouth and down its throat. Feeling adrenaline and rage giving new strength from some place in his being he hadn't known existed, desperately pushing aside the exhaustion, Arthur levelled his sword at the dragon and screamed one word:

"ATTACK!"

This would be their last chance to end the Blight. If they failed, neither they nor Ferelden would get a second chance.

A tempest conjured into being from Morrigan's hands crackled and rumbled over the archdemon's head, forked lightning striking and lashing Urthemiel repeatedly, the magical electricity opening deep gashes and leaving ugly burns on the dragon's scaly hide. The dragon limped back, giving ground as it tried to get away from the storm assaulting it, but even badly injured and on the defensive, the archdemon was still a foe to be reckoned with. Captain Kardol buried his axe in the meat of Urthemiel's left foreleg; the claws of the dragon's right foreleg tore the dwarf's head off in answer. The Dalish archer Andromeda, Leliana and a few other fighters who'd brought longbows and crossbows and recovered arrows from the mangled bodies of the dead lying about the tower's roof loosed shafts, focusing on the more vulnerable parts of Urthemiel's anatomy. Arthur desperately tried to remember the key points about dragon slaying he'd attempted to memorise from that treatise written by the Nevarran dragon hunter Victor Pentaghast he'd found in Arl Eamon's library; _'Eyes, underbelly and the flesh of the throat are the only real weak spots of the dragon'_. Arthur had memorised it, along with another passage that suggested a potential way to bring down such an enemy, but being blunt about the risks involved:

_'With skill and precision, one can deliver death with a well-aimed strike into a dragon's maw, but one should take care not to be in the way when death, hot and burning, comes roaring out from there'._

A Dead Legionary learned that too late as a dark fireball erupted from behind the rows of serrated fangs and set the dwarf ablaze. Two of the gathered fighters, the Dalish woman Andromeda and another dwarf, took advantage of Urthemiel's extended neck, the elf driving her sword halfway along its length into the archdemon's throat, while the dwarf brought his maul down on the back of the dragon's neck, its head hitting the ground from the force of impact. Before the dragon could butcher both of its attackers, Urthemiel let out a yowl and staggered to one side, the archdemon's head twisting round to examine the length of wood that now protruded from the meat of its left rear leg's thigh. Looking round, Arthur saw where the missile had come from; three of Arl Eamon's men with them had managed to turn one of Fort Drakon's ballistae around and were even now reloading for a second shot. Urthemiel shrieked in pain as another bolt impacted into its side, this time the missile burying itself between the dragon's ribs, but before the soldiers could reload for a third, the archdemon retaliated with another fireball; the soldiers got clear, but the ballista was reduced to a heap of crackling firewood.

The archdemon sent two more fireballs hurtling at the running Redcliffe men; the first missed, slamming into a statue of Andraste as the men ran past it, the other passing inches over their heads, the soldiers ducking under the orb of black flame so it only singed the crests atop their helms, the archdemon gnashing its teeth furiously at their survival, but as the three men began bringing another ballista to bear, another shrieking thought tore through Arthur's mind and the mind of every tainted being in the vicinity-

_**'NOW! DESTROY!'**_

As the three men had just managed to get the ballista lined up on target with Urthemiel and loaded the missiles to fire, the door of one of the towers behind them collapsed, spilling forth a tide of slavering darkspawn that must have climbed up the tower by another way- Arthur knew enough of his history and had seen enough of the fortress on their desperate climb to the summit to know that descended on the three. One man lost first his sword arm, then his head to a hurlock's sword; the other two had their legs cut out from under them by a mob of hissing genlocks who then set upon the fallen men without mercy. At least four died with a Redcliffe sword buried in their guts, but when the darkspawn finally pulled away, two more corpses, clad in silverite armour stained red from head to foot lay amongst the darkspawn corpses. Gibbering and screeching in battle lust, the darkspawn began to break into a run, while yet more doors gave way and more darkspawn began pouring onto the roof, like ants swarming from their nest. Arthur beheaded one hurlock, saw Niamh Tabris slice the legs of another out from under it with her left hand blade before burying her right in its heart, saw another stagger with an arrow of the bard's in its chest before Edward hit it like a brown thunderbolt. A jet of ice erupted from Morrigan's hands, turning a pack of charging genlocks into frozen statues; the dwarves shattered two of them with well-aimed throwing axes while other darkspawn, though they had escaped being frozen alive, were tripping on the icy stone cobbles...and yet it still wasn't enough. The tables had turned; now, instead of confronting an outnumbered and badly injured foe, they were being set upon by fresh troops, and in numbers enough to wear them down, no matter how many they killed.

Urthemiel whirled round, roaring triumphantly at this turn of events; a Redcliffe soldier charged with sword drawn, but his war cry turned into a scream as the archdemon's jaws clamped down on his sword arm, lifting the man clean off the ground before he dropped back to earth with a blood curdling scream and the horrific sound of tearing flesh as his sword arm was ripped off at the socket. The man thrashed for a few instants, pawing at the gaping rent in his shoulder, before a taloned foot the size of a boulder came stamping down on his chest. The only Dalish warrior besides Andromeda loosed arrows, peppering the archdemon's back, underbelly and mutilated wings, keeping the beast irritated and distracted, until Urthemiel lashed out behind him at the elf. The talon that tipped the right wing impaled him through the chest like a spear, dragging him across the ground until he was brought in reach of the archdemon's gaping mouth; Urthemiel's teeth ripped into the Dalish's torso for moments before the archdemon tossed him into a knot of genlocks, who tore the mortally wounded elf apart. Two Redcliffe soldiers had combined their efforts to bring down a hurlock, when Urthemiel fixed its baleful gaze on its beaten minion; the hurlock exploded in a shower of black blood and steaming viscera that rained down on the two men, both screaming and thrashing as armour and flesh melted as if burnt by acid; other darkspawn cut the stricken pair down. The monster then turned its gaze on a genlock pinned under Edward, its hands desperately trying to keep the mabari's snapping jaws from ripping out its throat, but Arthur shouted a command and his hound leapt clear before its prey became a suicide bomb at the behest of its master. The archdemon's gaze continued to move through the waves of its minions charging onto the roof, seeking out those of its minions embroiled in combat and imposing its will over their flesh with explosive results, until Niamh Tabris started lobbing vials of acid from a pouch at her belt, first into the mobs of darkspawn attacking their companions, driving them back, away from her fellow fighters and thus keeping Urthemiel from detonating darkspawn in their midst before hurling her last at the archdemon to distract it; the glass bottle smashed on the dragon's bony brow, sending the beast staggering back, viscous green slime running down its face, hissing and smoking as it burnt and scalded the archdemon's skin.

Arthur chanced a look at the battlefield; the remaining defenders had formed into a circle; Leliana, Andromeda the Dalish, the two remaining dwarves and what was left of the men Arl Eamon had given them were gathered in a circle with Morrigan at their centre, the darkspawn being pushed back as Morrigan unleashed an incredibly powerful magical storm on their enemies, blizzard and tempest combining, with the defenders stood safe in the eye of the storm, cutting down any . Only four stood outside the protection of the storm, himself, Alistair and Niamh Tabris fighting back to back, fighting off a quartet of hurlocks, yet still holding their own, in no small part due to the mabari weaving between the darkspawn's legs, Edward sinking fangs into the backs of legs or raking claws against ribs, causing his victim to stagger...usually into the path of a blade or in the way of a shield bash or fist. Urthemiel continued to ramble and thrash about beyond them, trying to keep the acid running down his face from reaching his eyes, since blindness would likely prove fatal to the dragon. Arthur made his way towards the distracted general, but even as it tried to rub the acid off its head against a broken statue of Andraste, the taint they shared alerted the dragon to his presence and Urthemiel turned to face him, the archdemon's face scarred, burned and bleeding but the strength of will and the intent to destroy blazing in its eyes were undimished. Arthur raised his shield, waiting for the attack, determined to keep the dragon's attention on him, and away from, given what he'd seen from the corner of his eye, the figure moving in the shadows, making ready to strike. She couldn't kill it, but she might make the opening for him to.

The dragonbone axe sailed end over end, taking a hurlock blocking the way to her and her true prey in the chest, Leliana pausing only to pull a crude dagger from the meagre strip of leather that served the beast as a belt as she made to do what her bardmaster had taught her a long time ago; to strike an enemy where and when they least expected it. There were many ways for a bard to strike...and seldom did a bard strike from the front.

"Maker, guide my hands!" she whispered as she lunged at her target, her enemy still distracted by the sight of her lover in front of it.

At the last moment, Urthemiel seemed to sense danger and twisted his head away, and instead of both daggers plunging into the dragon's eye, the Thorn of the Dead Gods became lodged in the bony ridge above the eye, while the second pierced the soft flesh below the eye. Leliana found herself staring into the cold, pale orb she'd sought to destroy, blazing with hatred for her. A low growl escaped the rows of fangs as Urthemiel's right foreleg pulled back, ready to answer the bard's attack in kind. Leliana leapt out of the way, but not quite fast enough.

If the archdemon's swipe had fully connected, it would have torn Leliana in half; as it was, the tips of the dragon's claws only raked her side, but still with enough force to shred her drakeskin leather armour and knock her three metres across the tower's roof. Arthur was about to shout for someone to help her, but it was already happening. Alistair and Niamh Tabris hacked down a hurlock in their path, the elf grabbed Leliana by her arms while Alistair ran through a hurlock that had its hand on her left ankle and had been trying to drag the semi-concious bard away as a prize. As the elf began to drag Leliana towards the circle of defenders protected by Morrigan's magic, a second hurlock charged at Alistair, the king blocking its scimitar with his shield, but before he or it could move to attack or defend, a clawed forelimb as thick as a tree trunk smashed the hurlock aside and Alistair found himself staring into the archdemon's baleful gaze. His fellow Warden stood petrified, like a mouse looking into the eyes of a cobra, Urthemiel's jaws parting with a soft hiss to bare the rows of serrated fangs. For all their talk of being prepared to fight the archdemon, it was one thing to speak of staring without fear into the eyes of an archdemon, quite another to actually do so. Alistair stood there like a cow before the butcher, too dazed and dumbstruck to do more than await the fatal blow.

Suddenly, a glass bottle smashed between them; the sound was enough to snap Alistair out of his paralysed reverie, and he stepped back to avoid being overwhelmed by the cloud of smoke that illowed as the compounds held in the glass reacted to the open air. Snorting in annoyance, the archdemon bulled forward, but too late; its jaws snapped shut on air as the Warden king leapt out of its way and brought Maric's sword cleaving down on Urthemiel's face; the archdemon staggered back, keening in pain and clawing at its snout as Maric's sword sheared through the long horn at the end of its snout and cleaved away a chunk of flesh the size of his hand, leaving a gaping hole in Urthemiel's face where the dragon's right nostril had been, baring the bone of the skull. Shrieking in pain and fury, Urthemiel charged at Alistair, but rage made the dragon focus on him to the exclusion of all else, and Arthur took advantage of that as he got behind the dragon, chose his target and attacked.

Duncan's sword came down on the back of Urthemiel's skull, accompanied by a loud crack as the blade sheared through several of the long horns crowning the archdemon's head and biting into flesh, though not deep enough to cut through bone and into brain. Urthemiel gave a howl of pain and whirled round; Arthur had raised his blade for a second blow when Urthemiel retaliated, the dragon rearing up on its hind limbs, its tattered, bleeding but still intact wings unfurling and beating with incredible force; the sheer concussive force of the air being beaten by the dragon's wings hit Arthur full in the chest and sent him flying. Arthur landed heavily, and this time he definitely felt ribs break from the force of impact. Blinking black spots out of his vision, dazed by the impact of his head hitting the hard stone, Arthur staggered back to his feet, but battered as he was and weighed down on his back by his heavy armour, he was slow to react, and that was all the opening Urthemiel needed.

Arthur let out a scream of pain as the archdemon's tail connected with his shins and the Warden felt both of his legs break, sending him slamming to the cobbles on his back, and Urthemiel let out another triumphant howl as the dragon saw its Warden nemesis go down. His fellow companions heard him cry out in pain, but none could break away from their own fights to help him as darkspawn continued to pour out onto the tower roof; his companions forced into a circle, eight fighting with Leliana and two others unconcious or wounded in the centre. Morrigan was set apart from the group, once more in the form of a black widow spider the size of a horse, trying to fight her way to Arthur, her clawed limbs and venomous fangs ripping into any darkspawn that got in her way, a hurlock toppling with its throat ripped open, a genlock screaming as fangs shredded its breastplate and chest, another trio of the small, squat darkspawn brought down as the mage enveloped them in webbing shot from her bloated abdomen...but there were still plenty in her way.

The archdemon lunged for him again, jaws opening wide enough to swallow him whole, dagger-like fangs dripping with blood and ropes of drool, and Arthur remembered at the last instant a blow that had served him well against the High Dragon of the Andraste Cult, stabbing upwards to meet the descending head. At the last moment, the Warden saw the archdemon's eyes widen at the threat and twist its head away, so the sword, instead of driving through the roof of the archdemon's mouth and into its brain, pierced through the dragon's snout like a ring in a bull's nose.

Urthemiel staggered back, howling in pain, ripping the sword from Arthur's grasp, clawing at the blade in a bid to pull it free, but the sword must have gotten stuck into the bone of the skull, because despite the archdemon's frantic clawing at the sword, Duncan's sword refused to come loose. The dragon's head whirled round, focusing on the source of its pain, and Arthur couldn't help but recoil at the force of the hatred blazing in the milky white eyes glaring at him.

Arthur watched as the archdemon pulled its head back, Duncan's sword still embedded in its skull, the hilt protruding from one side of the dragon's snout, the tip of the blade from the other, the monster's fanged jaws opening wide, the tell tale glow appearing at the back of Urthemiel's throat as the archdemon readied to deal the fatal blow. With both shins broken, Arthur could barely pull himself away from the dragon looming over him, dragging himself by his hands, hating the fact he was about to die unarmed and on his knees, hearing the rush of air down Urthemiel's throat, the ominous glow at the back of its mouth evident, about to exhale the gathering fire, Arthur's last sight the plume of dark fire that would incinerate flesh and bone, already envisioning the blackened husk the archdemon would leave of his corpse...

_'Go ahead, you overgrown lizard'_ Arthur snarled mentally, the taint carrying his word to Urthemiel's mind, hearing it laugh in answer, the monster seemingly amused by his last, futile gesture of defiance. _'Do it! You think I fear you?! Fear death?! Kill me and be done with it, monster!'_. He had stopped fearing death when Rendon Howe had taken everything from him. Burning would be an agonisingly painful death, but quicker than if the dragon had eaten him alive...

_'Send me into oblivion, send me back to be reunited with my family. I did my duty, I fought and gave my life trying to save this nation, no one can do no more. I can face my parents again, proud of the fact I brought those who murdered them to justice and made their sacrifice mean something; they can be proud that their son became more than a libertine and a wastrel who lived for nothing by pleasure, that he became a man worthy of the name Cousland. My only regret is that I can never show them Leliana...but given what Morrigan showed me that night, maybe she would choose to follow me into death, to the Maker's side and my parents can meet the girl who could have been their daughter-in-law..._

"OI!" A familiar, impossible voice cried out, interrupted his mournful last musings; Urthemiel's head whipped round, looking for the source of the interruption, hissing angrily at being distracted from its prey...and then the archdemon staggered back, screaming and wailing, pawing at its right eye, Arthur catching a glimpse of the blasted red crater in the side of the monster's skull where a baleful, dead-white eye had been, broken fragments of bone protruding from where Arabella's stone fist had shattered the eye socket, blood and gelid ocular fluid dripping from the wound, forming yet more steaming black puddles on the cobblestones...

_'Arabella!'_ Arthur's mind was reeling, given that the last time he'd seen his fellow Warden had been at the foot of the burning vhenedahl tree, tending to a stab wound suffered at the claws of a shriek. If the wound was still troubling her, his fellow Warden gave no sign, using the pain to goad her on as, her face a mask of icy determination, Arabella blasted the archdemon with bolts of fire and lightning that erupted from the fresh blood painted across the palms of her hands from the bleeding hole in her abdomen, staining her white and blue Warden robes scarlet, keeping its attention on her and away from the crippled Warden at its feet.

Howling in fury, Urthemiel turned away from the crippled Arthur and charged at Arabella, its remaining eye glaring balefully at her with undiluted hate, the dragon rearing up on its hind legs, its full height towering over the Grey Warden, baring its teeth with a rasping growl, pulling its head back above the mage like a snake about to strike, the jaws opening to reveal rows of dagger-shaped teeth hungry for soft mortal flesh, the gaping maw wide enough to swallow the mage Warden whole...

"Eat this!" Arabella snarled...and pulled the release lever for the ballista she was stood beside, the one the men of Redcliffe had left armed and ready, sending two six foot long ash spears point blank into Urthemiel's chest, an audible crack coming as the steel points shattered the archdemon's sternum, drove through the muscles of the chest and lodged in Urthemiel's heart. The archdemon's roar petered out into a gurgling moan, the look in the monster's remaining eye changing from fury to shock, the dragon swaying perilously on its hind legs, unbalanced by the force of impact before, with the slow, unstoppable majesty of a tower collapsing, the archdemon toppled, hitting the stone floor of the tower's roof with an earth shaking crash that Arthur suspected would be felt in the city streets hundreds of feet below them, the bones of the archdemon's wings snapping audibly as they were crushed beneath the falling monster's weight, a guttural hiss of pain escaping the dragon's maw, along with a cascade of broken teeth that came loose as Urthemiel's jaw connected with the cobblestones, the archdemon rolling onto its side, a clawed hand clutching one of the bolts jutting from its chest. The darkspawn fighting against the tower's defenders let out a stricken wail as they watched their master fall; remembering Riordan's warning that the archdemon could be reborn in the body of any nearby darkspawn unless a Grey Warden slew it, Arthur desperately dragged himself with his hands to the point where the mortally injured Urthemiel lay thrashing in his death throes.

"Keep them back!" Arthur roared at the surviving warriors at his command, who were having an easier task of trying to hold back the darkspawn, most of the creatures either standing about listlessly or else howling in despondent horror, trying to reach their master, but their despair and desperation made them reckless and clumsy, easy to put down. Morrigan reacted instanteously, snowflakes and frost flickering to life in her fingers before the spell she was conjuring was turned loose, unleashing a raging blizzard that forced the darkspawn back, the cold and the ice pushing them away from reaching their fallen master. Arthur felt the witch grab his arm, trying to place his arm around her shoulder to try and get him up, but Arthur barely noticed her efforts, his gaze focused on one thing.

"Thank you…for everything" Arabella said with a soft, resigned smile as she braced herself to deal the final blow, removing the hand pressed to the bleeding wound in her side and clasping her grasp around the hilt of a discarded sword that lay on the floor beside her, lifting it up. Arthur realised in a instant what she was about to do.

"Arabella, wait!" Arthur cried out, trying to drag himself across the cobbles as much as his ruined legs would allow, fighting against the pain that screamed through his body as broken shards of bone grated together, barely noticing Morrigan's efforts to help him along. He had to explain that there was no need, that there was no need for her to make a martyr. _'I sold my honour, my soul, my seed to save you, to save us all!'. _He had no idea what would happen if a Warden beside himself were to strike the death blow, whether everything he and Morrigan had done would be rendered worthless, but he didn't wish to risk it, though he had no idea how he was going to stop it; he was on his knees, barely able to crawl, let alone walk from the pain, she was already in place, ready to act, and even were he in better condition, Arthur had no idea how he would begin to explain what he had done to save their souls, even if he believed she might understand; she might, given her familiarity with forbidden sorceries, but he wasn't sure.

"In death, sacrifice...one I make willingly" Arabella replied as she raised the sword above her head.

"NOOOO!" Morrigan and Arthur screamed simultaneously as Arabella drove the sword down with all her might into the archdemon's skull.

Two more screams joined theirs; Arabella's, and a keening, terrified wail that echoed in the minds of every being that bore the taint within the city walls, a banshee-like howl of indescribable pain, defeated rage and hatred for all things that had endured for centuries.

Then a pillar of rose-coloured flame lanced into the sky from the gaping wound in the dragon's head, and the world around them dissolved into fire and blood.

* * *

_'NO! THIS IS NOT HOW IT ENDS_!' Urthemiel screamed, rage and hate replaced now by utter terror at the looming prospect of oblivion. He could just about feel blood leaking from the gaping hole in the crown of his skull, though the feeling of liquid running down his scaly hide and the pain that had been tearing through every nerve, every cell in his body as the sword blade had driven through flesh, bone and brain was growing fainter, sensation fading away as the ties between body and spirit began to wither as the finality of death approached.

_'I AM IMMORTAL! ETERNAL! I CANNOT END HERE, IN THIS FETID RAT'S NEST, HACKED DOWN LIKE A RABID DOG! IT_ **_CANNOT, WILL NOT_**_ END LIKE THIS_!' Urthemiel screamed, fighting desperately to cling to his flesh, only to realise his struggle was in vain; the wound his draconic body had been dealt was mortal, too severe for even his power to thwart. He could feel a sensation go through his body, tearing and dragging at his spirit as if he were inexorably sliding down a slope towards the edge of a cliff, plunging towards the abyss with no hope of stopping his fall.

And then a new presence entered his mind, as calm and reassuring as a mother's caress to a frightened child.

_'Let me help you'_

_'Who are you?!'_ Urthemiel demanded, casting about desperately. Out of the corner of his swiftly fading vision, he could make out a slight figure, slender and feminine, but too distant to make out details, not with his vision failing and his mind fogging as the end drew nearer.

_'Your salvation. Come to me. Give me your power, and I offer you an escape from the abyss. Oblivion awaits you; say the word and I will pull you back from the abyss. I will grant you new flesh and a chance to begin again, a chance to fulfil your ambitions, to continue your plans. Help me with my ambitions and I will spare your life and grant you the chance to pursue yours again. What say you?'_

Urthemiel did not trust this new, unidentifed presence speaking to him; he had no notion about what its ambitions might be that it needed his power to accomplish. And yet, after thousands of years of immortal life, the prospect of sliding over the edge that loomed, of the unending darkness was one too terrible for as long lived as he to contemplate.

In the end, for the Old God Urthemiel, there was only one choice.

**_'SAVE ME!'_**

A sensation like hooks sinking into flesh struck him and Urthemiel felt himself slowly being drawn inexorably back from the edge, pulled from the brink of death and towards a new beginning, one that loomed with the promise of opportunity.

* * *

Teagan parried the hack of a hurlock's scimitar with the vambrace on his right arm. Snarling at being thwarted, the beast swung out at the Bann's head, but Teagan ducked under the slash and with his own blade, swept the hurlock's legs out from under it. Before it could recover, Teagan buried his sword in its chest, the darkspawn screeching as the Bann twisted the blade then ripped it free. Roaring with battle rage, Teagan whirled round and found a new target, a genlock standing stock still directly in front of him, its milky eyes staring off into the distance. The beast barely reacted as he charged, barely screamed as the Bann brought his sword down on its neck. Letting out a triumphant war cry, Teagan raised his sword for the next foe...and then took a good look at his surroundings.

The eyes of every darkspawn in the immediate vicinity, and Teagan wagered every darkspawn in the city, was staring at the distant spire of Fort Drakon, where a pillar of brilliant fire lanced into the sky from the tower's summit, breaking through the blood-red clouds above, chinks of sunlight beginning to break through the thick cloud cover...

_'They did it!_' Teagan realised. '_Andraste's blood, the Wardens did it!'_

All of a sudden, the pillar of fire rising up from the tower's peak detonated in an explosion of pale red light, and every darkspawn in the immediate vicinity, and again Teagan imagined, every darkspawn in the city let out a keening wail, a reedy, screeching cry of pain, loss, anger and horror, as if they had just been robbed of something infinitely precious to all of them, distracted, confused, broken of all will.

_'This is our chance!' _Teagan realised as he brandished his sword and levelled it at the enemy, leading his reinvigorated men onto the attack.

* * *

Arabella Amell hit the stone floor hard, the force of the blast unleashed by the archdemon's death throes more than she'd anticipated, the explosion too sudden for her even to cast a protective spell. She remembered being flung across the tower's roof, feeling phenomenal pain as she collided with something cold, hard and unyielding, probably the stone of a statue or the battlements, hearing loud cracks and snaps that likely weren't stone, as she bounced off whatever she'd hit and crashed to the ground.

Coming to rest in a sprawled heap upon the cold cobblestones, feeling the fading warmth of blood spreading in a pool beneath her back, Arabella tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn't obey her; given what had just happened to her, they were probably broken. She tried to look down at her body but she couldn't move at all, surmising that her back was probably broken as well. And even if her mortal shell had been in any better shape, she knew what was coming, the reason why she'd pushed her badly injured body to fly across the city, to reach Fort Drakon in time.

_'The archdemon is destroyed...and so too is the Grey Warden'_

Yet if what she was feeling was death, it wasn't so bad. She'd expected agonising pain, to feel her soul torn from her body and shredded as it dragged the archdemon's twisted essence to oblivion, lost and imprisoned in the Void for all eternity. But this was different; instead of darkening, things were growing lighter, almost as bright as the sunlight streaming down, breaking through the blood-hued clouds. And she could see silhouettes of people moving in the light, obscure at first, but coming closer and closer. She wondered if Zevran might be among them; she'd seen the bloody mess left by the fighting at the main gates, where Zevran had been left along with the rest of their companions. She didn't know if anyone could survive the savagery of the battles she'd seen being fought by both sides to hold or take those gates.

_'Will he be waiting for me, or must I wait for him?'_ she wondered. She would never have expected to come to care for the elven assassin, but for all his libidinous attitude and dark sense of humour and his easy going relationship with the act of murder, there was a good man in there with something approaching a sense of honour and common decency, one she was proud to say she cared for. She'd never have thought it possible for a mage and an Antivan Crow to come together, but the elf had been so funny, so fearless and proud, willing to overlook her faults and what she was, to accept her for what she was...not to mention a demon in the sack.

_'If I'm here before you, handsome, I'll be waiting. It'll be worth it'_

She could now make out faces from among those stood before her; Jowan, beloved Jowan, her best friend and brother, she was so glad to see him again. And other familiar faces; her mother, the Lady Revka Amell, friends from the Circle- the elf Morwen and the girl Lisbeth, both of whom had gone to their Harrowings and never come back, Brandon, the apprentice who'd been her first crush, yet had fled the Circle at fifteen, Mathis, her Enchanter friend who had gone to Ostagar and never returned, fellow Libertarians Rupert, Cassiopeia, Basil and all the others with whom she'd joined with in the hopes of improving the lot of their kind, only to realise what Uldred intended, to realise they were all in over their heads, her old mentor, Enchanter Leorah and so many others beside, so many familiar faces from the Circle...

She would have laughed out loud if she still had the strength to draw air into her failing lungs.

The Chantry had it so wrong.

Mages were not damned souls in the Maker's eyes. Far from it by the looks of things.

_'And hopefully, my heroics here will speed up that realisation in the eyes of the rest of Thedas'_. It was a comforting thought, one that gave her a little warmth as she grew so very cold. Another figure made its way to the front of the crowd, a young, beautiful woman whom Arabella didn't recognise, and yet she did, a face she'd seen on countless statues, stained glass windows, icons and illustrations in books, a figure in whom Arabella had always held little more than doubt, but now, seeing Her here, surrounded by so many that the templars had asserted would never be welcomed into Her presence, she thought somewhat different.

The woman extended a hand to her, and a voice spoke to Arabella, one as calming and reassuring as a mother's embrace; _"Come, child. He waits for you. You have done so much, so well and your sins have been forgiven by the bravery, compassion and self-sacrifice you have shown here. As I said, there is no greater devotion that to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no better death than to take the blow for another. Lay down your burdens and walk to the Maker's side, to the reward your struggles and repentance have earned you"_

The light enveloped her as the hand of Andraste closed over her own, burning away the taint, the blood magic, the touch of demons, the memories of failures and her past and everything wrong, both those done to her and that she had done, leaving only Arabella Amell, proud mage, Grey Warden, redeemed sinner, heroine of Ferelden.

She'd saved her fellow Wardens, had proven they were right to give her a second chance all those months ago. She'd done so many things in her short life wrong, but at least in this, her last act, no one could deny that she's done this right.

There was nothing more left for her to do.

She could rest easy now.

* * *

Morrigan shook her head to clear it of the grogginess that now afflicted her; the arcane shield she'd swiftly cast had saved her from being blasted off her feet, but the force of the explosion, even robbed of most of its power by her defensive spell, was still strong enough to stagger her. Looking around, Morrigan saw at least fifty bodies lying scattered about the roof of the tower fortress. Over three quarters of those bodies were darkspawn, hurlocks, genlocks and shrieks lying motionless with blood leaking from nostrils, ears, from the corners of staring, sightless eyes and slack-jawed mouths- Morrigan assumed that being so close to the archdemon, the nexus of the darkspawn's hive mind, as it perished had been too much for the taint within them, the exposure to the force of their master's death having ruptured their minds. Morrigan suspected that Alistair-who she could see feebly stirring a short distance and away- and Arthur had probably only survived only because they hadn't been born to nothing but the taint; they still retained enough of their humanity to survive being so close to the destruction of the Blight made manifest.

She still felt weak and winded, her stomach tender from where that spark of blue energy had leapt from the pillar of fire lancing into the sky from Urthemiel's corpse amd slammed into her belly with the force of a fist, but even the pain couldn't deny her satisfaction; it was proof she had succeeded, that she had her prize, the one thing she'd stayed so long for, the one thing she'd come on this journey for.

Casting her eyes over to where what was left of the archdemon lay- a charred, blackened skeleton that was crumbling into ash even as she watched- Morrigan took one look at the fragile, broken heap just beyond it, neck and limbs bent at impossible angles from the force of the blast and realised there was no point checking for a pulse. Morrigan felt a pang of regret at the sight- the blood mage and she had not been close, but Arabella had been one of her own kind, and that was a loss she would always regret. Still, she couldn't deny that the Warden's death was a fortuitous circumstance.

_'If anything, her death helps serve a purpose. If all three of them had survived this battle, awkward questions would have arisen as to how and what was done to allow it, not to mention what happened to the archdemon's spirit. But now the world has a hero to mourn, one who sacrificed themselves to end the Blight, which should help to weaken the Chantry's grasp as the people demand that the mages are given more chance to prove themselves as she has, there is a dead Warden to allay any suspicions that might have arisen at Weisshaupt and now I and what I carry can fade into obscurity, vanishing until the time comes to re-emerge, to take what is his and remake the world into a better image. Sometimes, for the greater good, sacrifices must be made...and I promise, sister, when my son comes into his power, your death will not be in vain' _

She sent a spark of healing energy into the body of the man before her- her companion, the first true friend and the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had, the father of the child growing even now within her, the one who would bring about such change to the world. The spark wasn't much, given her limited abilities with healing magic, but she felt Arthur's heartbeat grow stronger as the magic passed from her hand into his flesh, the bleeding of his wounds stopped and several of the smaller wounds closed up. It was not much, but it would be enough to keep him alive until better trained healers arrived.

_'Goodbye, my friend. May whatever gods there may be in this world- the Maker, the Old Gods, the dwarven Ancestors, the Pantheon of the Dalish or any other power besides- grant you a long, full, glorious life like I said;it's no more than you deserve. And may they also grant that we never meet again'. _Though Arthur and she would never be more than friends, she cared for him enough to wish him well, to not want him to become embroiled in what their son would unleash upon the world, though she feared her hope would be in vain; she knew Arthur well enough to realise he would likely fight against what he saw as an attack by evil and dangerous powers, no matter that Thedas after her son's coming would be so much greater, so much better than this world. She could only hope she was not present when that moment came; she had no desire to see Arthur die, but the demi-god son she carried within her womb now was destined for the greatness of legend and she would not let _anything_ stand in the way of that; not Flemeth, not the Chantry, not the templars nor the Divine or the Maker himself. Not even Arthur.

With that, Morrigan got back to her feet and walked away from Arthur without a backward glance; she had already lingered far too long. It was time for her to be gone.

Walking to the battlements, Morrigan climbed atop the parapets, stared out across the burning city and then stepped into the abyss. Long before her body could hit the ground thousands of metres below, there was a flash of green light and a crow flew away from the heights of Fort Drakon, winging its way west from Denerim, wings beating swiftly as the bird sought to cover the many miles between the Fereldan capital and the border with Orlais.

_'My part in this is done. My part in something else is about to begin'._

* * *

The death of the archdemon Urthemiel ultimately was what broke the darkspawn horde. Though they still outnumbered the allied armies the Grey Wardens had gathered and the reinforcements led by Bann Teagan, Teyrn Fergus and their allies by at least three to one, the archdemon's death robbed the darkspawn of direction, purpose and cohesion, reducing them to little more than rabid animals snapping and clawing at anything in reach. Some turned blades on their ilk, fighting amongst themselves for want of a purpose, while others threw down weapons, shields, armour-anything they could discard- and ran from the city. Some didn't stop until they were miles outside the city walls.

When the defenders hit the disorganised masses of darkspawn with a charge comprised of all the force they could muster, it was enough to shatter them. At first, it was only in dribs and drabs, but then more and more began to join the tide, until finally the entire horde abandoned the fight, turned and ran. The attackers harried the retreating monsters for a time, but ultimately abandoned pursuit, too weary and bloodied to do little more than loose a few volleys of arrows to chase the 'spawn off, watching as the horde fractured and scattered in all directions.

The warriors of the allied army, human, elf and dwarf, across the city let out an almighty cheer as they realised it was over. The darkspawn retreat brought an end to the Battle of Denerim, and the Fifth Blight along with it.


	66. Chapter 64: From the Brink

_Ok, here's the thing; I've been so busy of late with one thing or another, so I kinda felt it made more sense to try and complete the last three chapters in one go, which I'm now posting at the same time. I hope I've done enough justice to these last few to make it a worthy epilogue to this part of Arthur Cousland's tale and hopefully convince you all to come back in the near future to read Arthur's adventures in regards to Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age II and beyond (whenever I actually get round to writing them! I can't promise when that'll be, but once some of my other personal projects are done, it'll happen...probably just in time for Dragon Age III)_

_It's been a long and arduous journey to get this far (one that in my darker moments I never thought I'd reach the end of) and I'd like to thank each and every one of you who saw it through to the end, whether you were there at the beginning or if you joined us along the way; believe me without your interest and enthusiasm. Special thanks to **MB18932, KnightofHolyLight, MysticGohan88, jaffa3, alex9996, karthik9, SuperGravyMan, bradw316, Katherian** and **Stormer403** for your reviews, and to Phygmalion, sliceoffriedgold, danbear, kaylen87, Raven Lasky, I MintyxFresh I and Meatzman2 for subscribing or adding this story to favourites; your enthusiasm was a great help to make sure I saw this through to the finish._

_I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I look forward to seeing as many of you as possible come back to enjoy the further tales of Arthur Cousland!_

**_'Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark'_**

_And, one last time, above all else, enjoy!_

##########

Men and women collapsed where they stood in the wake of the darkspawn retreat, exhausted by hours of near constant fighting and overcome by sheer relief and joy at being alive. Others took the opportunity to revel in, or the more practical tasks of helping their injured comrades to healers, or finishing off the injured darkspawn. Nowhere was that more apparent than at the site where the battle's end game had played out.

At the summit of Fort Drakon, Alistair regained conciousness slowly and painfully, his helm knocked off and an ugly series of bruises had turned much of the left side of his head purple, a momento of how he'd landed after being flung sideways by the explosion. Alistair placed a hand to his throbbing forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy and throwing out the other to steady himself, black spots dancing before his eyes, feeling his fingertips bursh against something smooth and hard. Alistair looked down...and saw his hand was brushing against the lower jaw of a genlock, his fingertips inches from the gaping maw with its rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Alistair leapt to his feet, hands desperately clawing for his sword to split the beast's skull, only for his fear to dissipate as he took in his surroundings and realised that the genlock he'd touched and every other darkspawn in the immediate vicinity was dead, faces and limbs twisted into rictuses of agony, black blood leaking from slack jawed mouths and the corners of sightless eyes. Looking past, he could see the blackened, broken skeleton of what had been a dragon, the hilt of a sword protruding from the bony ridges of the skull above the right eye...and two smaller bodies lying close to it, motionless. He could make out differences between the two as his vision continued to clear, spotting one lying with head and limbs at impossible angles, clad in tattered and burnt robes, black where once chequered blue and white, and blackened, melted scraps of chainmail, and another, clad in tarnished silver plate armour, greaves and plated boots crushed by an impact of extreme force, fragments of bone and flesh protruding from the ruin of their legs. Struggling over, a hand on his head and on his stomach to stop himself succumbing to the overpowering nauseau he felt, his skin prickling and itching as if he were covered in a million bloodthirsty mosquitoes, side effects of the taint. He took one look at the body of Arabella and knew there was no hope; she had done what a Grey Warden was supposed to do, what Riordan said they must do. But Arthur...as he was about to consign his second fellow Warden to the dead, he saw a brief movement of Arthur's throat and chest, as if his friend were trying to draw breath. Tentatively, he removed his gauntlet, placing his hand against Arthur's bare neck, exposed where the explosion and impact had torn away his helm and gorget, and felt to his shock, though weak and thready, what was undoubtedly a pulse. Arthur was still alive...just.

"Morrigan, where are you? Where are you, damn it?!" Alistair cursed, but the witch, the only mage who'd been fighting with them atop the tower, the only one with healing magic, was nowhere in sight. _'Gone, like I always said she would'_ Alistair raged internally, cursing his fellow Warden for never heeding his warnings that the witch would inevitably betray them. He could see other distant shapes beginning to stir amidst the piles of corpses , saw Leliana gradually pull herself into a sitting position, clutching the deep wounds Urthemiel had dealt her, not wanting to guess what her reaction would be when she saw the few remaining dwarves, elves and men who'd fought in the final battle beginning to regain conciousness, none of whom had been spared injury, most staggering away as much as their injuries allowed as they regained awareness of their surroundings, only to calm like him when they realised the surrounding darkspawn were all dead. They were going to need healers to attend to them soon, Alistair knew; the few remaining healing potions, medicines and other rejuvenative substances were far too meagre for so many...

At that moment, the sound of running feet brought Alistair back to his senses; he leapt up, raising his sword, but to his relief, the new arrivals were men-at-arms wearing the heraldry of Redcliffe, likely those who'd fought with Arl Eamon to secure the fort's gates and were now being sent in to clear out Fort Drakon and look for survivors, swords raised, no doubt expecting another fight on their hands, looking astounded by the scene of carnage laid out before them. They stared around at the mountains of darkspawn bodies laid about the open space, the hulking, blackened skeleton in the centre of the debris...and finally catching sight of their king on his knees beside the bodies of his fellow Wardens, cradling Arthur Cousland's limp head in his lap and shouting at them, his face red and contorted with anger, fear and a desperate, fading thread of hope.

"Get help! He's dying while you gawk! Don't just stand there, men! Get a healer..._**NOW**_!"

* * *

They brought the unconcious Arthur back to the Royal Palace on a makeshift bier of a kite shield; Fort Drakon was no place to try and treat one so badly injured, and the city's state made it easier for healers to reach the palace than the fortress. The four men carrying the unconcious Arthur deposited him on the long table in the palace's great hall, once used for feasting and meetings between the king and nobles seeking audience, now converted into a makeshift infirmary for the wounded. They had barely set Arthur down when Wynne, looking in little better condition than many of the wounded littering the hall but with a fierce determination burning in her eyes, stormed into the hall, ordering people out of her way as she raced to Arthur's side, took one look at his condition and then began barking orders at the orderlies closest.

"Help me get his armour off! He's bleeding from about a dozen places; I need to find and close the wounds before he loses any more blood! Get warm water and clean linen as well" Wynne snapped at the soldiers who'd brought him in. "We'll need to clean them first if we want to stop infection from setting in!" she commanded, gingerly trying to remove the crumpled metal remains of Arthur's greaves and plate boots. "And if you're quick about it, we might be able to save the rest of his sword hand!" she added as she also peeled away the mangled gauntlet and summoned her power, a floew of healing energy repairing the injuries done to his hand, closing up the bleeding stumps of his fingers and preventing infection from setting in any further.

At that moment, a ruckus became apparent at the front of the hall, causing ; Leliana, who'd been brought to the palace a short time after Arthur, having clearly been laid low with a concussion, had clearly just learned what had happened to Arthur, because she was struggling tooth and nail against the efforts of the mage who'd been tending to her concussion, a pale blond haired girl in green robes, crying out, uncaring of just what a scene she was causing as she tried to reach . Alistair made his way over to the frenzied bard before she did something stupid in her panic.

"Let others help him!" Alistair urged, trying to calm the frantic Leliana. "You can't!"

"Alistair, get her out of here! She's doing him more harm than good like this!" Wynne barked, sounding angered at the interruption to her concentration, her tone brooking no refusal. Leliana slowly stopped her thrashing against Alistair's arms at those words, looking horrified at the thought she might be pushing her beloved closer to death, and allowed two elven servants and the hapless girl from the Circle to guide her to the steadily increasing gaggle of mages arriving to help tend to the wounded and priestesses appearing to give some measure of comfort and solace to the dying.

Alistair allowed another mage, this one a dark-haired male elf who introduced himself as Merlin Surana, to slowly help the king out of his armour that the healer might tend to the wounds beneath, while Leliana was tended to by First Enchanter Irving himself, the old man's hand pouring bright green energy into the bard's side, closing up the deep wounds left in her side by the archdemon's talons, though she barely noticed and kept looking over at Arthur, looking like a horse chafing at the bit, until finally Wynne insisted that she leave the hall until the senior mage said otherwise, lest she do Arthur or herself further harm with her fretting. Meanwhile, the elf Merlin finished attending to Alistair with a flourish that ended- Alistair found he could now put weight comfortably on the foot mangled by a darkspawn mace, that the ribs he'd thought were cracked were no longer causing him. At that moment, a herald came racing over, looking as if he'd run a marathon, bowed low and relayed his message; that Arl Eamon, Teryn Cousland, Arls Bryland, Alfstanna and countless others beside were all requesting audiences with him, all wondering if the king had any decisions or preference regarding the actions of his vassals to secure the city now the battle was done.

Several hours later, as Alistair left the court chamber, having heard numerous captains report on their efforts to secure portions of the city, root out any last vestiges of the darkspawn horde still trapped within Denerim's walls, confirming that the palace district, the alienage Wynne entered the room, looking utterly exhausted- Alistair could not imagine what it had taken out of her to use so much energy to pull Arthur back from the brink when, after hours of non-stop battle, the mage looked about ready to collapse herself.

"How is he?" Alistair asked, as he abandoned decorum of a king and helped Wynne into the nearest chair, offering her a glass of dwarven whiskey to help steady her nerves.

"I've done all I can for Arthur" Wynne insisted. "It's up to the Maker and himself now whether he lives or dies"

* * *

Two days later, and Arthur's condition remained unchanged. Much else had in that time. The butcher's bill was still being tallied by the army's commanders; at least six and a half thousand Fereldan soldiers were confirmed to have lost their lives, and those were just humans. Dwarf and elven casualties were still being calculated- the numbers were in the high hundreds at last count. Given the high numbers of those injured in the battle, the death toll was expected to rise, and no one had even begun to attempt a count of civilian casualties yet; that tally was expected to be astronomical.

Day and night, the sky was darkened by smoke and illuminated by light from the thousands of funeral pyres burning across the city; priests of the Chantry prowled about the city streets, performing their ministrations day and night, beseeching the Maker to accept the souls of the valarous dead who burned in the flames, hoping that their part in defeating the greatest evil ever to threaten His creation had earned their souls a place at His side.

In addition to the obvious spiritual requirements of sending the souls of the deceased onto the next world, human or otherwise, there was the more practical reason of disposing of the bodies before they led to an outbreak of disease. The last thing Alistair's young rule and the decimated city needed now was a pandemic on their hands. That threat had made disposing of the countless darkspawn bodies an even greater priority. The creatures couldn't be burned or buried anywhere near the city, or their tainted blood would poison Denerim for years to come; darkspawn blood seeping into the ground around the city would ruin crops, poison livestock, not to mention anyone unlucky enough to eat such, and a Blight epidemic would be all but inevitable if the darkspawn bodies were destroyed close to Denerim or any other site of habitation. Finally, a decision was made; using several derelict barges and ships that been left foundering in Denerim's harbour, useless for anything but firewood, the ships had been packed full of darkspawn corpses, towed miles out into the Waking Sea and then sunk out of sight from land.

Two Wardens were dead and a third lying close to it; Arthur was lying comatose and growing weaker each day in a sick bed, while Arabella Amell was lying in state in the royal chapel at the Palace. As for Riordan, all that had been found of him was the senior Warden's sword, the blade he had used to cripple the archdemon, in the courtyard of Fort Drakon, shattered into a dozen pieces by its fall. _'Much like Riordan's body, assuming we ever find it'_ Alistair mused. With every passing day, more bodies were being pulled from the rubble of broken buildings or from secluded alleys, proof no one in no part of the city had been spared by the darkspawn, but despite the king's orders, Riordan's corpse still eluded those searching. The common belief now was that Riordan's body had ended up in the River Drakon and been swept out into the Waking Sea, or that his remains were buried and burnt in one of the thousands of broken, still burning and destroyed buildings across the entire distance of Denerim.

The searchers had found Zevran in one of the watch towers overlooking Denerim's northern gate; he'd been buried under a pile of darkspawn corpses, and when the rescuers pulled Zevran out from under them, the elf was so badly injured they'd initially taken him for dead as well. His left ear was gone, his nose, jaw and right arm broken, and he was likely to lose several fingers on his right hand and possibly his other ear. And he'd been unconcious for all that time, so they had been spared the grim task of informing Zevran that Arabella was dead; Alistair had no idea of how the elf would react when he learned that, and he had no desire to find out.

Despite a order to the city guard, and something of a bounty for information, no one had found neither hide nor hair of Morrigan; the witch had vanished off the face of the earth. Some peasants continued claiming to have seen a woman of Morrigan's appearance in a wide range of places- the Brecilian Forest, Redcliffe and finally the road to Gherlen Pass, headed through the Frostback Mountains for the Orlesian border- but nothing anyone would grant credence to, and there were too few men left to send on a wild goose chase after such rumours. For better or worse, Morrigan was lost to them...not that Alistair was sorry to see the back of her; the witch had been far more trouble than she was worth. His only hope was wherever she'd gone, Morrigan didn't come back to stir up trouble for them.

And Arthur...his fellow Warden's condition was as unchanged as the constant stream of Circle Mages that went back and forth from his sick room continued to say. Some days he seemed stronger, almost as if he were about to wake, but then things would deteriorate, his temperature would drop, his breathing became more laboured and his frame became somewhat more gaunt.

He desperately hoped Arthur would pull through.

It would be deeply unfair if, after all they'd been through, his comrade in arms, his friend, the closest thing he'd had to a brother, were to just leave him to it.

* * *

"Leliana. Leliana, come on" a soft, insistent voice muttered in her ear, a hand rubbing her shoulder, and Leliana groggily came around; she couldn't even remember falling asleep. Panic gripped her briefly as she fretted about what might have happened while her eyes had been closed, only to feel relief at the sight of the rise and fall of Arthur's chest. Otherwise, his condition appeared unchanged; she thought some colour had returned to his cheeks, lifting their pale pallor, but that was probably wishful thinking.

She'd been sat at Arthur's bedside ever since they'd moved him into this chamber, taking her meals and her rest at his bedside, barely leaving the chamber to bathe and relieve herself, taking it upon herself to tend to her lover, to clean him, feed him and do her utmost, in spite of the fact she felt so bone-weary all of the time and the deep wounds left in her side from the archdemon's talons, though cleaned and closed, had left her side and stomach still tender and sore, to try and and make herself useful to the healers who periodically came by to change the dressings on the Warden's wounds and fill his weak and weary frame with more healing magic in the hope of keeping the spark of life in him from going out. The healers didn't stay long, mostly because there was little they could do and because her injuries, her refusal to succumb to exhaustion and her concern for Arthur had made Leliana extremely irritable; she perpetually snapped at the healers, demanding to know what they were doing, how soon it would have an effect and then demanding to know what had gone wrong as Arthur's condition remained unchanged, resulting in those who came into the room not wanting to linger long in her company.

"Leliana, please get some rest" Wynne pleaded. "When was the last time you had a proper meal, or a decent night's sleep? There's a bedroom down the hall; just get an hour or two's sleep, for your sake if no one else's; you'll feel so much better. I have things to do here, things that will keep me busy for a while. If anything changes, I'll send for you"

"I, I can't" Leliana protested. "What if I do and he dies while I'm not here to look after him?"

"And if you continue to go without sleep and barely any food, he won't be the only one lying prone in a bed. You need to look after yourself or it will put both of you in danger. Your health affects more than just yourself now..."

"_Both_ of us?"

"Alistair had me do a quick check up on you while you were still concussed. I wasn't looking for it, but with my training, I couldn't help but notice. I'm not quite sure how it happened, and I'm sure you would have rather found out another way, but...Leliana, you're pregnant. It can only have been in the last few days- I know not what your...'sleeping arrangements' with Arthur have been like- but the signs were unmistakeable to Irving and myself. I imagine soon enough they'll become apparent...but if you want to put yourself and your child in a urn, you need to look after yourself. Get an hour or two's rest, stretch your legs, get some fresh air...for his sake if not your own. You will need all your strength, Leliana in the months to come, whether or not Arthur is there with you to help, though I will do my utmost to make sure he is, so please, do him, you and me a favour and take a break from this vigil"

Lost in thought at this revelation, Leliana allowed Wynne to steer her out of the room, but she didn't head to the room the mage had mentioned. She had even more on her mind now that demanded her attention.

* * *

An hour later, Leliana slipped back into Arthur's room; she'd walked around the walls of the castle, got some air, but the sight of the blackened and broken city had only depressed her, reminding her only more of something more precious to her near broken. She'd acquired something of a meal from the palace kitchens-what little was available, since most of the city's food stores had been destroyed or spoiled by Urthemiel's legions and it was taking time for food from outside the city to reach the capital, owing to the chaos on the roads with tainted animals, roving bands of darkspawn, not to mention the meagre harvest that had been collected due to the Blight and civil war; the nobles who marched on the capital had brought provisions for their men with them, but it would not be enough to feed everyone. Soon enough, the lords from the neighbouring Bannorn would have to return to their lands - or at least what was left of them- and make at least an effort to try and plant for the harvest on what little ground the darkspawn hadn't tainted, though Leliana suspected most of Ferelden would have to import food from Orlais or the Free Marches for the foreseeable future. Not that that would be of concern to Leliana in time; not when she thought of the letter that had arrived with a bird from Val Royeaux, addressed to her and sealed in gold wax stamped with the sun seal of the Chantry. Leliana could think of only one person in Orlais who would have known she'd left Lothering; the one who'd set her there in the first place.

The offer was simple; a request from an old friend who'd risen high in the ranks of the Chantry, asking for Leliana's help in preserving the ideals and morals of the Chantry, by trying to excise the cancers of ambition, greed and fanaticism that were spreading far too rampantly through the upper echelons of the Chantry and the Templar Order. Leliana would seriously give Dorothea's offer consideration, but not now. Arthur needed her far more than her old friend.

Wynne was mercifully gone, her work done; Arthur looked a bit better, a more healthy pallor in his cheeks thanks to the mage's work and Leliana sank back into the chair beside the bed. She was reminded of how she'd done something similar all those years ago, a little girl sat by another beside, watching the wasting sickness slowly drain the last scraps of life out of her mother, the priestess who'd come to give the woman her last rites urging the little girl to keep talking to her mother even though the medicine and illness had sent her into a coma from which she was unlikely to ever wake, telling Leliana speaking to her unconcious mother might help the woman to retain a connection to the mortal coil. It had not pulled her mother back from death's grasp, but perhaps, if she kept faith, it might do so now. Leliana found she had little else left to lose, given that healing magic and countless poultices and healing potions tipped down his throat had done little so far. She leant across the bed until her lips were but an inch from Arthur's right ear, watched the Warden's eyelids flutter for half an instant as if about to waken and then fall still again, as they had done when he slept after one of their passionate bouts of love-making. Hoping that she would get the chance to see that, Leliana began to speak;

"I don't know if you can hear what I'm about to tell you, wherever you are, but I hope you can, because you need to hear this. I am begging you, don't leave me here. I want my love in my arms...and I want our child to have a father. There are so many things we have yet to do; I want to show you Orlais, I want to see more of the world with you, I want to place our firstborn child in your arms. I know we would only have a finite amount of time before the end comes...but I would take every moment the Maker grants us. Please..._please_, just come back to me"

She didn't remember falling asleep again, but she must have, because the next thing she remembered was the familiar sensation of a hand rubbing against her hair. She slowly came around, expecting it to be Wynne or another of the healers come to try to convince her to leave so they could get on with their work.

"Well, if you want to make the most of the time given to us, you're really got to make a start" a familiar, unexpected, _wonderful_ voice broke against her ears. Groggily, not quite willing to believe it, sure she was still dreaming, Leliana lifted her head from the bed, and saw to her joy Arthur, trying to struggle into a sitting position, hampered by his sling-bound arm and grimacing with pain as if something in his side pained him, looking wan, gaunt and haggard after two days of being spoonfed water and broth, but still alive, still _hers_ and she had no doubt in time he would recover his vitality. Shaking off her own grogginess, Leliana helped Arthur sit up, his back propped up against the pillows, still quite unable to believe he was back.

"I though you might never come back, that I was going to have to watch the life slowly bleed out of you with nothing I could do to stop it. What changed?"

For the longest time, Arthur sat in silence, clearly mulling over his answer, and Leliana wondered what he might say, or if he even would. He finally answered, in a slow halting voice as he replied:

"The archdemon's last strike against a Warden is one against our spirits, not our flesh; those mages could have filled me with enough magic to raise the dead back to life and it wouldn't have done anything, not when my spirit was slowly being leeched away. I was dreaming, wandering through the shifting and ever changing paths in the Fade, until finally I found myself standing staring over the precipice, seeing faces of people in the depths below, looking up at me; Mother, Father, Oriana, Oren, Duncan, Arabella and so many others from Highever and beyond. They said "Come. Join us, brother. Join us, son. Lay down your burdens. Come to us. Be with us. Leave this world behind. Be at peace"

"What brought you back?" Leliana asked, wondering if she could have so strongly resisted the call of paradise if the Maker had called to her.

"You did" Arthur answered with a soft grin, runninga hand through his lover's hair. "I heard your voice, weak and soft, almost as if it were a dream, but I heard enough to know I had a reason to return, to continue living. I told them the day would come when we would be together again...but it would not be today, for there are things yet in this world that I must do"

"What more must you do?" she asked, leaning across the bed to kiss him, unable to believe that he was wanting to be back to business within minutes of recovering from a near-deathly coma.

"Do my duty. For a start, I'm hardly about to leave a young woman alone in the world with a bastard in the belly" Arthur replied with a wry grin, but it faded as a more solemn cast crossed his features "And I intend to ensure that the sacrifice of Arabella Amell and all the others who gave their lives to end this are not in vain. My father always insisted that when you led men into battle, it was your duty to value their lives above your own, and should they perish, to remember them by living your life gloriously in honour of their memory..." Arthur lapsed into silence after that, and Leliana could tell he was grieving in his own way for Arabella Amell and all the others who had died in the last battle; she could tell he felt as if he had failed them, as if their deaths were his fault. She did not speak, sensing that he would speak more on such matters when he felt like it, but she would not allow such things to fester. She would not let him slip closer to death's embrace over misplaced feelings of guilt and failure, particularly in the case of his fellow Warden.

Over the course of the day, the rest of the companions traipsed up to Arthur's sick room, all looking to express their relief that he was still alive; Wynne looking close to tears, Oghren red-faced and slurring with his speech, looking like he'd downed an entire tavern in celebration, even Sten who spoke in his usual clipped and blunt tones, but with a quirk at the corner of his mouth that just might have been the beginnings of a smile. Finally, Alistair arrived, with Arl Eamon trailing in his wake, both men looking like they'd come from the council chambers, since they were both immaculately dressed and yet still looked haggard and exhausted, no doubt the result of hours of wrangling with ambitious, difficult and grasping members of the nobility.

"Glad to see you haven't swanned off and left me to deal with all this" Alistair remarked the moment he stepped inside the room, a genuine smile on his face.

"Well, someone's got to stop you from making a complete mess of it" Arthur joked, the first time he'd actually felt like smiling since even before the battle, since that ghastly night with Morrigan.

"Your Majesty" Arl Eamon interjected "Your council awaits your command as to what you wish to do now. Surely, the people should be told their hero has awoken? Celebrations should be declared- the Grand Cleric and most of the nobility wish to give thanks to the Maker for delivering us from the Blight" Alistair considered the arl's proposal, nodding thoughtfully, but when he replied, his expression was solemn.

"Soon enough, we will celebrate this and our victory. But first, we must remember those who are no longer here to celebrate with us"


	67. Chapter 65: The Spoils of Victory

The cathedral fell silent as Alistair took his place at the pulpit, looking down at the pale, lifeless figure laid out on the bier just below the altar. Arabella Amell's face was set in a serene, calm expression, as if death had stripped her of all trace of her worries, her eyes closed, clad in the white and pale blue Warden robes she had worn since Orzammar, cleaned of blood, repaired of damage and looking immaculate, her hands closed around the hilt of the sword she had used to deal the death blow to Urthemiel, looking every inch the heroine she was. The Grand Cathedral was packed, a surprising display of public affection for a mage...and one Arthur doubted the Chantry would be happy with, even less with the populace demanding greater respect and freedoms be granted to mages.

"My friends, we are gathered here to pay our respects to the Grey Warden who saved us all" Alistair declared as a hushed silence fell over the cathedral.

"Arabella Amell gave her life to destroy the Blight and that is a sacrifice we must _never_ forget. It was no accident that she was here; she was special, and all of those who travelled with her had our lives touched in some way". Arthur couldn't argue with that; he couldn't look at the body and not feel the same sense of guilt and shame, that he hadn't been fast enough, that he hadn't been firm enough to order her to stand aside...and his feeling that he had sullied himself with Morrigan for nothing. She had gotten what she wanted, and he'd been left with nothing but bitterness and fright; bitterness over what had happened, and fright of what was to come.

"She even helped others put me on this throne, in spite of my protests...but there was no telling her no, was there?" Alistair added with a sad smile and a knowing look at Arthur, as if he understood the guilt Arthur felt over Arabella's death. "Some of us were friends, companions...some of us even loved her" Alistair went on with another knowing look at Zevran, the elf sat at the far end of one of the front pews, wearing the same distant, somnambulant expression he'd had on his face ever since they'd broken the news to him that Arabella was dead. The Antivan elf had regained conciousness within a few hours of Arthur, but since Wynne had told him, Zevran had been as silent and still as a corpse himself. It had mostly been Leliana and Wynne who'd spent the most time with Zevran, trying to coax him through his anger, regret and grief; Arthur had stayed away, since he got the sense that his and Alistair's presence was unwelcome, that Zevran blamed them for Arabella's death almost as much as Arthur blamed himself.

"The Grey Wardens are constructing a magnificent tomb for our heroine at Weisshaupt Fortress, right next to those of Garahel and all the other Wardens who have given their lives to end previous Blights...but I'd like to do something as well, something that will properly honour our heroine. Knight Commander Greagoir, please step forward" Alistair commanded as he stepped down from the pulpit and stood by the bier. The Knight Commander, who'd been afforded a place at the front of the mourners- something Arthur knew Arabella would have hated- got to his feet from his place in the pews and stood before the King, taking a knee before Alistair, looking uncertain as to why he had been called forward.

"What is the situation currently with the Circle of Magi?"

"The situation is under control. Though the Circle has been greatly weakened and many of our strongest mages and most dedicated templars have lost their lives, the Veil at Kinloch Hold has been sealed, no more demons have come through, all and any surviving abominations have been put down and there have been no further possessions" the templar asserted. Satisfied, Alistair nodded and spoke:

"I wish to see the Circle of Magi restored, but it is my understanding the Veil at Kinloch Hold is too weak. Thus, it is my royal command that a new home be built for the Circle with the aid of the Chantry, one that shall bear our heroine's name". Greagoir made a noise of approval that sounded somewhat grudging to Arthur, but Alistair wasn't done.

"And once that is done, I will be granting autonomy to the new Circle"

Arthur imagined his face likely bore an expression of astonishment, and looking round the cathedral, he was not the only one. The Grand Cleric herself looked like she'd swallowed a lemon whole, as did many of the sisters and Revered Mothers scattered about the congregation, the templars about the Cathedral who'd removed their helms all wore mixed expressions of astonishment, disbelief and even outrage, while Eamon's jaw had practically hit the floor- so clearly he hadn't been told- and most of the gathered nobility had looked less stunned when Anora betrayed Loghain. But not all wore expression of shock, outrage, or both; Irving and some of the other mages permitted to attend the funeral of one of their own looked hopeful, some overjoyed, while Leliana was nodding in approval, as were some nobles who had family members in the Circle or less than positive relationships with the Chantry. Wynne looked like she didn't know whether to laugh with joy or ruefully shake her head.

"What?!" the Templar protested. "After everything that's happened, you would-? Your Majesty, I think recent events have only proved-!"

"They proved the substantial contribution a mage can make, wouldn't you agree?" Alistair replied pointedly. "I'd say the Circle has earned a chance to prove they can watch themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

Greagoir wanted to protest, Arthur could see it in the man's face, but he could hardly do it without disrespecting Ferelden's heroine at her own funeral. With an extreme effort, Greagoir grudingly nodded in acquiesence, before Alistair dismissed him and the Knight Commander returned to his seat. Arthur caught a brief glimpse of Greagoir's face and what he saw there did little to reassure him; the sour look of barely supressed outrage on the Knight-Commander's face, and the significant looks that passed between Greagoir, the Grand Cleric and several of the templars stood in attendance around the chamber as Greagoir re-took his seat said quite clearly they hadn't heard the last of the matter, from Greagoir or the Chantry. _'But that, mercifully, is a matter for another day'_

"Now, we bid the Hero of Ferelden farewell. You will be missed, dear friend, by us all" Alistair remarked sadly as he stepped back and the congregation began to recite a verse from the Chant in memory of the dead.

###########

Two days later, Alistair finally called for a royal session of court to be held. There were matters to be attended to that couldn't be delayed any longer; plans to be made for the restoration of Denerim and other areas damaged or destroyed by the Blight, lands and titles to be divided up amongst the nobility, either to reward those for their loyalty, or to replace men and women who'd died during the fighting.

Banns Teagan and Alfstanna, Arl Bryland and Teyrn Fergus Cousland were called before the throne first of all, where King Alistair praised them for their bravery and quick thinking in coming to Denerim's aid and taking the darkspawn army in the rear, providing enough of a distraction for the Wardens to reach the archdemon. The rewards offered were significant, lands and titles confiscated from Loghain's cronies or whose owners had died in either Blight or civil war, To the surprise of all, Fergus refused the arling of Amaranthine when it was offered to him, wanting no part of whatever Rendon Howe had once possessed, urging the King to grant the land to the Grey Wardens, that they might make better use of it than he, while Alfstanna boldly knelt at the foot of the throne and requested that she be considered as a prospective betrothal; with a wry smile, Alistair replied that he wouldn't consider the prospect most carefully, though Arthur suspected she and Eamon would talk Alistair. In Arthur's view, Alistair could do far worse for his queen.

Of greater concern was the fact Fergus left the hall immediately after the royal herald had dismissed him and his fellow supplicants, pausing only to inform his younger brother in a rather brusque manner that he was returning to Highever to 'attend to unfinished business', his hope that Arthur might return home soon somewhat half-hearted. Arthur could only hope that this was merely a manifestation of Fergus's grief over what he'd lost and that time would heal all wounds; he mentally noted that he and Leliana would have to journey to Highever at some point soon. He wished to help restore his home to its former glory, wanted his lover and their child, once the infant was born, to see it, to know where he and the child, the next in the Cousland line, had come from, to know their history and heritage and most of all, to help give his brother something to think of besides brooding on his grief and nursing old grudges. That way lay madness and worse things born of it. He had seen enough examples on his journey of how the rage and hate born of grief had made greater men than Fergus Cousland into monsters.

The dwarven captains sent to Denerim to represent King Bhelen bowed before the throne next and Alistair expressed his hope that this would mark the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership between the cities of Denerim and Orzammar, promising King Bhelen aid and military support in the dwarves' ongoing war with the darkspawn, in addition to doing what they could to researching the darkspawn, learning more about the strengths, weaknesses and tactics of the enemies of all life in Thedas. This time, Alistair promised, the surface kingdoms would not so quickly forget that the dwarves continued to war with the darkspawn long after the end of a Blight.

"Keeper Lanaya, please step forward" Alistair asked of the next supplicant once the dwarves stepped back and the elven girl, one of only a handful of elves representing the Dalish clans, came forward to the foot of the stairs up to the throne.

"I and Ferelden are indebted to you and your people; the courage and sacrifice of the Dalish was an invaluable boon to our cause and a significant contribution to our victory" Alistair proclaimed. Lanaya inclined her head before she spoke.

"I thank you, but I must confess, I am uncertain why you asked me to remain. We have many of our own-sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters- to mourn and bury in our own way. Their deaths are a loss to their clans and to all our people"

"I agree...but a greater loss, I believe, would be to let their sacrifice for my people go unremembered. And while I know my people can never truly make up for what we have done to yours, I was hoping to make a start with this. Keeper Lanaya, it is my royal command that, from this day hence, the elven peoples, be they Dalish or city-born, be given dominion over the southern hinterlands of Ferelden, including the fortress of Ostagar, to do with as you will"

"You would give us our own land?" Lanaya asked, sounding both astounded and overjoyed; Arthur was sure he could see tears of joy glimmering in the girl's eyes. The other Dalish present also look positively astounded, as if unable to believe their ears. More worrying, Arthur saw several of the southern Banns muttering angrily amongst themselves at this and knew that when the moment came, he would have to make sure Alistair had seen it too; allowing such matters to foment would only cause problems later.

"I am aware it is hardly the Dales, and there will be much to discuss, but-" Alistair began, a rather apprehensive look on his face, as if worried his offer would be thrown back, but before he could react, Lanaya darted up the steps and kissed his hand, a surprising display of gratitude.

"I think I speak for all my people when I say we gladly and gratefully accept this gift"

"I'm glad" Alistair replied with a nod and a genuine smile on his lips "I'd like to hope this can be the start of a new beginning between our races"

As Lanaya stepped back from the throne and Alistair's herald waved the next supplicant forward- what looked like the first in a long line of minor banns and petty lords come to preach their loyalty in exchange for the prospect of lands, titles and gold, Arthur wandered through the halls, casting his eye over the crowd of supplicants, noble and lowborn waiting the turn before the king, looking for familiar faces. He could see Niamh Tabris and her cousins Shianni and Soris, along with several other familiar faces from the Alienage; the crowd was too thick between them for him to reach the elves, so he merely caught their eyes and exchanged a friendly nod with them. His old friend had already been called by the herald, where Alistair had offered to appoint her to the new office he was creating; namely Bann of the Alienage. Niamh's jaw had practically hit the floor, along with those of some of the more conservative minded nobles who now doubt wanted; Arthur however approved- the elves needed more consideration and power to protect themselves from a repeat of the Tevinter slavers preying on them. Niamh had thanked Alistair for the offer, but had asked for some time to think on the matter and consider if her fellow elves would be well served if someone other than her were to take the position. Alistair graciously granted her time to think things over, though Arthur thought he saw some disapproving faces among the gathered nobles that a mere elf would speak so to a king, much less be granted such an honour in the first place.

There were three notable absentees from the throne room; firstly Shayle, although Arthur had expected that- the golem had been heavily damaged in the ferocious fighting to defend the city gates, and now Shayle was being tended to by the finest stonemasons and scholars of golem lore who were working round the clock to try and repair her.

Zevran was the second; the elf had departed the day after Arabella's funeral, along with the contingent of Orlesian Wardens who, once more allowed across the border, had come to escort their sister to her final resting place at Weisshaupt Fortress. The Wardens had ridden out of Denerim accompanying the body of Arabella Amell, borne in a carriage draped in white and blue quartered silk emblazoned with the griffin sigil. Arthur had watched the procession depart, silently promising that he would journey to the fortress and pay respect once she'd had been interred and when his duties allowed.

Sten had been the third; the qunari had vanished in the dead of night after the funeral, without a word of farewell. His pack, armour and sword were gone, all that had been left was a letter in his quarters, one still in Arthur's pocket.

_'Kadan,_

_Though it has been an honour and a privilege to travel and fight beside you, I can no longer remain; I have other duties to tend to. While the darkspawn remain a threat to Ferelden and that must ever be your charge, it cannot be mine; the Blight is no more and I must present my answer to the Arishok's question._

_I will never forget the great debt that I owe you; you helped me find my sword, gave me a chance to reclaim my honour and allowed me to return to my home. I have no doubt that you would say it is no great matter, that my service against the Blight was enough, but some debts cannot be so easily discarded. There will come a time when I return, and all debts will be repaid. Meravas._

_I hope that our paths will one day cross again, but if it is not to be, then may you always find the path you seek. I will always remember the honour I was given to serve in the company of one who was worthy to be called 'Basalit-an' and 'Qunoran vehl'._

_Panahedan, kadan._

_Sten'_

Arthur regretted that he had not had a chance to say farewell to the qunari, but he wished Sten well and a safe journey home. Hopefully, Sten's actions had been enough to make amends for the failures that had led him to join them and that the qunari might make good use of the knowledge Sten would bring back with him.

Wanting to leave, but suspecting his presence was still required, Arthur lingered, pacing through the crowds until he found two familiar faces, awaiting their turn to be called before the king; Wynne and Leliana, the mage dressed in immaculate scarlet robes marked with the Circle's emblem, while the bard was wearing a dress of gold-coloured linen trimmed with red silk. Both women smiled at the sight of him, as they had done with relief and joy every time they'd seen him since he rose from his sickbed. As they watched, Arthur quietly asked what plans the two women might have now that the Blight and their travels were at an end.

"Irving invited me to take over from him as First Enchanter, but I refused" Wynne explained. Arthur looked at her askance; being invited to take the post of First Enchanter was

"What will you do instead?"

"With what time I have left, I want to see a bit more of the world, so I think I will travel for a time. In addition, Shayle has expressed a desire to go to Tevinter to look into a way to regain her mortality, and I said I would accompany her"

"She wants to be a dwarf again?" Arthur asked, extremely surprised at this revelation.

"It seems a 'fleshy creature' impressed her enough that she is willing to discard her notions of them as soft and weak" Wynne replied with a wry smile. "At any rate, I agreed to bring her before the mages of Tevinter; they have considerable lore on a great number of subjects, and I've always wanted to see Minrathous"

"And you?" Arthur added with a look at Leliana.

"Well, I'm thinking I might stay in Denerim for a time" the bard purred. "I'm thinking some time in the same place, good food, soft beds, friendly surroundings might be good for _all three_ of us" Leliana continued, the impish grin on her face spanning almost ear to ear. A satisfied, cat-like smile spread across Arthur's mouth, but before he could express his approval of the bard's thinking, the moment that Arthur knew was coming arrived. The herald called out his name.

"While our heroine is gone, the one who brought together the races of Ferelden and led our armies into battle with the darkspawn horde is still with us, an inspiration to all he saved that day. My lords and ladies, may I present to you Arthur Cousland, the first Grey Warden to defeat a Blight in over four centuries, Saviour of Denerim and Hero of Ferelden!" The applause from the crowd as Arthur ascended up the steps to the throne and bowed before Alistair was almost deafening. Alistair quickly motioned for Arthur to get off his knees and spoke, grinning;

"My friend, it is hard to imagine how you might have aided Ferelden more. I think it only fair I return the favour. Is there any boon you might ask of Ferelden's king? If it is within my power to grant, then it is yours" Alistair asked. Arthur could not think of any desire for lands or titles, nor felt any desire for a reward that he felt he had no right to; the one who deserved to be rewarded was beyond their reach and Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that the people praising him would soon be cursing his name. In the end, he chose something that would have a fair longer and lasting meaning than merely accumulating titles, lands and gold for himself as a reward.

"The sacrifices of the Grey Wardens should _never_ again be forgotten"

"An excellent point" Alistair agreed. "We can begin with a monument here in Denerim, dedicated to all those who've fallen in this Blight; Duncan, Riordan, Arabella and all the others. And as I said to our honoured guests from Orzammar, it is high time some scholars were gathered to learn more about the darkspawn; I have no doubt that we will face them again, both here and in the Deep Roads. Now, if your King can command you one last time this day...?"

"Anything, your Majesty. Ask anything and it is yours"

"There's a large crowd gathered outside wanting to see one of their Warden heroes. I was hoping, since I'm going to be here for a long time to come, you might go outside and say a few words before they storm the gates!" Alistair asked with a wry smile.

With a reluctant nod and a muttered "Of course", Arthur took his leave of his Majesty, of his friends, donned the mantle of the Hero of Ferelden and went to play his part. It felt in no way like he'd always imagined it would in those boyish daydreams of childhood where the people had called out his name, but if the people and the king requested that he be the hero Ferelden wanted to see, then Arthur Cousland would do his duty.

Still as his honour guard escorted him from the palace and he heard the first round of cheers, Arthur Cousland couldn't deny a part of him felt like the hero the people wanted him to be, the kind he'd wanted to be since he was a boy.


	68. Chapter 66: Epilogue-Brave New World?

_In the months following the Blight's defeat and his coronation, King Alistair spent a great deal of time at court, learning the art of governing and how to rule fairly, much to the surprise of his advisors. He proved to be quite a popular ruler, his humor and grace winning people over as much as his willingness to sneak out of the castle and mingle in the lower-class taverns. His betrothal to the popular, wealthy and shrewd Bann Alfstanna proved a popular choice with the people; six months after the Blight's end, the king and his betrothed were wed, taking a long tour of the country, travelling to all parts of Ferelden to give their people something to lift their spirits and help them forget the bitter memories of blood, battle and monsters with the promise of rebuilding and future prosperity._

_Arl Eamon stayed on as an advisor to King Alistair, handing over rule of his own domains to his brother, who was surprised to find himself well liked and loved by the villagers, who had never forgotten the long nights the Bann had spent defending them. Eamon eventually abdicated his arling of Redcliffe in favor of Teagan, a decision met with the approval of the townspeople. In time, Arl Teagan would marry, his arlessa a villager from Redcliffe by the name of Kaitlyn, who had grown rich by investing a small amount of gold given her by Arthur Cousland into a fortune by building a foundry and assisting in the rebuilding efforts following the Battle of Denerim, becoming extremely wealthy in the process._

_Following months of effort, the tower of the Circle of Magi was finally cleansed of the last spirits to slip through the Veil. No further abominations were created, and First Enchanter Irving was pleased to declare the Circle safe. All that could be saved had been._

_Several months after the Blight's end, the Chantry mounted an expedition into the Frostback Mountains to investigate Brother Genetivi's claims, and secured the Urn of Sacred Ashes. The temple swiftly became a holy sight of extraordinary significance, with pilgrims from all over Thedas coming to give praise to Andraste and partake of the Ashes's healing powers._

_In Denerim, with the Tevinter slavers destroyed and a new bann in the Landsmeet to represent them, the city-born elves found a better lot than ever. New law gave the elves more trading rights and their own militia within the Alienage; though some protested the freedoms being granted to the elves, in time their complaints and small-minded bigotry were swept away. In time, Shianni became the Alienage's next elder; her outspokeness often caused trouble with the authorities, but served her people well._

_The Dalish became more respected due to their part in the Battle of Denerim, with many clans, along with a great many of their city-born kin, choosing to move to the new lands allocated to their people. Their connection with humans will steadily improve, but tensions between the two races eventually rose again, elven and human resentment reopening the old wounds. It fell to Lanaya and others like her to ensure the peace was kept as much as possible, a task they performed admirably._

_In Orzammar, King Bhelen quickly proved himself a reformer; trade with the surface lands increased and caste restrictions were loosened. The casteless were permitted to take arms against the darkspawn in exchange for new freedoms. For the first time in generations, the line in the Deep Roads was pushed back, and a few thaigs were reclaimed. Bhelen's reforms quickly made him enemies within the warrior and noble castes, however, and after several assassination attempts, the Assembly was dissolved. The king then ruled alone-some say as a tyrant, others as a visionary determined to drag Orzammar into the modern world._

_Despite the destruction of the Anvil of the Void, interest in Caridin's research refused to dissipate. A group of dwarves from both the Shaperate and the Smith Caste pieced together what they could and created a new Anvil, using it to build a new golem, powered by a spirit from the Fade. The golem promptly went berserk and killed several Shapers before it was finally destroyed. After that incident, Caridin's research was branded excessively dangerous and all further study into it was banned. Interest never fully waned away, however._

_With the assistance of the mage Wynne, a dwarven scholar authored a comprehensive theory of how lyrium vapors relate to the supply of magic. It gained a great deal of attention and inspired mages from other parts of Thedas to establish a new circle in Orzammar itself, one that has ready access to dwarven lyrium... and lies outside the Chantry's power completely. The willingness of Orzammar to harbor apostates sparks outrage that begins whispers that the Divine is contemplating a new Exalted March._

_Morrigan vanished without trace after the Battle of Denerim, her disappearance hidden by the chaos of the darkspawn's rout. A few weeks later, a dark haired woman was later seen traveling through the Frostback Mountains alone, and she may well have been with child. Several years later, tales out of Tevinter began to whisper that a strange dark-haired mage had insinuated herself into the court of the archons._

_With Flemeth seemingly dead, there was no way to track her. One cannot help but wonder, however: What became of the child? What were Morrigan's plans? These questions must remain a mystery... for now._

_Zevran disappeared from Ferelden after the Blight's end and the death of Arabella Amell, looking to distract himself from his grief, but those who'd known him knew the carefree, fun loving elf he'd been was gone, replaced by a much more sombre and severe man. Zevran left without a word of farewell, returning to Antiva where, after a lengthy war against his former employers from the shadows, he rose to become leader of the Antivan Crows, though it is said the victory brought him no joy, and though Zevran took many bedmates in the hope of forgetting the face of the one he wanted, he never truly loved again. Every year on the anniversary of the Blight's end, a wreath of Antivan orchids would be found to have been laid at the foot of the Warden Monument in Denerim. The dwarf Oghren travelled about Ferelden for a time, exploring the surface world, before eventually settling down with an old flame and taking an officer's commission in the Ferelden army._

_Arabella Amell was buried at Weisshaupt Fortress with full honours, her mortal remains placed in a tomb beside those of Garahel and the other Wardens who had died to end previous Blights. In time, a great statue of her was erected in the Wardens' new holdings in Amaranthine, commemorating one who made the ultimate sacrifice that others might live._

_With his sword returned to him and the Blight defeated, Sten made his way home to Par Vollen, to bring the answer to the Arishok's question. When other qunari asked him if he encountered any of worth in his travels, Sten would reply he had met two._

_Leliana lingered in Denerim for a time, enjoying the company of her lover and composing an epic ballad in commemoration of Arabella, the Grey Wardens and all those who gave their lives to bring an end to the Blight. But in time, word came to her from the Chantry, an invitation from an old friend, that she did not feel able to refuse. The bard soon departed, leaving Arthur with a farewell kiss and a promise to return to him in time for the birth of their child. Her part in his tale was far from done..._

_Despite their defeat at Denerim and the death of the archdemon, the remnants of the darkspawn horde, many thousands strong, still lingered on the surface. While most slowly but surely slunk back into the Deep Roads to lick their wounds, replenish their numbers and begin anew the search for another Old God to taint, many others remained, gathering into packs under command of the strongest and most brutal of their kind, leading raids up and down the northern Ferelden coast, or finding their way through the Deep Roads as far as Orlais or even across the Waking Sea into the Free Marches. It would take months, or in some cases, years before all such creatures were put down and the last vestiges of the Blight laid to rest._

_But those are tales for another day. This tale ended when Arthur Cousland led the armies of Ferelden to victory and Arabella Amell drove her blade into the archdemon Urthemiel's skull to destroy it and end the Fifth Blight. Whatever else was to come, two things were certain; that her sacrifice would not soon be forgotten, and that it was far from the last Ferelden, or indeed Thedas, had heard of him..._

* * *

_**5 months after the Battle of Denerim…**_

**Jader, Orlais**

"Message for you, m'lord" the elf servant said, placing the letter in Arthur's hand. The Warden muttered his thanks and closed the door of the palatial suite they'd been given. The manor they were staying in belonged to that of an old friend of Leliana's- a high-ranking Grand Cleric who was away on business in Val Royeaux- that they'd been allowed to stay at. Leliana expected to rejoin Grand Cleric Dorothea in Val Royeaux in a few days time, but tonight, this place, this manor belonged to no one but them and nothing outside its walls mattered. The evening together was a pleasure their duties had long denied them and they had no intention of wasting even a second of it. After all, it was supposed to be their honeymoon.

Leliana lay on the bed, the silken sheets pulled up to her neck to cover the fact she was completely naked under them, her eyebrows raised in feline interest as she watched Arthur pull the dagger from his discarded belt and use it to slit open the wax seal- white wax, stamped with the griffin sigil of the Grey Wardens- before opening the letter and scanning its contents.

"What is it?" Leliana asked, her expression one of concern at the uncertain look on Arthur's face. Inwardly, he could not help but wonder; why was he called? Do they know? Had they found Morrigan, did they know what they had done? Or was this to do with something else altogether?

"I am summoned to Weisshaupt Fortress" he replied. "It says here the First Warden has a proposition that is be of great interest to me"

"Does it say when you have to be there by?"

"Well, it can wait until morning, can't it?" Leliana replied with an impish grin as she threw back the sheets to expose herself. Faced with the sight of his wife's naked body, her voluptuous curves, her full breasts, the swell of her belly now that her pregnancy was well into its growth, Arthur allowed himself to be distracted from his worries and drawn to a more more pleasing option. It was something the bard had always been so proficient at.

* * *

**Minrathous, Tevinter**

At long last, the ship pulled into the docks of Minrathous, Morrigan letting out a sigh of relief. It had taken her long to get this far, and there had been far too many close calls- storms, Rivaini corsairs and Qunari prowling the waters, and that had just been trying to get to Tevinter. She'd fled Ferelden into Orlais, stowing away aboard a trading galley bound from for Kirkwall in the form of a cat, subsisting on sailors tossing her bits of fish and the odd rat she could catch. Upon arriving in Kirkwall, she'd remained in feline form, not wanting to reveal what she was in a city that was the heart of Templar power in the Free Marches, sneaking aboard another ship, this one sailing to Llomerryn. It was not until the ship docked in Rivain and its more liberal views on magic, not to mention far from the Templars, the Chantry and _Arthur_ that Morrigan dared to assume human form again, looking for a suitable 'partner' to fund her and her still-growing son's plans, to keep them safe from those who would destroy them and their destiny and allow her to begin her schemes. Fortunately, she'd made a good catch.

"Ah, it is good to be home again. I'm sure you'll come to agree, Lady Livia, when you get to spend some time in my fair city, the heart of civilisation in Thedas, just how much Minrathous has to offer you"

Livia. That was the name by which her new companion, Aelius Sejanus, magister of the Imperium, knew her; Livia, the bastard daughter of the late Caladrius. Behind her new companion, the magister's bodyguard, a hard-faced man with salt-and-pepper hair by the name of Myles Torrence clad in dragonbone plate armour with a broadsword and a gladius of silverite sheathed at his waist and a kite shield with the sigil of a black dragon coiled around a tower on a red field hanging from a strap over his back watched the pair. She'd happened upon the pair in Rivain, waiting to take ship back to Tevinter; she'd felt the magister's eyes on her back in the docks as they'd entered the same tavern waiting for the tide to turn so the ship could depart, looking at her in the same manner all men had looked at her since she turned from girl to woman, as she had developed curves and her breasts had budded. Allowing the magister to sidle up next to her, a few drinks to smooth things along, a brush of her hand against an arm, permitting the other arm to slide around her waist, a few candid questions about her condition, a few compliments exchanged by both, Morrigan laughing at a joke of the man's (despite the fact it wasn't funny) to bait the hook, and then she had let him bite down, mentioing the fact that she was on route to Minrathous and subtly allowing the magister to invite her to an extended stay at his estates in Tevinter that they might 'continue to enjoy the pleasure of each other's company'. Morrigan knew full well Sejanus probably only saw her as a suitable concubine to take his pleasure with and her son at best perhaps an heir and potentially an apprentice until the mage had a legitimate child of his own blood, at worst something he could make use of as a sacrifice. Morrigan could see it in his eyes, but she was not about to disabuse Magister Aelius Sejanus of such notions..._yet._

_'Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman; one, she is weak and two, she finds him attractive'_. Oh, she couldn't deny Sejanus wasn't handsome, still relatively young, with his strong chin, short black hair, his pale green, gold-flecked eyes always brimming with some hidden knowledge, albeit tinged with the arrogance and veiled malice endemic to all of Tevinter's elite; if she had to make use. As with Arthur, Sejanus was nothing but a tool; one whose wealth, power and influence would be invaluable in helping her son claw his way to his true destiny. She had no intention of telling Sejanus that he would be cast aside as soon as his usefulness was over, though fortunately for him, that was a long time off. As Morrigan had long ago discovered, she had ways of keeping men pleasantly distracted from what they needed to see until it was too late.

Morrigan had chosen Tevinter for three reasons; first, even though the Imperium was but a shadow of its past power when the mage-lords had ruled most of the known world at the behest of the dragon-gods, there was still strength here, the magisters still a force to be reckoned with, a force even one like Flemeth, who Morrigan didn't doubt was still out there, watching, biding her time for the right moment, would pause to cross. Second, even though the Imperium claimed to be under the auspices of the Chantry (albeit a corrupted version), the attitude to magic was far more relaxed here. Given what she was, Mordred could not be anything but a mage, and she had no intention of her son being dragged off or slain out of hand by a pack of Chantry zealots before he could come into his power, before he could take what would be his. Thirdly, even though for the most part their worship had died out, Tevinter was still the greatest source of knowledge regarding the Old Gods; their strength, history, abilities and other facts and information besides. There were volumes of books, treatises and other texts about the Old Gods, both in their original forms and after they had become archdemons and Morrigan intended to devour every scrap of knowledge on the subject she could get her hands on, in the hope it would help her chart the course of her son's growth and development.

Morrigan felt that she was perfectly suited for the back-biting, power mongering and scheming that the powerful of the Tevinter Imperium; the back story she'd told Sejanus to keep him from realising what she truly was- that she'd assisted the Grey Wardens in rooting out her 'father' in exchange for a child- Sejanus had been more quick to disparage Caladrius than be appalled by the fact his presumed bastard daughter had had a part in his death. Based on the fact the first thing her magister companion had said after she'd told her tale was "Damn Caladrius. Greedy, stupid bastard should have known better; Tevinter learned a long time ago, don't mess with the dog lords unless you want your throat ripped out", Caladrius hadn't been a popular or respected individual, and her magister friend seemed to suggest the Imperial elite might be glad to see someone else take his place. The fact that Sejanus didn't gainsay her claim about being Caladrius's bastard seemed to suggest the late magister had been a private individual who kept his personal goings-on to himself, and since anyone in Caldarius's staff in Ferelden who might have contradicted her story had been murdered by an elven lynch mob in Denerim, there were none who could challenge her claims. Now all she had to do was secure what was 'rightfully' hers and simply wait for a few more months. There was nothing more she could do for her plans until Mordred was actually born.

"Shall we, my lady?" Sejanus said with a wry grin and an extended hand, motioning for her to disembark from the ship. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the foolishness of even powerful and intelligent men around beautiful women, Morrigan graciously accepted the hand and allowed Aelius to guide her down the gangplank even as she heard Torrance shouting at the elven servants carrying their luggage.

_'Well, I suppose there are worse things than a magister for an adoptive father'; there is much Aelius can teach Mordred that I admittedly cannot' _Morrigan mused. _'And if I have to endure his posturing, his groping and fondling me and assist in his ambitions until Mordred is old enough to supplant him, so be it. If there is at least one useful thing I learned from Flemeth, it was patience. If I have to wait a year or twenty to get what is rightfully ours, my son, I can wait. Time wears everything down, and when it has worn our enemies down to nothing, we will be waiting'._

Still, as she felt Sejanus slide an arm around her waist and the hand slide down towards her backside, she mentally urged her growing son to hurry up coming to full term. '_Even my patience has its limits...'_

* * *

**An abandoned thaig in the Deep Roads, below the arling of Amaranthine, Ferelden**

The figure rapped on the door of the chamber with a gauntleted hand, the light illuminating it. The figure was clad in heavy armour of dwarven make, old but still in fine condition, which was more than could be said for its wearer. The figure was a dwarf...or at least had been one. Its emaciated face had more in common with a genlock than a dwarf, scraps of auburn hair clinging to its pallid scalp, its thin mouth and withered lips peeled back into a near permanent scowl, baring a mouth full of rotted, yellowed teeth filed to points.

"Enter" a soft, sibilant voice hissed and the armoured figure opened the door and stepped into what had once been a study for a dwarf lord, the only things of note a number of bookcases along the walls packed with parchment scrolls and old books, many rewritten and repaired with painstaking and loving detail, and an ornate desk at which the thaig's ruler would have sat centuries ago. The study had a much more different occupant now.

The creature sat at the desk was clearly an emissary, but different in appearance to others of its kind. It was taller and more human in proportions than even a hurlock, clad in a set of purple and black robes fashioned from silk, much finer than the usual mish-mash of cloth and armour fragments most emissaries wore. Its twisted, mutated visage was hidden behind a bronze mask fashioned in an expression of serene repose and its long fingered hands clutched a scroll marked with hastily scrawled words. The emissary let out a sigh of relief, and then crushed the scroll into a ball, a glowing spark passing from the tip of a clawed finger onto the paper, setting it ablaze. Letting go, the emissary watched as the parchment blackened and curled up as the fire consumed it, then finally turned its attention to its guest.

"It is done" the emissary whispered in a quiet voice like a snake's hiss. "I had hoped...no, it is pointless to dwell on what might have been. I should not have risked...at least the Wardens have undone the greatest consequence of my folly. Perhaps, with the Blight long over, Utha, you former comrades will be inclined to listen to what I have to offer. Perhaps, they will be more inclined to listen when they see what my kind can be when not in thrall to the likes of Urthemiel and his ilk"

The short figure stood behind it nodded, armour rattling as it moved. The emissary got to its feet and placed a hand on the shoulder of its subordinate. "Enough time has passed now, I think. If I am to fulfil my promise to you, Utha, we must begin again, and swiftly. Leave me. And send the Withered. I have a task for him"

* * *

_**Author's note: **Well, it wouldn't be right to end this without at least one reference to 30 Seconds to Mars, particularly since it was the song 'This is War' that got me into Dragon Age in the first place!_

* * *

_ Arthur Cousland **will** return..._


End file.
